Galaxy at War: N7
by iBayne
Summary: Follows the N7 teams of the SSV Cambrai as they wage war on Cerberus and the Reapers. See the first chapter for details on submitting your own characters to the storyline . Mild coarse language/depictions of wartime violence.
1. Operation Chariot  Briefing

**A/N: This fic follows (sort of) the N7 teams introduced in Mass Effect's multiplayer, which means I can only go so far with my characters - if anyone wants to see their own characters in the story, fill out a review with the following details: (Name, Class/Race, Weapons, Armour Colour, and any other details you want to include).**

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><p><em><strong>Systems Alliance Space Vessel Cambrai, Horsehead Nebula<strong>_

_**0800**_

"So, what are you gonna do when you get back home, once this is all over?"

"When? You mean _if..._"

"Are all turians this depressing?"

"No, most of them are worse..."

"You two! Orders are in, get yer arses to the war room!"

With that, turian and human stood up, abandoned the cargo crates they had been using for seats, and set off after the shouting officer by the elevator. One brief, upwards journey later, they were emerging into the CIC, and pacing towards the cavernous War Room.

"Andersen, Kamur, you're late!" barked the officer at the head of the table.

"Sorry, sir," the turian replied, throwing a quick salute. Andersen merely shook his head, wearily, and took his place around the table. As he did, he glanced around at the selection of men and women around him – he knew they had all volunteered for "special duty", just like him, and like him, none of them quite knew what they were in for. Most of the volunteers were human, but Kamur wasn't the only alien – a graceful-looking asari was stood opposite him, and a salarian was amongst the servicemen to his right.

"Orders came in from Admiral Hackett ten minutes ago," the officer continued. "He wants to speak to the lot of you."

Without waiting for a response, he tapped away at the keypad in front of him, and a shimmering blue hologram of grizzled old Admiral Hackett hovered a little way above the table, peering away at the assembled fighters.

"Before we begin," the Admiral murmured, in his rather gravelly tones. "I want to start by saying this – you all volunteered for this, and I appreciate that, but if anyone wants to back out and return to conventional duty, it will not be held against you."

No-one moved.

"With that said..." Hackett continued. "To business. Welcome to Operation Chariot – this is your objective:"

As he spoke, Hackett's own hologram disappeared, and the table was instead filled with another hologram, the 3D plan of what appeared to be a base of some kind.

"This is a Cerberus fighter base, on Noveria, not too far from your current position. A team from the SSV Normandy infiltrated the base fourty-eight hours ago and removed all Cerberus presence. They stripped the air defences so our strike teams could move in."

"Admiral, when you say Normandy..." one of the other volunteers interrupted.

"Yes, Commander Shepard led the team that cleared this base out," Hackett muttered, answering the unspoken question. A low buzz of conversation passed between the recruits, until the Admiral began to speak again. "What we didn't anticipate was a Cerberus reprisal so soon... We _were _going to move ships into the region and take our time recovering objectives, but that is no longer possible. Your objective is to recover Cerberus data assets from the base before their troops can destroy them, and then evacuate. Once the assets are secure, we can employ full force against the base without running the risk of destroying vital data. Operations Chief Palmer has the rosters for this mission, I'll leave it to him to organise deployment. Good luck, all of you. Hackett out."

"Alright, recruits!" the chief roared, stepping up to the table as the hologram faded. "Listen up, I'll only say this once!"

"Ha, _'recruits'_," one of the marines next to Andersen scowled. "I bet half of us outrank him..."

"That's if we actually bothered with ranks," another muttered – he was a hulking figure in black armour, whose words and demeanour gave the distinct impression of a mercenary.

"You're not all shipping out," Palmer continued, either ignoring or not hearing the two soldiers' complaints. "A team of four, Alpha, will deploy to the objective once the Cambrai is in range. The team will consist of operatives Kamur, Andersen, Tyco and Saffiya. The four of you, grab your gear and report to the shuttle bay ASAP. The rest of you, you're on standby, do whatever the hell you want."

With that, the crowd of volunteers dissipated, some of them with looks and frustration or disappointment. Andersen caught the eye of the turian, Kamur, and the two of them paced out of the war room the same way they had entered. Within a few minutes, they were back in the hangar they had just left, although possessed of a new urgency this time. They quickly grabbed weapons from the benches laid out around the entrance – Andersen felt rather stupid as he picked up his meagre pistol, while Kamur toted an assault rifle in one hand, and a shotgun in the other.

"Think you've got enough firepower?" the turian muttered, sceptically, nodding to his handgun.

"I've got more than enough in here," the engineer grinned in reply, waggling his omni-tool in the soldier's face.

"Tech's all well and good, but I'll stick to bullets. Phaeston for long-range suppression, Eviscerator for close-range stopping power. That'll do me just fine..."

"Wow, turns out turian jarheads are just like human jarheads!" Andersen teased.

"Yeah, but human geeks are way worse than ours..." Kamur quipped back, with a sardonic smile.

"Did you just call me a geek?"

"That I did, soft-skin."

Their bickering was interrupted as the elevator slid down to the hangar bay once more. The doors parted to reveal their two apparent squadmates – the asari and the black-armoured hulk Andersen had spotted at the briefing. The asari silently grabbed a pistol, and headed for the shuttle. The merc was slightly more hospitable, throwing them a friendly nod as he slung a sniper rifle – a Mantis, by the looks of it – onto his shoulder, and fixed a bayonet to a shining new Scimitar shotgun.

"Ready to go?" he muttered, approaching the two of them – the asari had already disappeared inside the waiting shuttle.

"Born ready," Andersen grinned, pulling his helmet on.

"Good," the mercenary nodded, from behind his own helmet. "Just so long as you die ready, too..."


	2. Operation Chariot Part 1

**A/N: I'm impressed with the response already with characters for the ops... Thanks for the submissions, and please don't be offended if I can't get round to using them all right away. Mind if I ask your thoughts on the story itself, too?**

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><p><em><strong>Firebase White, Noveria<br>0845 **_

"Alpha, what's your status?"

"Five minutes out, Chief," Kamur muttered into the small viewscreen on the shuttle's wall, on which Chief Palmer's face was displayed.

"Any enemy interdiction so far?"

"No... Shepard's team did a number on those AA guns, they're silent."

"Good. Marking the location of the central archive on your HUD. Kamur, you're in charge of this op. Make it happen."

"How come he's in charge?" Andersen asked, as the turian folded the viewscreen away.

"Because..." the sniper began, "I'm a hired gun, she's antisocial and you... well, I don't know, but he just seems to hate you."

"True enough..." the engineer murmured.

"I am _not _antisocial!" the asari piped up, from the far end of the shuttle.

"Well that's the first thing you've said to us all day," the sniper replied. "So I beg to differ. We don't even know your name."

"It's Saffiya, okay?" she scowled.

"Right. Good to meet you, Saffiya, I'm Tyco," he nodded. "Are you a commando, or...?"

"Justicar."

"No shit... I'm a bounty hunter. What about you, gear head?"

"Andersen. I'm an Alliance engineer..."

"Anderson?"

"No relation, spelt with an 'e'."

"Ah... do you get that a-"

"Yes, I get that a lot."

"Right... what about you, turian? I mean, Kamur?"

"Eight years with the turian military," said Kamur. "Right up until the Fall of Taetrus. After that, I signed up for these... actually, what _are_ these called?"

There was silence. The various volunteers had spent several weeks preparing for the "special operations" they signed on for, but they had never actually been given a name.

"N7," Tyco muttered, eventually.

"What?" Saffiya replied, sceptically.

"It's a human thing, unit designation," Andersen explained. "The 'N' refers to special operations, and these certainly qualify as spec ops... The '7'..."

"Refers to kicking a _lot _of ass," the bounty hunter chuckled. "N7s are the deadliest marines in the Alliance. Admiral Anderson was the first N7 designated operative, and Commander Shepard is the most famous. That should give you some idea of what they can do..."

"N7 it is, then," Kamur nodded. His words were punctuated by two solid thumps on the cockpit door from the pilot, signifying their arrival at the landing zone. "Alright, everyone, we go out guns blazing, find the nearest available cover position, and co-ordinate from there. I'll take point..."

With that, they lapsed into silence again. Andersen grabbed his pistol, and held the trigger down – with an electric crackle and a few sideways looks from his squadmates, a glowing blue spark of energy began to ripple across the gun's barrel, ready to fire. In front of him, Saffiya was flexing her fingers as they shimmered with biotic energy, and Kamur was pressing his Phaeston rifle tightly to his shoulder. A quick glance behind him showed Tyco, readying his sniper rifle from the back of the shuttle. There was a mixture of excitement and apprehension filtering through Andersen's brain as the shuttle lurched earthwards – he'd served on battlefields before, but he had never been in a landing party, going in without support...

And then, the apprehension vanished, drowned in a sea of adrenaline as the shuttle swung open and bullets began to race towards them. He spotted at least three shooters as bullets bounced against the side of the shuttle – a moment later, a storm of lead was flying the other way as Kamur sprayed shots towards the troopers on the landing pad. The turian leapt off the hovering shuttle, dropping two or three feet, and set off at a run towards a Cerberus fighter parked on the landing pad. Just as he slid into cover, Saffiya ran forward and drifted gracefully onto the landing pad, glowing with biotics once more.

Then, it was Andersen's turn – he took a few hurried steps forward, hopped over the edge, and landed hard on the deck. He almost lost his balance as a whip crack sounded behind his head – Tyco had opened fire, and one of the Cerberus troopers dropped dead under the shot, as the big merc jumped down after Andersen, yanked him upright, and pushed him towards the fighter, where their two squadmates were already sheltering.

"What the hell do they teach you humans? Keep your head down, Andersen!" Kamur yelled.

"Yeah, yeah, you're the badass soldier, I'm just a tech geek, remember?" Andersen called back.

"We need to move before they surround us," the turian continued, ignoring him. "And we need to keep the LZ secure so we can actually get back out..."

"Well, this is the LZ, I take it?" Tyco muttered. "If it means sitting around here waiting for y'all, I'll take the job."

"Got it. Makes sense anyway, you're a sniper. You can stay hidden and still deliver major stopping power."

"You're thinking about this _way _too much, turian, just get the job done!"

"Right, right... You've all got the objective marked. Saffiya, Andersen, flank left and take the low road – good open spaces for biotics and pyrotechnics. I'll take the high road and go room by room, we'll meet at the target. Tyco, give us some cover!"

"My pleasure!"

With that, the sniper lunged up over the top of the fighter, hurled what appeared to be a grenade across the landing pad, and sent another sniper's round whistling through the air, before disappearing with a pale blue crackle. Spurred on by the rush of adrenaline, Andersen swung out of cover himself, spotted the third trooper – the other two had now both been felled by Tyco – and finally released the bolt his pistol had been charging. It shot through the air, struck the trooper in the chest, and sent him crashing to the floor with a dull gurgle. Unbidden, Kamur and Saffiya burst out behind him, and the three of them began to sprint off across the landing pad – Andersen darted left, and heard the asari's light footfalls in his wake. At the same time, Kamur scrabbled up the ramp to the right, and disappeared inside the base.

As he rounded the corner on the "low road", Andersen narrowly avoided taking a shot to the head – a group of Cerberus troopers were dug in, and he had to dive towards the nearest shred of cover to survive. In the meantime, Saffiya had crouched behind the nearest corner, emerging only for a second to send a burst of biotics at the troopers – even behind their cover, a blossoming blue singularity hurled two of them upwards, into easy reach, and Andersen dispatched them with a couple of pistol shots. Even as he dropped back into cover, ducking bullets once more, he could hear rattling in the building behind him, and a turian's battle cry ringing through the steel walls.


	3. Operation Chariot Part 2

**A/N: I'm actually staggered by the number of submissions for characters already. I'm going to have to change some of the storyline to include them all, maybe as support teams at first... So thanks for that, and thanks for the reviews, they're a nice bit of recognition on both my fics. Keep it up, guys! **

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><p><em><strong>Firebase White, Noveria<strong>_

_**0900**_

"Andersen, talk to me!" the turian roared. Through the radio, the engineer could hear him down a couple of husks with quick bursts of fire.

"We're pinned down!" he called back. "They're dug in tight, reinforcements keep coming round the corner!"

"Alright, alright," Kamur muttered. "I'm moving down the stairs now, that might take some of the pressure off you."

Sure enough, his words were accompanied by a shift of movement across the battlefield. Three or four troopers bolted towards the building, and the high entrance way. One of them didn't make it, carried off his feet by Saffiya's biotics, but the rest disappeared inside, and that made things considerably easier.

Tired of being peppered with bullets, the engineer popped up, and took some revenge, in the form of a fireball which set two troopers alight and screaming. Saffiya followed it up, hurling two of them over the railings that kept them from the canyon below with a biotic display.

"Make a run for it!" she yelled, and set off at a trot towards the building, where the target's beacon was still nagging in the corner of Andersen's helmet display. Throwing caution to the wind, he followed, hurling himself over the low barricade he'd been hiding behind, firing off a couple of shots – he was pleased to see a trooper crumble dead under one of them – and finally diving through the entrance. Another trooper, a big Centurion, was guarding the archives, but even as Andersen stumbled and tried to lunge for cover, Saffiya was dealing with it – she froze the big guy dead in his tracks, then hurled him over the desk and into the wall with a loud thump and a blue flash.

One gunshot to the head from the asari finished him off, and she proceeded, business-like as ever, to the terminal on the far side of the room, tapping at it briefly before cursing aloud.

"You know anything about hacking, human?" she asked, rather casually for someone who was being shot at.

"I'm offended you have to ask!" he quipped, pacing over and taking the keypad. "Just keep them off my back, okay?"

"I think we can handle that!" roared a familiar voice. Wheeling around, he saw Kamur emerge from the corridor to the left, holding a trooper by the throat and using his free hand to spray bullets amongst the mob outside. Finally, he hurled his captive to the floor, shot him twice through the chest, and sprinted over to his two squadmates.

"Show-off," Andersen muttered, grinning nonetheless.

"You won't be complaining if it saves your ass!" the turian laughed, already dropping into cover behind the desk. "We'll hold here, you just get to work on that terminal. You got any, err, turrets, or anything?"

"Sure," he nodded, and with a wave of his hand a shimmering drone appeared, hovering at the end of the desk for a moment before rushing silently to the door – a Cerberus trooper, attempting to storm the entrance, was met instead by 50,000 volts, and dropped to the floor in a second.

"Right. Now get hacking," Kamur grunted, propping his rifle against the desk and shooting off some little disc towards the doorway. "Proximity mine's down... Ready, asari?"

She didn't deign to reply – instead, she waved her hand, and another shimmering, blossoming singularity filled the space outside the entrance, almost instantly sucking up two troopers and spitting them into the air, where she quickly dispatched them.

"Now who's showing off?" the turian growled, very quietly. "Tyco, we're securing the objective, tell me our LZ's still secure."

"It's secure," Tyco sighed, lazily. "These guys are child's play, I don't think they even know where I _am _yet."

"Nice work, but don't get complacent. Kamur out."

With that, the team lapsed into silence – vocal silence, at least – as Andersen pressed his omni-tool to the terminal and began to tap away at the little streams and catches of security presented to him. Behind his back, he could hear the tell-tale whip cracks of the Phaeston, hammering away, occasionally intermingled with explosions, screams, and the dull _whoosh _of biotic missiles. Outside, the troopers were still pushing, but with his back exposed, he had to trust that the turian and the asari could hold them off.

That logic worked, right up until the moment his shields failed, a bullet punched through his abdomen, and he crumpled against the wall.


	4. Operation Chariot Part 3

**A/N: I'm really impressed with the number and quality of submissions so far - it's going to be a heck of a job including them all and doing them some justice, but I'll do my best...**

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><p><em><strong>Firebase White, Noveria<strong>_

_**0910**_

"Andersen! You alright?"

Through a blood haze, the engineer could barely hear Kamur's roars, or the deafening blast of Saffiya's reprisal. He was sliding ever so slowly down the wall, trying to hack the terminal all the while, and very aware of the exit wound bleeding from his gut.

"Hold still," the asari murmured, quietly, grabbing his hip with one hand and pressing the other to his back. There was a burning sensation, then an incredibly _cold _sensation which set him shivering, and then, to his mild surprise, the wound began to stop bleeding, as medi-gel coursed through his system. "Back on your feet, soldier," she continued, matter-of-factly.

A moment later, he did just that, scrabbling back up the wall and clamping his omni tool to the terminal once more. The same holographic display lit up, and he set to work on the last of the software locks, even as more bullets crashed around him.

"How's it going, Andersen?" Kamur roared, as he stopped to reload.

"Security's almost down, give me another minute!"

"I meant the wound, but that's good news too!"

Then, the turian's voice was drowned out once more by his own rifle, as he showered the Cerberus troopers with round after round – Andersen couldn't see, but he could _hear _the screams and gurgles as they dropped dead. A few more moments of redirecting data streams and bypassing locks, and the terminal screen flared brightly, before streams of data began to filter down the screen.

"Terminal's hacked!" he yelled. "Starting the download!"

"Good, now get into cover," Kamur grunted. With a timer ticking away to download on his omni tool, Andersen dropped down behind the desk with his two companions, drawing his pistol once more.

"How long?" the asari muttered, as he joined them.

"About two minutes..."

"Got it," she nodded. Lapsing into silence once more, she stood up, sent a barrage of biotics towards the entrance, then dropped again – unlike Andersen, she carried out the good practice of _not _getting shot.

Following her example, the engineer squeezed the trigger of his pistol, heard the tell-tale snap of a shot charging up, and sprang out from behind the desk. To his surprise, another big Centurion was wading across the room – on instinct, he fired, the lightning bolt hit the brute's shields, and he staggered back, electricity coursing over the outside of his armour. A moment later, Andersen followed with a fireball from his omni tool, and watched the man crumble to dust on the floor with some satisfaction.

Only as bullets crashed down around his head did he remember that it probably wasn't the _best _idea to sit and watch, but rather to duck and hide. A quick check of his omni tool – one minute to go – and he popped up again, stunning but not killing a trooper with a couple of shots, before Saffiya hurled him across the room to finish him off.

A minute later, and the adrenaline pounding in his ears almost made him miss the subtle beep from his wrist. Sure enough, though, the data streams on the terminal behind were vanishing, deleting themselves one by one, and the files they were after were now illuminated by name on his interface. He popped out of cover, but as it transpired, the three of them had stayed for just a _little _too long – a Cerberus trooper had taken the chance to cross the room and reach the desk, and as Andersen stuck his head out, the trooper to hammer it with what appeared to be a shock baton.

Andersen narrowly ducked aside, the baton smashed against the desk, and a few seconds later Kamur had burst upwards, grabbing the off-balance trooper by the scruff of his neck and pulling him sharply down, cracking his head across the desk. The keen _swish _of an omni blade followed, and the turian decapitated the prone trooper in a single, clean strike.

"Are we done here?" the turian roared, pushing the headless corpse back over the desk.

"I've got the files," Andersen nodded, still slightly stunned at the sight of a severed head by his feet.

"Then let's move! High road, now!"

"Aye aye!"

In a quick, fluid motion, the three of them hurled themselves over the desk, rolled to a stop on the floor beyond, and got quickly to their feet. Kamur was off first, spraying a suppressing burst of rifle fire at the troopers, before he darted off up the corridor. Following behind, slightly more slowly, Andersen was still carefully picking shots at any scrap of armour he could see, as Saffiya shrugged off bullets with a biotic field. Finally, though, they reached the corridor themselves, and set off at a sprint after Kamur.

"Tyco!" they heard him roar, further up the corridor. "We're on our way out, signal the shuttle!"

The reply was lost to the two of them, as Kamur rounded the corner. The corridor was quite abandoned, occupied only by the corpses the turian had left on his first trip through it – here and there, Andersen found himself jumping over a fallen trooper, or sidestepping to stop himself from tripping over one. The walls were marred by bullets and explosion scars, and all in all the turian had left the place _devastated _on his way to the target.

Rounding the corner and rushing up the ramp, they emerged into sunlight once more, and the "high road", as Kamur had put it. The turian was already several feet ahead of them, hiding behind a huge crate as he waited for them – bullets were bouncing off the railings to the right, and ahead was the landing pad. As Andersen watched, a loud _bang _filled the air, and Tyco's camouflage dissipated – he was crouching behind the fighter, hiding with camo and picking off targets with his rifle.

"Come on!" the bounty hunter roared. "I ain't got all day, and I'm almost out of bullets!"

"Cover us!" Kamur yelled back, across the landing pad.

"I AM!"

Tyco's protests were drowned out by a loud bellow from overhead – looking skywards, Andersen saw the familiar frame of a Kodiak pass overhead, navy blue and sporting Alliance emblems. It swept over their heads, swung around over the landing pad, and came to hover just a foot or two above the edge, as the door swung upwards to invite them in.

With a silent nod to his two companions, Kamur turned, and began to sprint across the deck. Andersen hurriedly followed, and he could hear Saffiya running beside him even as tunnel vision showed him the shuttle. To their right, two approaching troopers were dropped in quick succession by Tyco, who, with his last two rounds expended, resorted to his backup – grenades. He hurled one over the fighter's roof, and the little _pop _a few moments later signalled the deaths of three troopers.

By now, they were almost at the shuttle – ducking around the fighter's nose, he saw Kamur leap agilely through the waiting door. Almost instantly, the turian span around, knelt to the floor, and began to fire over their heads. With Kamur now doing all the covering, Tyco gave up, backed away from the fighter, and jumped into the shuttle after him, ducking off to one side to avoid the bullets whistling up at them from Cerberus.

A moment later, Andersen was at the edge of the landing pad – he hurled himself bodily towards the gap, and crashed onto the shuttle floor, sending a shiver of pain through his wounded abdomen. To his right, Saffiya clambered gracefully inside, threw up a last-ditch burst of biotics to shield him, and then fell to the floor, panting slightly, as the doors closed and the shuttle lurched away.

Silence filled the shuttle's hold – they didn't even bother to check if anyone was wounded, the pounding of adrenaline and relief was too overcoming. Finally, Kamur found the energy to speak, as he collapsed into a seat by the door.

"Job done," he murmured, breathing heavily. "Thank god."


	5. Operation Chariot Debrief

_**SSV Cambrai, Horsehead Nebula**_

_**0940**_

The four squadmates returned to a warm welcome on the Cambrai. As they paced through the hangar, several Alliance marines gave them salutes or handshakes, and Tyco bounded off, engaging in a spot of rough-housing with an equally burly soldier before rejoining them on the far side of the hangar. The four of them ditched their weapons, Tyco and Andersen slung their helmets to the floor, and then they set off into the elevator, still clad in their armour.

It was a short walk from the elevator to the war room, where Chief Palmer was already waiting. Even in the wake of their victory, he seemed to be trying to find _some _reason to look displeased, and was wearing the most forced and unnerving smile the young engineer had ever seen.

"Well done," he muttered, with the air of a ventriloquist's dummy. That was about all the congratulation they got from the chief – wordlessly, he tapped at the keypad on the table, and Hackett's hologram appeared once more, grinning far more broadly than Palmer, and far more naturally.

"Congratulations, team," the admiral smiled. "From what I hear, the operation was a total success..."

"Yes sir," Kamur nodded. "Andersen here took a hit, but he's tougher than he looks" – Andersen was trying to work out if that was a compliment or an insult – "and he still managed to recover the objective."

"Uploading them now, sir," Andersen added, tapping away at his omni tool interface.

"Much appreciated, son. This operation was far more successful than we could have imagined – in and out in less than thirty minutes, with assets in the bag. There's a lot of promise in this sort of setup... we're expanding immediately. As you seem to have christened these operations 'N7'" – Andersen and Tyco shared a guilty glance at each other – "we're shipping two of our own N7 operatives to participate in training, along with a new batch of volunteers. The Cambrai will be redeploying to a new objective soon, an important one... For now, get some rest, soldiers, you deserve it. Hackett out."

The hologram faded, and the four soldiers turned to leave, without a backwards glance at Palmer. The Operations Chief, however, didn't seem to be finished.

"Turian," he muttered, gravely. "A word, please."

Kamur ducked back, and was just beginning conversation with Palmer as the other three operatives left. Tyco was biting his lip concernedly, and Andersen couldn't quite fathom why – neither could Saffiya, by the looks of it.

"What is it?" the asari asked, bluntly.

"That was a black letter face, even I know that," the mercenary sighed, and now Andersen's stomach dropped too.

"A what?" Saffiya muttered, apparently still confused.

"It's a human thing," Tyco explained, "I thought it translated. Slang for a notification of... death."

"Oh."

"I think he said he had family on Palaven," Andersen murmured, recalling their conversation before the mission.

"Everything's gone to hell on Palaven," the sniper said, shaking his head. "I wouldn't like to be in his shoes, poor sod..."

"Come on," Andersen muttered. "Mess hall, five minutes. I need a drink, and they're on me..."

"Shouldn't you be going to the med bay?" Saffiya scowled, glancing deliberately at his bloodied waist.

"It's more fun if you're drunk first," the engineer sighed, wearily trying to summon up some humour while worrying about Kamur. "The doc looks even better, for a start."

"Pig."


	6. Downtime 1

**__A/N: Right, a couple of things to mention here. Firstly, thanks so much for the reviews and submissions, I'm truly blown away by them, especially the detail some people have put in. Secondly, to those who've pointed out errors and little flaws (the "spirits" error springs to mind), thanks for pointing them out, little things always slip the net, so it's good to know people will point them out when I mess up.**

**As for the story itself, two points here too. Firstly, due to the sheer number of submissions, I've had to rearrange the storyline slightly. A very large operation, which I wasn't planning on writing until later, is now the next one up, because I wanted to be able to include at least some of your characters. Secondly, one or two of the characters won't be included YET - two examples off the top of my head are the drell character who escaped the fall of Thessia, and the Geth Infiltrator. Characters with specific "markers" in the ME3 storyline will be introduced later on, when those events have actually "happened" in this storyline. Not sure that made sense, but oh well... **

**The summary is: I *will* try and include everyone's characters, but it will take some time, and making way for new characters might mean killing off old ones, including some of mine - if you have a problem with your character being killed, please PM me or leave a review letting me know, and I'll find a way around it (ie. injury, reassignment, and so on).**

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><p><em><strong>SSV Cambrai, Horsehead Nebula<strong>_

_**1025**_

The Cambrai's mess hall was surprisingly accommodating – Andersen supposed a ship with this many marines on board would have to be used to post-mission "celebrations". Sure enough, the moment the three of them had walked over to the bar, despite it being the middle of the morning, the mess sergeant had had three drinks waiting on the bar.

It had been half an hour since their arrival, and the drinks had yet to stop flowing. Andersen himself had down two or three, as had Saffiya, albeit _very_ reluctantly, but Tyco was gulping one after the other, and somehow remaining utterly sober – or maybe he was just as drunk as Andersen, and it was all relative? That kind of thinking made his brain hurt, so he downed another glass, and began to look around the hall.

The Cambrai had been on a skeleton crew since Arcturus, where most of the flight crew was killed or wounded. That somewhat hampered the frigate's performance in ship-to-ship combat, so she had instead begun to serve as a stealthy means of transporting marines – and now the N7 teams. The pattern was visible in the mess hall as the young engineer peered around – there were almost no uniformed officers or crewmen, but there were plenty of armoured figures, many of them still toting weapons. They were an odd bunch, too; the reinforcements Hackett had drafted in meant the original, mostly-human batch of volunteers was now joined, not just by a _lot _of other Alliance volunteers, but by a couple of asari, a drell, a quarian, and one scarred krogan, who was leaning in the corner of the mess hall, examining a huge Claymore shotgun and supping away at a bottle of beer.

The figure that drew Andersen's attention most, however, as he looked around, was the silver turian pacing slowly towards them from the elevator. Kamur had a truly defeated look on his face, and when he finally reached the three of them, he collapsed onto a barstool next to Tyco and let his head fall onto the bar. The mess sergeant pushed a golden-yellow glass – dextro alcohol, he supposed, rather than the blue stuff they had been drinking – towards him, and the turian took it resignedly, tipping it back in one mouthful and pushing it across the bar for another.

"How bad is it?" Tyco murmured, finally. Andersen had been too nervous to ask the question, but the big bounty hunter had had considerably more alcohol, and had considerably fewer inhibitions.

"My family tried to escape Palaven on a freighter," Kamur croaked. "Reapers blew it out of the sky half way to the relay. My mother, my sisters... gone."

"What about your father?" Andersen interjected, before he could stop himself.

"Killed in the fighting for Taetrus, weeks ago... That's everyone now. They're all gone. My whole family..."

"I'm sorry, turian..." Saffiya whispered, from the end of the bar.

"It's fine," he grunted, although he didn't really sound like he believed it. "Sergeant! I need another drink. Spirits as my witness, I want to be numb by the end of the hour..."

The mess sergeant nodded sympathetically, and rather than pour another glass simply gave Kamur the bottle – the turian took a deep draught, coughed as if his throat was on fire, and then kept drinking. There was a harrowed look in his eyes, as if he didn't really wake up in the morning. Then again, he might have gotten it all wrong – it was hard to read turian expressions, their faces were too rigid...

"I'll leave you to it," Andersen muttered, sliding rather messily from the barstool. "I'd better get to the med bay before I'm too drunk to walk..."

"I'll give you a hand," Saffiya sighed, wearily – he got the impression she wasn't too good with emotional stuff, and wanted an excuse to avoid the drunk, grieving turian.

The med bay, as in all Normandy-class frigates, was just adjacent to the mess hall – rather convenient, really... Andersen wasn't _quite _as drunk as he thought, and the short walk to the doctor's office went well – not once did he fall flat on his face, and he managed to walk in a straight line _almost _the whole way there. When they got to the door, Saffiya muttered some excuse about returning to her bunk, and left him to shuffle into the med bay.

"Ah, Andersen," the doctor muttered, as he entered. She was a slight young woman with a rather piercing glare. "For someone who just got shot, you looked remarkably well at the bar."

Only now did he realise the window above the doctor's desk looked straight out at the bar.

"Pain relief?" he muttered, quickly. She shook her head, and nodded wordlessly to one of the beds. Silently, he paced over to the nearest one, and hopped up to sit on the edge of it, looking down at the doctor as she approached.

"According to the mission file, it was a single shot, through the abdomen," she began, reading off a datapad.

"Right," he nodded.

"I'll assume someone gave you treatment at the time, or you'd be bleeding..."

"Saffiya gave me some medigel to seal the wound..."

"Right. Now, I'm going to have to clean it up to take a look at it. This... will hurt. Just a bit."

She was lying.


	7. Downtime 2

**Right, we're going to start to see the OCs coming in here, the next two chapters are already written, just proof-reading and waiting to publish, and they use the OCs quite heavily, so that should be good :)**

* * *

><p><em><strong>SSV Cambrai, Horsehead Nebula<strong>_

_**1245**_

"This is Colonel Hunter, we're coming in for landing."

The shuttle lurched slightly as it swung to a halt in the Cambrai's hangar bay, and the two men in the back both clutched at the shuttle's sides to stay upright. As the shuttle finally levelled out, the colonel took another look at his companion – Captain Murphy's armour, like his own, sported the distinctive N7 badge on the chest plate, and he was examining a Mantis sniper rifle with interest.

"We're here," Logan muttered. Zach slipped the Mantis back onto his back, and joined him at the door. "Ready?"

"Well, it can't be as bad as the _real _N7," the captain chuckled. "Their training's a crash course, ours was a bitch."

"True enough," the colonel nodded. With that, the two of them lapsed into silence, and the shuttle door swung upwards to reveal the Cambrai's hangar. A square-jawed officer was waiting for them as they stepped off the shuttle, flanked by two Alliance marines in full uniform.

"Colonel Hunter, Captain Murphy," the man grunted, throwing a rough salute. "Ops Chief Palmer. I'm in charge of the N7 teams."

"Funny..." Zachary murmured. "I was under the impression Hackett was in command..."

Logan cracked a little smirk at that, and tried hard to suppress it as the chief glowered at them. Smirking or otherwise, he turned his back to them and set off across the hangar. As he did, the colonel caught the eye of one of the marine bodyguards through his visor – the marine simply rolled his eyes, as if to say, _"Yeah... I know."_

"Operation Chariot was carried out this morning," Palmer continued, shouting over his shoulder. "Four of our more able operatives infiltrated a Cerberus base to recover deployment data. The Admiral wants to follow up with strikes to several of the Cerberus deployments uncovered –"

"Damn right," Logan growled, under his breath.

"– but I still have doubts over the volunteers' combat abilities."

"I thought you said the first operation was a success?" Captain Murphy interjected, sounding confused.

"That only tested four of the recruits," the chief sighed, as if speaking to a three-year-old. "We don't know whether the others are up to scratch. You're here to find that out."

"I've read the dossiers, Palmer," Logan scowled. "These aren't FNGs, they're highly trained individuals – commandos, marines, mercenaries..."

"Nonetheless," Palmer continued, ignoring him almost entirely. "Admiral Hackett pulled you from your previous deployments because he wants these teams to live up to the name N7... From tomorrow, you'll be running combat drills with the volunteers to make sure they're up to scratch."

"Got it," the colonel muttered – Palmer was already starting to annoy him. "Where are our quarters?"

"The Admiral insisted you be given officers' quarters."

"I'll pass," Murphy interrupted. "Just point me to the bunks, I'll stay with the other volunteers."

"Very well... The crew quarters have been insufficient for the number of soldiers on board, I believe the other N7 recruits have been setting up a makeshift dormitory here in the hangar."

Sure enough, as Logan looked to one side, he saw a makeshift collection of bunks, mattresses, hammocks and other articles scattered amidst a collection of cargo crates on the far side of the hangar. It looked surprisingly comfortable, not that that mattered to the average marine...

"As for you, Colonel Hunter, you'll be in the XO's office, it's on the crew deck, behind the mess hall. You should find everything you need to co-ordinate the team's efforts in there."

"Much appreciated, Chief," the colonel muttered, through thinly-veiled sarcasm. "We'll introduce ourselves to the men tonight. What sort of time frame are we looking at for training?"

"You'll have tomorrow and the next day," Palmer replied, shortly. "The next operation is planned for three days' time, and it's going to be a big one..."


	8. Operation Huntsman Briefing

_**SSV Cambrai, Arcturus Stream**_

_**Day 1, 1030**_

In three days' time, the N7 teams were, as promised, preparing for another operation. After just two days of drills from Colonel Hunter and Captain Murphy, they were being rushed off into the Arcturus Stream, and prepared for live combat. After his experience on Noveria, Andersen wasn't quite sure they were ready for it...

Either way, he wouldn't be taking part in the operation himself. The doctor's examination had thrown up a rather unpleasant revelation – the gunshot he had taken had torn through his abdominal muscle and chipped one of his ribs. The surgery to repair it had been brief and fairly painless, but the doctor had nonetheless forbidden him from going on combat detail until it was fully healed.

As he sat in the makeshift bunk area, watching the other N7 operatives gather for the briefing, Andersen wasn't alone – Kamur was stood next to him, still grumbling and polishing his rifle. The turian wasn't injured, or unfit – quite the opposite in fact, he was more deadly than ever in training. Unfortunately, his psyche wasn't _quite _so healthy. The evening before, after he nearly broke a drell recruit's neck in a sparring match, Kamur had been taken aside by a concerned Captain Murphy and ordered to take it easy. The argument had been quite amusing, really – Kamur was dead set on fighting, Murphy had insisted he should grieve. The only incidence Andersen had ever come across of a commander urging his subordinate _not _to go and fight. In the end, the turian had only relented when Murphy pointed out that his aggression would endanger his team, and thus he was now sat sulking on the sidelines with Andersen.

The other operatives were in the middle of the hangar, gathered around Chief Palmer – what with the new reinforcements, the war room was just too small, and the N7 teams had adopted the hangar bay as their home ever since assembling their bunks there.

"Listen up, everybody!" Palmer barked, and Andersen moved a little closer to listen. "This is a big one. As we speak, the Cambrai is proceeding to Benning. As you might know, Benning was largely untouched in the invasion – Reaper forces knocked out the planet's communication arrays and left to focus on Arcturus."

"So why the hell do they need us?" called one of the human soldiers, amongst the crowd.

"They need us, Colburn," the chief scowled, "because five days ago, the SSV Normandy exposed a Cerberus occupation of the planet. But one crew can't stop an invasion – that's your job. Colonel Hunter, you can explain the rest."

"Right," Hunter grunted, stepping forward as Palmer departed, and glaring at his back. "Commander Shepard secured a landing zone for our evac efforts in one of Benning's major cities. Now the civilians are out, we're going in, and we're going to kick those Cerberus bastards to hell and back."

"Oorah!" one or two of the marines yelled, before the colonel quietened them down again with a wave of his hands.

"This isn't going to be easy," he growled. "Cerberus are well armed, and well trained... but we're better. We'll be dispatching five teams to the city – we've only got two shuttles, so they'll have to make return trips. Alpha and Bravo will consist of three-man biotic teams to clear a path. Infiltrators from Charlie will then move in to secure their gains and hold the landing zone. Once the LZ is secure, shuttles will return with teams Delta and Echo. Delta will attach to Alpha, and Echo to Bravo, and both teams will proceed to engage the enemy beyond the LZ."

"Sorry, Colonel," another marine, piped up, clearly confused. "This sounds pretty random... what's our objective?"

"Objective unknown," Hunter sighed. "There's a full communications blackout from orbit. Once you're on the ground, proceed to targets of opportunity. That means harassing Cerberus transport and supply lines, searching for any surviving civilians, and most importantly, doing as much damage as possible to enemy troops. Palmer says this is a short-term deployment to take pressure off the resistance. Get in, cause havoc, get out."

"Yes sir," the marine nodded, still sounding rather nervous.

"Squad leaders are as follows; Alpha, Saffiya; Bravo, Mac'Tir; Charlie, Tyco; Delta, Murphy; Echo, Yui. Collect your rosters from me, and assemble your teams. Alpha and Charlie ride out in shuttle one, Bravo takes number two. Delta, Echo, you'll be going in on the second wave."

"That plan only includes eighteen operatives, Colonel," a salarian engineer called. "What about the rest of us?"

"If you're not accounted for on the mission, arm yourself and report to the CIC. You're on standby in case we need guns on our evac shuttles."

There was a bustle of activity as everyone went to arm and meet their teams – Andersen spotted both Saffiya and Tyco collecting rosters, along with Captain Murphy, a scary-looking drell assassin, and the hulking krogan from the mess hall.

"We move at 1100 hours," Colonel Hunter shouted. "Good luck!"


	9. Operation Huntsman Part 1

_**Firebase Ghost, Benning**_

_**Day 1, 1100**_

"This is Alpha, checking in. Two minutes to target."

"This is Charlie, checking in... err... one and a bit minutes to target."

As the shuttle began to rattle, and lurched ever-so-slightly, Saffiya took one last look around at the crew packed within. Her own team consisted of two other biotics sat either side of her – a fellow asari, Rafea, and an eager-looking turian, Manado. Much to Saffiya's disquiet, the latter of her two squadmates had yet to see combat, a prospect which hardly inspired her with confidence...

Charlie team looked formidable, at the other end of the shuttle. Tyco was already familiar to her, bulky and black-armoured, and looking rather nervous about having his own command. To his left was another human, Vimes, a former C-Sec sniper, and opposite them were a third human, a female who she didn't recognise, and a quarian, who was dually examining Mantis and Mattock rifles, one in each hand.

A loud jolt brought her attention back to the mission, and slowly, subtly, she began to feel the shuttle decelerate and drop.

"Goddess be with you all," she murmured, rather quietly – not quietly _enough_, however, as Tyco still heard it, and looked at her as if surprised at the concern.

"We'll be waiting for you to clear the LZ," he muttered, as the shuttle lurched again. "Good luck."

With that, the shuttle swung again, the door raised skyward, and Saffiya found herself rushing towards the door, silently beckoning for her team to follow. She leapt from the edge, drifted down on a current of biotics, and took a quick look back – Rafea and Manado were both behind her, ready to go.

They had dropped onto an expansive landing pad on the edge of a rooftop. As they advanced, Saffiya could see, to the right, team Bravo deploying in the apartments above – through an open doorway, she saw the drell Mac'Tir grab a Cerberus trooper unawares, and garrotte him with a steel blade. The vanguards of Bravo were moving room by room, it seemed, preparing to strike from above.

"Up there!" Manado hissed – the turian's cry brought Saffiya's attention back to the matter at hand, and she was rather grateful. Sure enough, two Cerberus troopers were stood ahead of them, inside one of the modular colony buildings. The two men were staring out of a window, and Saffiya was amazed neither of them had spotted the approaching biotics – a single glance to the right would have revealed them, and _surely _they had heard the shuttle land?

Nonetheless, the two men seemed blissfully unaware as Alpha approached. Saffiya was already preparing biotics, her fingers rippling with energy, before she realised she had two biotics at her heel, ready to help. It was novel, after working alone so frequently.

"Stasis fields," she whispered, trying not to alert their targets. "Rafea, hit left. Manado, right. On three... one, two... three!"

For possibly the first time in her life, Saffiya put her trust in her subordinates' biotics, and lunged at the two men. To her relief, both of them froze long before she reached them, and the stasis fields held long enough for her to obliterate one trooper with her own biotics, before dragging the other to the floor. A quick blow to his throat from the heel of her boot, and the man slumped dead.

"Good work," she nodded, feeling rather strange as she said it. "Move up, stay quiet..."

They did just that, creeping through the room the two troopers had been occupying – it was empty, aside from the two corpses, and as they paced through, the only defenders Saffiya could see were a Centurion and several troopers in the next pre-fab block. Perhaps, if they were quiet enough...

Any hope of stealth, however, soon went out of the window. On the other side of the base, a dreadful din rose up – Bravo, it seemed, had launched their attack. The loud cracks of biotics and gunfire mingled, and the Cerberus squad Saffiya had been watching all turned to follow the din.

"Open fire!" she spluttered, hoping to exploit what little surprise they had left on their side. She launched a spitting biotic fireball through the window and into the next block, reducing the nearest trooper to dust. Moments later, Rafea and Manado sent their own warp-shots towards the enemy, pulverising building and occupants alike.

The returning volley of fire, however, had them all ducking for cover. At least two of the Cerberus troopers had survived, and the whip-crack of shots on the far wall made Saffiya's instincts hurl her towards the window ledge, ducking beneath it until the firing stopped. She popped up, blasted another shot at the offending parties, and was rewarded by the scream of a disintegrating trooper. Before anyone could deal with the Centurion, however, they were suddenly and inexplicably blinded in a thick grey haze.

"Smoke!" Rafea yelled, answering the unspoken question in Saffiya's mind – _what the hell was that?_

Before she quite knew what was happening, a hefty kick caught her side, and her stomach dropped – the Centurion had waded through the smoke to flank them, and the most she could see of him was a dull form amidst the haze. The justicar lashed out with a flare of biotics, and the hefty trooper staggered back.

He kept staggering right into Manado's path – even through the smoke, which was now beginning to thin, the turian managed to lunge out, take a swing with her omni-blade, and cut a clean stroke through the trooper's back. Another stab, to the middle of his spine, and the Centurion dropped to his knees, then to the floor, quite dead.

"Thanks," Saffiya coughed, picking herself up. Despite her training, surprise still found a way to mess her up – the kick to the ribs had winded her, and she was still half-blind in the fading smoke.

"My pleasure, ma'am," the young turian replied, rather more brightly than the justicar expected.

"Now move!" she continued, sprinting out of the room quite gladly – the smoke was playing hell with her eyes.

As they burst out into bright, precious sunlight, another group of troopers was just arriving, rushing through the adjacent chamber – the colony pre-fabs, which all looked identical, were toying with her sense of direction – and taking aim. Before any of them could fire a shot, the justicar scattered them with a furious shockwave, hurling men left and right until all four of them hit the floor. Two of the men were instantly bombarded by biotics by her two squadmates, the other two were finished off by pistol shots.

With a chance to catch their breath, the three biotics paused, still casting around with their weapons – pistols for the two asari, and a lethal sniper rifle for the turian.

"Bravo, come in," Saffiya muttered, into the radio. "How's it going over there?"

"Just fine," Mac'Tir grunted, and the justicar could have sworn she heard the sound of tearing flesh in the background. "Troopers keep on coming, how's it on your end?"

"No contacts left," she replied. "You need a hand?"

"No, but if you want to get some kills in, I won't stop you..."

With a slightly resigned sigh, Saffiya beckoned to her two companions, and set off at a run through the pre-fabs. Ahead, and slightly above, they could hear the clash between Mac'Tir's vanguards and the Cerberus troopers – the troopers were dug in to a series of office buildings just a ladder's climb above them, so close that a discarded thermal clip rolled over the edge and dropped past Saffiya's head.

She pressed a finger to her lips, praying the gesture translated to turians like it did to humans, and leapt onto the ladder, scaling it in a couple of seconds and crouching low as she reached the top. A desk lay between her and at least half a dozen Cerberus gunmen, who were all so focused on Bravo they didn't spot the justicar approaching their rear.

Once Manado and Rafea had joined her, Saffiya let her own biotics flow to her fingertips, took a deep breath, and leapt over the desk – her first shot went off like a cannonball, slamming into a trooper's back and causing him to slump dead against the wall even as his body dissolved in a blue haze. A second later, Rafea had torn another trooper apart, and Manado had whipped a third off his feet, subsequently blasting him out of the air with her sniper rifle.

The Cerberus troopers seemed divided, unsure which set of opponents to aim for, and the biotics exploited this instinctively – the first two men to turn and shoot at them were hurled through the window by another of Saffiya's shockwaves. As more turned to attack, the trio unleashed everything they had. The barrage was quick and messy – within a few seconds, every trooper in the room had been pulverised by biotics, and the three of them were standing, panting, in victorious silence.

"Reinforcements, on the roof!" Mac'Tir cried, through the radio – because of course, nothing could ever go _quite _to plan, could it? Sure enough, the blare of jetpacks and the clatter of footsteps rang through the ceiling. The vanguards were shooting up at them, but nonetheless a few troopers made it past their fire and dropped through the windows – Saffiya sent one of them hurtling back through it with a wave of her hand, and watched as Manado slashed another across the chest with _both _omni blades, killing him instantly.

Behind the troopers, however, came a dreadful sight – a lithe, hissing form swung through the window in their wake, and Saffiya could barely register just what the hell it _was_.

"Phantom!" one of the vanguards yelled, but that didn't really answer her question. What _did _answer it was the figure's sudden cartwheel across the floor, as it launched a kick at Manado's head.

The young turian fell back with a cry as the Phantom's leg cracked against her brow – a moment later, the hateful figure had drawn, as if from nowhere, a short-barrelled pistol. Acting on impulse, Saffiya lunged out, and watched in satisfaction as the pistol ricocheted away off the wall. The satisfaction was short-lived, however, as the Phantom drew a shimmering blade from its hip – _her_ hip, maybe? The thing looked _slightly _female...

Only indecision saved them, the justicar would later conclude, in hindsight. As the Phantom tried to decide whether to stab at her or Manado, a dull rush filled the air, and seconds later the room exploded with biotic thunder. Mac'Tir had lunged through the door with a formidable biotic charge, knocking the two other biotics back and tackling the Phantom. The two broke apart, and to Saffiya's amazement the drell was facing his opponent, blade drawn.

They came together in a mess of hissing and clashing steel – the Phantom's first two blows were parried narrowly away from the drell's throat, before he sidestepped, dealt her a crack across the temple with the hilt of his blade, and then drove it deep between her shoulder blades. With an inhuman shriek, the thing fell to the floor, dead, as Mac'Tir pulled his blade out and wiped it casually on the trail of his coat.

"Amonkira guides my blade, it seems," the drell murmured, in a tone of contemplation.

Saffiya nodded, still slightly dazed. Her brain, already beginning to tire from such vigorous use of biotics, was still trying to work out just _what _the Phantom was. Eventually, she came to the conclusion that she was better off not knowing.

"That's all of them," one of the other vanguards sighed, as he walked into the room. "For now."

"Charlie," Saffiya called, into the radio. "We've pushed them back, you might want to set up positions before reinforcements arrive."

"Got it," Tyco muttered. "We're on our way."


	10. Operation Huntsman Part 2

_**Firebase Ghost, Benning**_

_**Day 1, 1120**_

"Charlie, we've pushed them back, you might want to set up positions before reinforcements arrive."

"Got it, we're on our way."

Wordlessly, as the shuttle doors opened once more, the four infiltrators shuffled out one by one, leaping down to the landing pad and readying their rifles – the biotics had already signalled the all clear, but it never hurt to check for yourself.

Tyco lingered on the step of the shuttle, surveying the battleground from his elevated position. Lots of colony pre-fabs, some of them alone, some connected into office blocks or apartments, some raised, some lowered... Two open spaces – killing grounds, if they did their job right. Finally, he hopped off the shuttle, and plucked his rifle off his back as he examined his squad.

"Alright," he called, as the shuttle engines blared in their ears, and the lurching craft moved skyward. "Our job is to hold this base until Delta and Echo arrive. As far as I can see we've got confined shooting galleries – three rows of pre-fabs, with two open plazas between them. We dig in in the buildings, and shoot anyone who moves through open ground. Kan'Sura, Vimes, you see that row of pre-fabs to the right?"

He pointed to a row of office buildings that ran perpendicular to the landing pad. They looked out over one of the two plazas, with plenty of doorways and low windows that a sniper could exploit.

"I see 'em," Vimes nodded.

"You two dig in there. See if you can get eyes on our biotics while you're at it – don't let anyone sneak up on them!"

The quarian and the former C-Sec sniper sprinted off to the right, and Tyco turned to his remaining squadmate, a tough-looking girl called Vanyali.

"Do you think you can use those crates for cover?" he asked, nodding to the pile of cargo crates stacked at the top of the stairs to the pad.

"It's as much as I need," she murmured, waving a Black Widow in his face.

"Good. Dig in there and cover the stairs to the plaza. I'll cover the flank from that building."

With a nod to each other, the two of them set off up the stairs – Vanyali knelt behind the crates, propping her rifle on the top of the pile, while Tyco darted off to the left, entering the nearest pre-fab. He was rather surprised to find a couple of corpses lying in wait for him – one had a gunshot wound through his brow, the other had been torn apart with biotics. Saffiya's work, he supposed... He grabbed the two bodies, dragged them to the window, and tipped them over the side. He didn't need the stench of death while he was trying to aim a rifle...

"All teams, come in," crackled the radio, as Tyco crouched at the window. "All teams..."

"This is Charlie," he muttered.

"Alpha and Bravo checking in," murmured Saffiya's familiar, slightly emotionless voice.

"It's Colonel Hunter," explained the voice in the radio. "We've got a problem up here."

"What kind of problem?" Tyco asked, not quite sure he wanted to hear the answer.

"The Cambrai's been discovered."

"What?" snapped an incredulous voice – the drell, Mac'Tir.

"There's a Cerberus cruiser closing on us – we can't hold against that kind of firepower..."

"Wait, rewind, Colonel," Tyco murmured. "You were _discovered_? How?"

"They tracked your shuttle returning, Charlie. Apparently Chief Palmer didn't think they needed to employ stealth systems – he might think differently now they've shot it down..."

"Shot down?" the mercenary staggered. "Do they need evac?"

"No point," Kan'Sura chipped in, from the other side of the base. "They're probably dead – not worth it anyway, for one pilot."

Tyco wasn't quite sure he _liked _Kan'Sura.

"I hate to say it, but the quarian's right," Hunter continued. "Ordinarily, I'd at least tell you to try, but the shuttle was blown to pieces in the upper atmosphere. No way the pilot survived."

"So... what are you going to do about the cruiser?"

"We're pulling out – only temporarily. We're going to try and lose the cruiser with an FTL jump, then move back in with stealth systems active."

"You'll have to move in on the other side of the planet," Tyco murmured, shrewdly. "Normandy-class stealth systems only mask emissions. They can still look up and see you."

"Exactly," the colonel muttered. "But as soon as we can get back into position, we'll dispatch the remaining shuttle for reinforcement or evac. Just watch yourselves down there. Enemy infantry already know you're in the area, and we're tracking fighter deployments."

Hunter's warning came about ten minutes too late – even as he spoke, a sweeping rush was filling the air – with a roar, two pale white shapes rocketed over the base, and Tyco's stomach dropped.

"Everyone, get to cover!" he roared, and through the door back to the landing pad, he saw Vanyali sprinting towards his position. Just as she reached the door, the fighters wheeled around, and the din of cannon fire broke over the base like little thunder-claps. Two rounds punctured the top of the pre-fab, narrowly missing Tyco, and he quickly began to realise there was very little actual _cover _against a bombardment like that.

Even more worrying, however, was the _whoosh _of a missile being released, and the flood of fire filling his vision. The ground shook, the walls shook – hell, _everything _shook. With a grinding of metal, though, the floor began to do more than shake... was it shifting?

"Get out!" he roared to Vanyali, as realisation hit him like a hammer. Another loud grind of steel on concrete, and the pre-fab slid several feet to the left. Somewhere in the background, another missile struck, and the _patter _of debris falling back to the ground filled the air.

Tyco, however, was more concerned with getting out of the bloody building. Vanyali was already through the door and waiting for him – even as he reached the doorway, however, he could feel the floor shifting. He dived through the gap into open air, landing on his belly just as his fellow sniper hurled herself to the ground too – another bout of cannon fire rent the air, and little chips of dust and concrete filled his vision. He tried to clamber to his feet, but the shifting sensation was still there – the pre-fab wasn't the only thing sliding over the edge. The entire corner of the rooftop, gutted by the first missile, was breaking up and shifting sideways in a fluid mass of debris, carrying both snipers with it.

"Hang on tight!" he shouted, and that was the best advice he could give. In the crackle of the radio, he could hear the two biotic squads panicking too.

"Stay close to me!" Saffiya called, to her squad.

"Scatter!" Mac'Tir yelled to his, in something of a contradiction.

Then, every other sense was numbed by the dreadful apprehension of falling – with a great screech, the pre-fab tumbled over the side, and the concrete began to follow, great chunks slipping away into the street below. The drop was only a storey or two, but amidst the great mass of debris, hurtling towards it on his belly, it looked considerably larger to Tyco.

"We're going over!" Vanyali shouted, stating the _bloody _obvious.

Before he could reply, the rubble finally gave, and in a single, great flood, they were carried over the edge.


	11. Operation Huntsman Part 3

_**Firebase Ghost, Benning**_

_**Day 1, 1130**_

"Stay close!"

As she roared to her two squadmates, Saffiya sent another trooper crashing to the ground with a biotic cannonball. To her left, Rafea shot another in the head with her pistol, and to the right, she heard Manado lash out at an approaching gunman with her omni-blades. The three of them were gradually backing up along the office block, pushed back by the tide of Cerberus troopers now flooding in.

Bravo had scattered – the vanguards were fighting alone, darting in and out with biotic charges to harass the enemy. As if to prove that point, Mac'Tir shot through the doorway in a flood of biotics, knocked a trooper to the ground, and slit his throat, before leaping through the opposite window without a backwards glance.

"Mac'Tir!" she shouted, hoping the drell would at least listen to his radio. "We need to get off this rooftop! Charlie's gone, we can't stay!"

"I can see two snipers on the far side of the base!" the drell muttered – in the background of the radio, Saffiya could hear shots crashing down around his head.

"They've got cloaks!" the justicar replied, an urgent note springing into her voice. "They can hide, we can't! It could be hours before the Cambrai gets back, we'll be exhausted by then..."

"Fine," Mac'Tir sighed. "Bravo, if you can hear me, fall back. Colburn, get to the next building!"

"Aye aye!" Colburn yelled, and Saffiya caught a glimpse of the human through the window, firing more rounds at the enemy with every backward step.

"Shaw?" the drell continued. "Shaw!"

As the drell's voice got more and more desperate, Saffiya and her squadmates reached the latter they had climbed less than half an hour before. Wordlessly, she signalled for her two companions to climb down first, as she sent another trooper flying with a biotic wave.

"No reply," Mac'Tir muttered, in the background. "Shaw's down. I repeat, man down. Colburn, let's get the hell out of here."

Once both of her companions were down, Saffiya herself slid down the ladder, and immediately proceeded to the edge of the roof, looking over the side. The street was just two storeys below, but it still looked like a grave prospect. More promising was the apartment block opposite, which climbed for several storeys above the firebase.

"That window," she said, nodding to a large, shattered pane that ran from ceiling to floor, one storey down on the apartment building's side. "Think you can both reach it?"

"Sure," Rafea murmured, but Manado looked slightly more dubious. The turian was a fair bit taller than the two asari, and with her armour, probably weighed a lot more.

"I'll go first," the justicar began, thinking it through in her head. "Then you, Rafea. Manado, you go last, we'll help you in if need be."

The turian smiled gratefully at her, before she turned and sprang up onto the railing that guarded the edge of the roof. Gunshots were still echoing behind them, and one trooper, realising where they had gone, appeared at the top of the ladder. Manado brought him down with a sniper's round, and looked back at Saffiya, expectantly, waiting for her to jump.

Bracing herself, the justicar peered across the gap. She was trying to beat back the common sense in her brain, which told her that failure here would result in her crashing down in the street with broken bones, or worse. Nonetheless, the Cerberus legions behind them were hardly more inviting. Throwing caution to the wind, she leapt forward, pushing off from the railing and hurtling downwards far more quickly than she had expected. The window was rushing up _very _quickly, and only a cushioning rush of biotics stopped her legs from breaking as she landed in the hallway beyond and rolled to a stop on the floor, panting with adrenaline.

"It's clear!" she screamed, hoping her two squadmates would here. Sure enough, a moment later Rafea lunged over the side, gliding down on a similar ripple of blue and landing next to Saffiya. That just left the turian.

Apprehensively, Manado stepped towards the edge. Saffiya wasn't quite sure what she was doing, until the dull shape spinning down towards them clattered on the floor at their feet – it was a sniper rifle. Having shed the extra weight, the turian ducked under the railing, stepped up to the edge, and launched herself over with reckless abandon.

As Saffiya had predicted, she was a fair bit heavier than the asari, and dropped much more quickly. The only thing that stopped her plummeting into the street was Rafea, who dropped onto her stomach and shot out a hand – the effort of grabbing the turian pulled her forward by about a foot, and threatened to drag _her _out of the window too, until Saffiya knelt down and took the turian's other hand. After a few moments of desperate pulling and flailing, the two of them had helped Manado scrabble up the side of the building and clamber through the window. Once she was inside, the three of them simply dropped to the floor, panting heavily.

"Bravo, this is Alpha," Saffiya gasped, into the radio. "We're off the roof – we jumped into the apartment building across the street. Are you alright?"

"We're fine," Mac'Tir muttered, although the justicar guessed he was downplaying the situation. "Colburn and I just climbed onto the rooftops above the firebase – we've lost the troopers for now. Maybe we should ren-"

Static filled the air, and the drell's voice was drowned out as the radio went dark.

"Goddess..." Saffiya murmured. It seemed to be the only thing to say, as she slumped against the wall with blood and adrenaline rushing in her ears. The gunshots on the adjacent rooftop seemed faraway, as she finally got to catch her breath.

"What do we do now?" Rafea asked, nervously, from the opposite side of the hall. She looked as exhausted as Saffiya felt, and her head had flopped back against the wall.

"I can't get hold of the others," the justicar sighed, as the radio continued to burble static. "We'll just have to wait, and hope they don't find us..."


	12. Operation Huntsman Part 4

_**SSV Cambrai, Arcturus Stream**_

_**Day 1, 1150**_

"Andersen, give me something," Captain Murphy urged.

Upon Palmer's decision to pull the Cambrai away from Benning, Murphy had dragged the young engineer over to join the waiting marines of Delta and Echo, given him a laptop, and set him to work finding out just what the hell was going on on the planet. Their own communications with the ground teams had been severed, resulting in a blackout which annoyed Murphy immensely – uncertainty was worse than _knowing _their men were dead.

"I'm trying to get into Cerberus data channels," Andersen murmured. "But the encryption's heavy."

"Just give me _anything_," Murphy stressed. "Anything on our own channels, before the blackout?"

"Err... hang on... I've got some fragments of radio chatter on _Alliance _frequencies. Playing the last one..."

"_No reply. Shaw's down. I repeat, man down. Colburn, let's get the hell out of here."_

"That was Mac'Tir," the captain muttered. "Sounds like we've got two men left fighting, at least."

"Shaw's dead, though," Andersen replied, sadly. "And that fragment was transmitted at least ten minutes ago, we don't know if Mac'Tir's still alive..."

"Play some of the earlier fragments, see what else you can find."

"Got it... there's only other salvageable clip..."

"Play it."

"_Mac'Tir! We need to get off this rooftop! Charlie's gone, we can't stay!"_

"_I can see two snipers on the far side-"_

The transmission cut off there, and Murphy's face looked even graver than before.

"We lost the snipers, then," he muttered, bitterly.

"Not all of them," the engineer replied, hopefully. It did sound pretty desperate, though, and the sound of Saffiya's voice had gotten him thinking about the justicar, not to mention Tyco...

"Still too many," the captain growled. "This is Palmer's fault. Yui! Come with me, we're going to have a word with him..."

The big krogan nodded in agreement, and Murphy set off at a hasty walk towards the elevator. Palmer would _pay _for this. It was a brief elevator ride up to the CIC, but it still gave his anger a chance to build, until the doors finally parted, and he marched out, grateful for Yui's intimidating presence at his side.

"Captain Murphy," Palmer scowled, turning away from the galaxy map as his yeoman looked on with surprise. "What the hell do you think you're doing? You're supposed to be in the hangar waiting to go, soldier!"

"Go where?" Murphy hissed, going red in the face. "You're running away, we're not _going _anywhere, you bloody coward!"

"What did you say?" the chief whispered, stepping down from the platform and moving closer to Murphy. If it was an attempt to look intimidating, it failed – without the platform to elevate him, Palmer was at least an inch shorter than Murphy, not to mention the hulking Yui.

"I said you're a _bloody coward,_" the captain growled, taking a step forward and staring him down. "It's your fault they're dying there, and now you're running away!"

"My fault?" Palmer scoffed. "They drew attention to themselves, that's _their _blunder."

"Cerberus followed the damn shuttle!" Murphy yelled, feeling what little patience he had left rip away, piece by piece. "Which YOU told not to use stealth gear! 'Oh, you won't need it,' you said, and now look at them! They're dead, and that's on your bloody conscience, if you even have one!"

"Now, look here!" the other man blustered, clearly beginning to feel out of his depth.

"No, _you _look here," he growled, moving very close and grabbing Palmer by the scruff of his neck. "Take us back in, or I'll break every bone in your body."

"You wouldn't dare..." Palmer hissed.

"Maybe not, but Yui here damn well would," Murphy hissed back, nodding to the big krogan.

"What first?" Yui growled, to prove his point. "Arms, or legs?"

Palmer was glaring at the two of them with a mixture of abject fear and utter fury, as the elevator doors swung open, and a familiar figure stepped up to Murphy's side.

"Put him down, Zachary," Colonel Hunter muttered.

"Aye aye," Murphy scowled, letting go of Palmer's neck – the chief scrabbled back a few steps, but already the arrogance was beginning to overcome the fear.

"Smart choice," he smirked.

"Zachary, listen to me," Logan murmured, ignoring Palmer. "This doesn't help anything. I know you want to go back down there – we all do – but it _won't help_. For a start, that cruiser could easily destroy the Cambrai, and that screws the lot of us. Secondly, Cerberus is all over the landing zone, they'd kill you the moment you stepped off the shuttle. I know it hurts, but we need to be patient. We trained those soldiers to survive – that's what they'll do, and as soon as we can, we'll be down there pulling them out of the fire."

"Quite right, Colonel," Palmer said, evidently trying to cling onto Logan as a verbal shield. "Now get back to your posts, all of you."

That, it seemed, was too much arrogance even for Logan to withstand.

"I'm sorry?" the colonel whispered, with a steely tone.

"I... err, I mean..." the chief stammered. Even _he _realised he'd gone too far.

"Don't you _dare _order me around, Palmer," Logan growled, and Murphy couldn't help smiling at the look on Palmer's face – as if his underpants were currently being flooded.

"It's my ship!" Palmer spluttered - it seemed he couldn't quite control the words coming out of his mouth.

"And they're my soldiers," growled the colonel. "Don't make me regret stopping these two, you pathetic sod."

He turned to Murphy and Yui, saluted them, and marched off into the elevator. Rather reluctantly, Murphy followed, beckoning for the krogan to do the same. Colonel Hunter had a point, he had to admit, but it had still felt good to see Palmer squirm...


	13. Operation Huntsman Part 5

**Phygmalion: Glad to hear it's living up to your expectations, I must admit I was slightly nervous about putting people's OCs into my own story, but it seems to be going well :)**

**shadowjohn 101: I'm on a two week break from A-levels at the moment, so obviously I've got more time than usual, but each chapter is give or take a thousand words, so it only takes an hour, if that, to write one when I concentrate (I usually don't, though, so it takes a bit longer :P)**

**shadowmythic: Oh, there are much better fics out there, honestly, but thanks for the vote of confidence :)**

**shadowsilv3r: Glad to hear that aspect has improved, and on the latter, there _will _be deaths, it wouldn't be at all accurate (or anywhere near as dramatic) if everyone lived...**

**sirval: Kyras is one of the characters I mentioned before who I can't include until later on, when the event in Shepard's storyline has "happened" in this one, but he _will _appear eventually. No promises on Andersen, though, no-one's safe while I'm writing :P**

**Obsessedsniper: Glad to hear it's dramatic enough, and _very _glad to hear you approve of your OC - it's something I was rather worried about when I started writing this...**

* * *

><p><em><strong>Street Level, Benning<strong>_

_**Day 1, 1240**_

"Bloody hell," Tyco muttered, more to himself than anyone else, as he awoke. Hearing his own voice was a nice confirmation that he was alive. It certainly didn't _feel _like he was. His vision was dark, an ugly crack ran across his visor, and his whole body was aching.

Wearily, he began to shift his arms, seeing if he could move them – there was a slight bit of give around his right arm, and he worked it, struggling with his arm until he could move the entirety of his upper body. Once the weight was off his chest and he could breathe again, he took a moment to... well, _breathe_. His chest hurt, and it felt like two of his ribs were broken, but he could at least get some oxygen into his lungs – before it ran out beneath the rubble, of course.

Strength renewed by a quick binge on oxygen, he began to scrabble at the rubble again – most of it was loose, chips of concrete and scraps of metal, and shifted rather easily. A more solid piece of concrete was firmly planted over his legs, and it took what felt like ten minutes of kicking and writhing before it fell away. Once it did, however, he summoned every ounce of strength he had to sit up – finally, the debris parted, light flooded into his eyes, and precious oxygen poured into his chest.

A quick look around showed him an abandoned street, carpeted in debris – the great metal hulk of the pre-fab that had fallen off the roof occupied the middle of the road, surrounded by rubble and twisted into an odd, mangled shape.

More important to Tyco, however, was the battered form to his right, half-covered in debris too. The black and red armour was rather familiar, as was the Black Widow held in the figure's arms.

"Vanyali!" he hissed, praying she was still alive. The little scream that cut through the air in response gave him his answer.

"Christ, you almost gave me a heart attack!" the other sniper whispered back. "I thought you were dead!"

"So did I..."

Tyco kicked out, scattering rubble and freeing his legs. Slowly and rather cautiously, he shuffled over the rubble, closer to Vanyali.

"Are you alright?" he asked, as he moved across.

"Considering," she nodded. "I think my arm's broken..."

"Which means that thing's just for show," Tyco muttered, as he peered at the arm supporting her rifle – sure enough, it was twisted awkwardly to one side, and hung slightly limply, held up only by her hand's grip on the rifle. "You can't fire a Widow with a broken arm, too much recoil..."

"Well, I was hoping I wouldn't _need _to fire it," she scowled. "You've been out cold for over an hour, and I haven't seen any troopers yet."

"Have you called for backup?"

She shook her head.

"Total blackout, all our comms are dead..."

"Damn."

Distractedly, he patted himself down, searching for his weapons. His sniper rifle was gone, lost in the fall, but his shotgun was still firmly clamped to the small of his back. He drew it, and held it out to Vanyali.

"Take this," he muttered.

"A shotgun?" she murmured, sceptically. "That's not much better on the recoil front..."

"Last resort," he sighed. "You take that, I'll take your rifle. At least that way _one _of us can snipe."

Vanyali nodded, and begrudgingly agreed, handing the Black Widow over to him like some precious artefact and taking his bayoneted shotgun herself.

"You trained to use that?" she asked.

"Nope. Mercs can't afford the stuff N7s can..."

"N7?"

"Oh come on, it's on your armour, you thought I wouldn't notice?"

Sure enough, the distinctive N7 badge hung above her breastplate, small and unassuming, but still undeniable.

"Why'd you hide it?" Tyco continued. "If they knew you were an N7, they'd have put you in charge..."

"Exactly," Vanyali muttered, rather bitterly. "Colonel Hunter knows. I asked him to hide it."

"_Why?_" he repeated.

"Because I didn't _want_ to end up in command, like him. He hates it, not that he'd admit it. You think he _wants _to sit in the XO's office while we're on the battlefield?" she murmured.

"Got it," Tyco grunted. "N7s want to fight, not do the paperwork."

"Exactly. So I told Hunter to send me down with the marines. You're the first person to even _notice_ I'm an N7..."

"Quiet!" he hissed, out of the blue. Somewhere in the distance, he could hear footprints... "Cloak, now!"

In unison, the two snipers vanished in shimmering blue hazes, blending seamlessly to the rubble. Their timing was impeccable – just as he felt himself disappear, Tyco saw a prowling form come around the corner. It was alone, not a trooper but a skulking, evil-looking thing with a blade in one hand and a pistol in the other.

"Phantom!" Vanyali whispered, and for the first time, she actually sounded perturbed. "Don't fire!"

He understood her caution – it was just one enemy, he could kill it easily, but Black Widows were bloody loud. A single shot could call the whole enemy force to their location, and he knew neither of them were in a fit state to move just yet. So, he held his breath, and watched the Phantom stalk towards them – had it heard Vanyali's whispering?

As it approached, Tyco began to wish he'd been counting the moments. He knew his cloak could last for about a minute, but he didn't know how long had passed, or more importantly, how long he had left. The creature kept getting closer, and closer, and closer, the red slits that passed for eyes scanning the debris for any survivors. Finally, it reached the heap at the end of the street, the one they were lying on, and took a step up onto the rubble, as if it knew there was something amiss, someone hidden out of sight.

Looking over, he saw a notable absence where Vanyali lay – good, her cloak was still working. His own was holding too, but not for much longer... The Phantom was creeping closer, scrabbling over rubble, searching, glancing around – and then a single, claw-like hand fell on his knee.

He looked up, still invisible. The Phantom looked up, rather _too _visible, her face growing closer and closer to his cracked visor. The hand tightened on his leg as she searched for the rest of him, and his cloak could only have moments left...

He swung out with a hefty left hook, which crashed against the Phantom's skull and momentarily dazed it. With an electrical crackle, he felt himself re-appear, and the spectre began to hiss in his face, raising her blade, preparing to strike... _squelch._

Blood spattered over his visor, and the Phantom's head seemed to judder on its neck, as the scarlet-lit eyes dimmed. A second later, Vanyali reappeared next to him, as did the shotgun in her hands... and the bayonet through the Phantom's temple.

Vanyali herself was panting heavily, wild-eyed. With a dreadful sound of rending flesh, she ripped the bayonet back out, and the Phantom's corpse tumbled down the rubble heap. Tyco ripped his helmet off, unable to see clearly through the bloodied visor, and threw it down at his side as he looked over at his fellow sniper. The stare on her face seemed to say, so innocently, _"What?"_.

"We've got to hide the body," he muttered, matter-of-factly. "I'll dump it in the pre-fab."

"Right... and what do we do after that?" Vanyali called after him, as he slid down the heap and grabbed the corpse by the scruff of its neck.

"Nothing we _can _do," Tyco scowled. "Just hide here for as long as it takes. God, I hope they get here before nightfall..."


	14. Operation Huntsman Part 6

_**Apartment Block 3G, Benning**_

_**Day 1, 1410**_

"We can't keep moving forever, Saffiya," Rafea murmured, from somewhere behind the justicar's back. "We just can't..."

Almost an hour and a half after their rather daring entry to the apartment block, the three biotics were still traipsing around inside, moving from room to room and waiting for some word from the others. The assault at the firebase had drained Saffiya's two companions, and the justicar herself was tiring too. Every step burned more calories, more calories they _didn't _have after such extensive use of their biotics.

"Alright," she nodded, rather quietly. Check the perimeter, and we'll stop in here..."

Her two squadmates spread out, checking the edges of the apartment they were walking through and testing every shadow. The room, like every _other _room, was an unfurnished cell, marked by battered walls and shattered floors. The building had been gutted by the Cerberus occupation – Saffiya suspected it had been attacked just after construction, because there were no personal affairs littered around to hint at former tenants.

A crack in the corner of the ceiling allowed cut power cables to dangle through, occasionally letting off little sparks, but more pressing was the matter of the exterior wall – they were at the very edge of the building, and the window that had once looked out over the city streets appeared to have been hit with a rocket. The window itself was gone, completely absent, and a jagged hole in the wall was sweeping a cool breeze through the room.

Once they were _quite _sure no-one was lurking in the corners, the trio slumped down against the three walls, and caught a few moments of rest. The other two looked incredibly grateful, gulping down oxygen with every breath. Saffiya, however, felt uncomfortable. Stopping made her all the more aware of the gnawing sensation in her stomach. Still, the summer sky was turning grey, and rain was beginning to fall – that was good. Reduced visibility made it harder for Cerberus to find them.

After a time, the peaceful _patter patter _of rain shooting through the hole in the wall was disturbed by a smaller, albeit more worrying noise in the street below. Saffiya was sure she could hear muttering, and the panicked expression on Manado's face told her she wasn't imagining it. Rafea, on the other hand, had slumped to the floor, sleeping fitfully in sheer exhaustion. Then, a spine-chilling shout cut across the mutters, and the justicar sat bolt upright.

"Open fire! Go, go, go!"

She span around, pistol drawn, half expecting to see Cerberus troopers flooding through the door. Manado, it seemed, had had the same reaction – she was bracing her sniper rifle in her arms, aiming at the door.

Rafea awoke with a little start, and stared in confusion at her two companions, as they aimed at nothing at all. Just as Saffiya was about to put her gun down, however, gunshots rang out, not in the apartment block but in the street outside. She quickly shuffled over to the window-hole, watched anxiously by her two companions, and rose to her knees to peer through it.

Down below, chaos was breaking out in the street. Peering over the precipice, she could make out two tough-looking troopers carrying shields, moving step by step towards an abandoned storefront as three regular troopers followed in their wake. Ahead of them were half a dozen men in what appeared to be civilian clothes, firing persistently at the advancing soldiers. As the justicar watched, one of the civilians went down, clutching his gut. Saffiya suppressed a shallow growl. Every fibre of her being – and every sutra of her code – was telling her to intervene. Common sense, however, was beginning to override duty in these dark times, even for the justicars. She couldn't land a shot from here with her pistol, and using her biotics would give away their location. It still hurt, though, to leave them to their fate...

"What is it, ma'am?" Manado murmured, from across the room.

"Civilians. They look like resistance fighters. There's a Cerberus squad pushing them back across the street. They don't stand a chance..."

"Well?"

"Well what?"

"_Well,_ what are we going to do about it?"

"There's nothing we _can _do, we'd give away our location with biotics..." Saffiya sighed.

"Who said anything about biotics?" the turian replied, brow plates furrowing. "I've got this."

She waved the sniper rifle aloft, as if to prove her point, with a triumphant smile on her face. Saffiya, however, scowled sceptically.

"High calibre rifle? Much more subtle..."

"It sounds like the civilians are shooting back," Manado observed, persistently. "One shot amongst dozens? They'd just assume the resistance fired it..."

"I don't know..." Saffiya murmured, biting her lip. Eventually, however, a mixture of morality and code made her mind up. "Alright, do it. But be ready to move if they _do_ find us."

Wordlessly, the turian moved over to the blown-out window, propping her sniper rifle on the bottom lip of the wall, and peering down the barrel. Crouching next to her, Saffiya caught a glimpse of the battle below through the corner of the hole, just enough to see what was going on.

The troopers were just clambering through the shattered entrance to the store when, without warning, Manado began to fire. For a biotic, she was scarily proficient, picking off two of the troopers at the rear almost effortlessly. Just _one, two__, _and a pair of corpses fell to the ground.

To the justicar's surprise, the resistance fighters caught on to the trick – they had clearly spotted the sniper, but began to fire even more doggedly at the troopers, to preserve the illusion that _they _were causing the casualties. A moment later, Manado fired again, and the third trooper lurched, a shot passing clean through his skull and causing him to crumple to the floor.

The shield bearers didn't even seem to notice the casualties, they just ploughed on into the store. As the two biotics watched, one of them swept a resistance member aside with his shield, knocking the man to the ground. Quite to the justicar's surprise, the resistance actually _did _strike a blow of their own – as the Guardian loomed over the fallen fighter, he lowered his shield momentarily, one of the other men put two shots through his visor, and that was the end of him. A final, rather impressive shot from Manado, and the remaining Guardian collapsed forward, lying face down on his shield with blood pouring from his back.

As quickly as it had started, the clash was over. One of the resistance fighters raced to the front of the store, peering straight up at the biotics and throwing them a hasty salute by way of thanks. One of their number was lying dead in a pool of his own blood, and another was clutching his ribs as his friends picked him up off the ground, but one casualty was still better than six.

"Good work, Manado," the justicar nodded, stepping back from the window and slumping against the wall once more. "Now pray to the Goddess no-one else saw that..."


	15. Operation Huntsman Part 7

_**Street Level, Benning**_

_**Day 1, 1900**_

Six hours... Six bloody hours Tyco had been watching this empty street, according to the readout on his omni-tool. Benning held to roughly the same orbital period as Earth, hell, it was pretty damn similar, and by seven o'clock the dusk was turning to twilight, just as it did on Earth.

As the sun finally dipped behind the lowest rooftops, casting a new darkness over the street, he cast a look to his right, to Vanyali, who was sleeping fitfully on the rubble, Tyco's shotgun discarded at her side. She'd been asleep for about four hours now, and he hadn't had the heart to wake her, especially with no enemy in sight. Now, though, he was conscious of the black shroud falling over the city, and the chill creeping over the street.

"Vanyali!" he hissed, quietly at first, then again, louder, "Vanyali!"

She burbled in her sleep, and rolled over, moaning about her rude awakening.

"What is it?" she muttered, finally.

"Nightfall," he replied, shortly. "We should move."

"Why?" Vanyali asked, after a long pause. "We've been holding here for... err... how many hours?"

"Six," Tyco sighed. "But we had daylight. As soon as it gets dark, we're prey – I'll bet you anything they've got optics, and we don't. That leaves us blind."

"Flashlights?"

"On an open street? They'd spot them a mile away..."

"Right, right... so we get off the street, put some walls between us and the enemy."

"Exactly. Can you walk?"

"Well, my legs ain't broken..."

"Pass me the shotgun," he sighed. She did, and he quickly swapped it to his left hand, wielding it like a particularly bulky pistol as he shuffled over to Vanyali, slid his right arm under her left, the good one, and carefully got to his feet, pulling her up with him.

He could almost feel the discomfort – Vanyali's pride was telling her to walk on her own two feet, but her broken arm and her common sense seemed to overrule it, telling her to use Tyco as a human crutch... Slowly and cautiously, they stumbled down off the rubble heap, and set off to the left in a hobbling walk – a three-storey apartment building lined that side of the street, and it looked like their best chance at shelter.

"Second floor's gutted," Vanyali observed, as they walked. "I can see the fires..."

"Ground floor's out," Tyco grunted. "They could sneak up on us too easily – we take the top floor, near the stairs, and listen out for them."

"Agreed," his companion nodded, wincing in pain.

"You alright?" he muttered, brow furrowing.

"Fine," she breathed, sounding pained. "I slapped some medi-gel on after the fall. Guess it's wearing off..."

"I've got something for that. Just hang on until we find somewhere to dig in..."

They lapsed into silence once more, with Vanyali gritting her teeth and Tyco staring doggedly ahead, still hefting the shotgun in one hand. Each weary step brought them a little bit closer to shelter, and after what felt like an eternity of walking, they were staggering in through the crumbling doorway.

Just as Vanyali had guessed, the building, like so many others in the city, had been gutted by fire and explosives. Every few yards was a puncture in the ceiling, or the walls, or a bit of cable dangling earthward, or even a fire, burning lazily in the corner. The stairway, however, was mostly intact, and they climbed it – still silent – up to the second floor, and then the third. There was no sign of any occupants, Cerberus or otherwise, and when they finally stumbled into an apartment beside the stairs, the air was filled with precious silence, save for a few fires crackling in the background, and the occasional gunshot breaking out somewhere far away across the city.

"All clear," Vanyali breathed, easing herself off his arm and slumping down just inside the doorway.

Wordlessly, Tyco reached for the pack slung onto his back, over his shoulder. He threw it down on the ash-covered floor, as his fellow sniper stared at it with interest.

"That's not standard issue," she observed, as he knelt down next to her, using the flashlight on his shotgun to illuminate the floor.

"Not for the Alliance, no," he admitted, opening the pack up and rummaging around. "But I'm not Alliance, remember?"

"Mercenary, right?"

"I prefer bounty hunter... Sounds cooler, gets you into less trouble with C-Sec..."

"So, what's in the bag?"

"Everything an urban predator needs. I've had this thing since my... _second_ contract."

"What about the _first _contract?"

"Well, I went in with no experience, tracked my target across a city for three bloody days, and almost died in the process. Hence the pack."

"Tell me you've got medi-gel in there," Vanyali muttered, clutching her limp arm once more.

"It's the first thing I pack," he chuckled, grabbing one of three thin syrettes from the pack and holding it up to the sparse moonlight filtering through the window.

"Whoa, rewind," she scowled. "What's with the needle?"

"Works better," he grunted. "You slapped it on your skin, and it wore off after about six hours. Injected, it lasts for twenty. Trust me on this one..."

"Fine," Vanyali sighed, reluctantly. "Make it quick."

"Right," he murmured, leaning over her and gently taking her wrist – she winced slightly at that. "Unless you want to lose the armour, I'll have to do it through your hand."

"Just do it."

He nodded, and placed the syrette on his knee as he pulled her gauntlet off, dropped it to the floor, and carefully took her hand. Grabbing the syrette once more, he peered at the back of her hand until he spotted a vein, and gently eased the needle in, holding her hand firmly in place with his own as he did. After a minute or so, the syringe barrel was empty – he drew the needle slowly back out, and then discarded it in his pack.

Once it was done, Vanyali's head fell back against the wall, an expression of numb relief etched on her face.

"That f-" she began, then stopped. "That hurt. Don't become a medic."

"I wasn't planning on it," Tyco muttered. "My bedside manner's awful..."

"I'll say."

He grabbed a pack of bandages from the collection of items in the bag, and made a firm albeit messy sling to support Vanyali's broken arm. Only as he began to pack it away did he remember the other items in the pack, and a thought popped into his head.

"You hungry? Thirsty?" he asked, suddenly.

His companion's eyes sprang open at that, fixing a stare on him that was part-incredulity, part-awe.

"You're not serious?" Vanyali said, in surprise.

"Like I said, everything the hunter needs to survive," Tyco explained, grinning slightly. "That includes water and rations."

With that, he rummaged around in the pack once more, pulling out a hard ration biscuit and what resembled a large hip flask. He snapped the biscuit in half, made sure to give Vanyali the larger half, and then crammed the smaller one into his mouth. It had only been six or seven hours since they deployed, but he was already starving... The biscuit was dry, and slightly salty, but more importantly it was _food._ He washed the food down with a glug of water from his flask, then passed it to his companion. She grabbed it gratefully in her good hand, took a deep draught, and handed it back to him with a rather serene expression crossing her features.

"Is there anything you _don't _have in that bag?" she sighed, finally. Her eyes were tight shut as the medi-gel began to work, and she was smiling for the first time that day.

"A shuttle?" he grunted.

"Smart-ass..."

"Hush now," Tyco murmured, rather more gently. "Get some sleep."

"What about you?" Vanyali asked, nonetheless settling into the corner as comfortably as she could.

"You can take the next shift," he lied, reaching for his shotgun once more. "Now get some sleep... I'll keep a lookout."

As his companion fell silent, Tyco braced the shotgun in his arms, stared dead ahead, and began listening to the far off gun-cracks to keep himself awake. It was going to be a long night...


	16. Operation Huntsman Part 8

_**SSV Cambrai, Artemis Tau**_

_**Day 2, 0000**_

"Midnight," Captain Murphy scowled, as he checked his omni-tool display. "Twelve hours since we were meant to be on the ground, at least..."

"We're not even in the right system," Andersen chuckled, wearily. The young engineer had abandoned his hacking attempts once the Cambrai left the Arcturus Stream, and he was now sat on a cargo crate, looking _extremely _tired and occasionally massaging his bandaged midriff.

"Palmer's got a lot to answer for," Yui growled. The krogan was knocking back yet _another _beer – Murphy would have protested, but human alcohol barely seemed to touch the krogan's innards, and he certainly wasn't getting drunk...

Everyone else was slumbering in the bunk area behind them, catching some rest, albeit rather reluctantly. Most of them were still in their armour, and had their weapons lying beside their beds, or even clutched in their arms. Every soldier, whether they were assigned to the ground teams or not, was ready to go.

Only the three of them were still awake, perched on crates near the shuttle, waiting for news. Murphy and Yui, as the squad leaders, _had _to be awake. Andersen just _wanted _to be.

"You realise it's going to take us hours to even get back to the Arcturus Stream?" the engineer piped up. "We have to go back through the mass relay, and that'll take a few hours at least."

"We know," Murphy grunted, soberly. "There might not be anyone left to save by the time we get back to Benning..."

"Then we'll make the streets run with blood," Yui growled. "Avenge them."

"It'll take a lot more men to do that," the captain sighed. "What does your squad look like?"

"All human marines," the krogan muttered, with an air of discontent. "No specialists."

"Same here," Murphy murmured. "Cole, Harrison, Enfield. That's Chief Palmer for you – he thinks his marines are the ultimate infantry..."

"He's never fought with turians, then," Andersen interjected. Yui looked slightly affronted, as if to say _"What about krogan?"_.

"On the contrary, he's fought with plenty of turians, according to his file. Problem is, most of them were at Shanxi..."

"He fought in the First Contact War?" the engineer gawped.

"Well, I say _fought_ in the loosest possible terms. Colonel Hunter pulled his service record – he was a third class serviceman on the SSV Chicago, Second Fleet. 18 years old at the time, probably spent the Liberation of Shanxi dangling in a flight harness..."

"Makes sense of one thing," Andersen muttered. "He was in a hell of a mood after Arcturus."

"Admiral Hackett left the Second Fleet behind as a rearguard," Murphy nodded, understandingly. "Total loss."

"Necessary," Yui grunted, volunteering his opinion. "Regrettable, but necessary. And every one of them's a hero now."

Captain Murphy laughed darkly at that.

"I never used to believe that," he murmured. "_Necessary _deaths. I thought it was just a bad leader's excuse. This war, though... 'No-one left behind' doesn't really have a place in this one..."

"Quite true, captain..." said a sleepy voice, from the bunk area. Kamur had risen, and was pacing over to them, rubbing his eyes. "Turian commanders have always known that – sacrifice the few to save the many, and the spirits will honour your choice."

"Exactly," Yui grunted, as the turian joined them, dragging a crate over as another makeshift seat. "Tuchanka's _greatest_ heroes are the _dead_ heroes."

"That's something the Alliance hasn't quite realised yet," the captain observed, sadly. "We save everyone, or we die trying. It's a code I always stuck to... In this war, though, that means a lot of us are gonna die..."

"Or a lot of us are gonna be big damn heroes," Andersen laughed. The captain looked up at him with a half-hearted smile, grateful for the attempt to cheer him up.

Then, quite suddenly, a loud voice cut through their muttered conversation, echoing around the hangar from their radios.

"Delta, Echo, update," Palmer's voice announced, emotionlessly. "We're making a stop in Hawking Eta to refuel and pick up reconnaissance probes. Get some sleep, we won't be going down to Benning until tomorrow night at the earliest."

Stunned silence filled the hangar – the four men gathered by the shuttle stared at each other in shock, and one or two of the soldiers in the bunks, woken by the announcement, seemed unsure as to whether it was real.

"Refuel?" Murphy hissed, going slightly red. "He wants to _refuel?_"

"That's it," Yui growled, and Andersen wasn't sure if he was being serious or employing dark humour as he continued. "Once we're done on Benning, I'm tearing his legs off."


	17. Operation Huntsman Part 9

_**Apartment Block 2E, Benning**_

_**Day 2, 0930**_

Morning came rather too quickly for Tyco's liking. The darkness, occasionally interspersed by torchlight, had been comforting in a way – he couldn't see the enemy, but they couldn't see him, and that was a situation he was rather familiar with. Now, sunlight was burning through the window – a sniper in the surrounding buildings could easily take a shot through it – the shadows were no longer mingling with the rest of the darkness, but standing alone and visible, and he could see the blood on his hands. He had taken to pricking his fingertips on his bayonet to keep himself awake, but now, in the daylight, he could see the little rivulets of blood that had dried on his gauntlets.

Around dawn, he had finally resorted to the stims in his pack, dosing himself with enough to keep him going for at least another twelve hours. That too was a familiar situation – staking out a target was much easier when you packed enough stims to stay awake for three days...

He cast a quick glance over at Vanyali – she was still slumped against the wall, sleeping fitfully. The anaesthetic would last until mid-afternoon, so with any luck she wouldn't be in pain.

Tyco didn't particularly want to wake her up, so instead he set about every menial preparation he could think of – he packed and re-packed his medical gear, stripped and cleaned his shotgun and Vanyali's sniper rifle, counted his rounds for both weapons, and scanned every inch of his armour for weaknesses with his omni-tool. After about half an hour, just as he was running out of pointless things to do, his companion finally awoke of her own accord.

"Morning," she muttered, simply, as she propped herself up on her good hand.

"Morning," he murmured back. "How's the arm?"

"Numb as anything," Vanyali laughed. "I can't bloody feel it."

"That's probably a good thing..."

"_Someone's_ been packing," she observed, looking him up and down and peering at the pack on his shoulders, the pristine weapons in his hands, and the gear sorted neatly around his belt.

"We shouldn't stay in one place too long," Tyco replied, nervously shuffling on the spot. "Plus, I don't like this place – a sniper could just pick us off through the window..."

"So you want to go out into the streets and give them a clean shot instead?" Vanyali scowled.

"Our cloaks can buy us enough time to move from building to building, now that we're not limping."

Still pondering that thought, Vanyali got shakily to her feet – Tyco made a point of not helping her, because she hadn't asked, and from what little he knew of her, he had already guessed she hated being reliant on him...

That thought was interrupted by footsteps on the stairs. The two snipers stared at each other in horror, as dull muttering accompanied the footfalls.

"One more floor," a filtered, rather bass voice was saying. "Then we move to the next building."

Tyco grabbed the shotgun from his back as quietly as he could, unscrewing the bayonet as carefully he could.

"Cloak!" he hissed, tossing the bayonet blade to her as he spoke. The footsteps were getting closer with every moment, and only as Vanyali disappeared from sight did he spin out into the doorway, shotgun raised.

There were three troopers pacing towards the apartment, and they all started in surprise at the sight of the big marine, shotgun in hand, taking aim at them. Tyco got the first shot in – he hit the nearest trooper square in the chest, and the man flew backwards, hovering in midair for a moment before crashing to the floor. Before the bounty hunter got a second shot, the Cerberus troopers had drawn their guns and were firing round after round at the doorway, still advancing doggedly towards him.

Both of the remaining troopers stormed through the door almost simultaneously – Tyco lashed out, kicking one in the stomach and wheeling around to face the other, who had sprinted straight past him and into the middle of the room. The trooper was surprisingly quick to respond, dealing a hefty right hook to Tyco's head which left him dazed – recovering, he swung out with his shotgun, _crack, crack _twice against the man's visor with the butt of the weapon.

The trooper staggered back – Tyco had no idea whether the other one had gotten to his feet yet – and the bounty hunter rushed at him like a bull. The unfortunate man managed to get off two shots, both of which bounced off Tyco's shoulder plate, before that same plate smashed into his jaw, and the big merc began to wrestle him towards the window, a ceiling-to-floor style pane of glass, the style which seemed popular in these apartment blocks.

Tyco dealt another quick smack to the man's stomach with the butt of the shotgun, before grabbing him under the arm and hurling him forwards – the Cerberus trooper let out a satisfyingly terrified scream, and tumbled clean through the glass, shattering it into a hundred pieces and sending him plunging into the street below.

Only as he turned around did Tyco remember the third trooper – he found himself being pistol whipped, stumbled, and fell hard on his back. A dull sense of panic spread through his brain, as he realised his head and shoulders were now hanging out of the same window he'd hurled the trooper through not a moment before. He kicked out with his legs, trying to toss his assailant over his head, but the armoured figure was simply too heavy. Instead, he found the length of his own shotgun being pressed over his throat, as the trooper tried to choke the life from him. It seemed to be _working_, too... The corners of his vision were going black, and his lungs were bursting for want of oxygen after just a few seconds...

Then, quite suddenly, the pressure on his chest abated. Looking up, he saw a crimson ribbon creeping across his attacker's throat – with a shimmer, Vanyali reappeared, stood over the man, the bayonet in her hand still clamped across his neck.

Contemptuously, she kicked the trooper aside – as the body rolled off him, Tyco sprang back up to his feet, feeling rather more alert than before.

"Thanks," he coughed, gulping oxygen. "Now, we _really _need to get out of here."

"They'll have heard the shots..." Vanyali agreed, stepping over to the doorway. "After you..."


	18. Operation Huntsman Part 10

**A/N: ****phygmalion: Thanks!**

**shadowsilv3r: On the Palmer-hating - that's the idea! On the Benning-boredom - I won't lie, there's a few more chapters to go, but the end is in sight.**

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><p><em><strong>Apartment Block 6K, Benning<strong>_

_**Day 2, 1155**_

Unbeknownst to the snipers, they weren't the only ones moving from apartment to apartment to stay hidden. Saffiya's biotic team had had about nine hours of rest after saving the resistance fighters, each taking hour-long shifts to let the other two sleep. Once darkness fell they descended to the streets once more, setting off northward at a slow and stealthy pace, evading patrols and moving quietly through the winding alleyways until they found another apartment building that was intact enough to hide them.

Having climbed to the third of four floors just in time to avoid the dawn light, the three biotics were huddled together in a relatively undamaged apartment – the walls and floors were all still in one piece, and it was in the middle of the building, meaning there were no windows to give them away.

Saffiya was starving. They all were, really. They still hadn't eaten, and every biotic effort, no matter how small, was utterly draining. Manado could still snipe, and the two asari were reasonably skilled with their pistols, but it felt like their greatest weapon had been stripped away.

Worse, there were no enemies around – in the heat of battle, Saffiya knew her exhaustion would take second place to survival in her brain's priorities, but now, in the interminable period of _waiting_, she could feel her very bones aching.

"Anything on the radio?" Rafea muttered, despondently. They all knew there wasn't, but it was something to say, at least...

"No," Manado groaned, predictably. "Not even short range. Whatever they're doing, it's jamming all radio frequencies."

"Then we're dead," the asari murmured, darkly. "Even if the Cambrai gets back, they won't be able to signal us..."

"We're not dead yet," Saffiya interjected, firmly. "We've still got bullets in our weapons and breath in our lungs."

"So we just fight, then? Fight until we die or until we're rescued? Suits me, justicar..."

"Yeah, me too," Manado agreed, still clutching her rifle. "I've spent twenty-two years waiting to go into battle. If it's the only fight I ever see, I might as well make it a good one."

"Twenty-two years..." the justicar sighed. "No time at all, turian."

"What? Oh... right, asari lifespan..."

"No, _galactic _lifespan. I've lived for three centuries, and I'm barely a speck on the whole of history... It's humbling, when you take the time to think about it..."

"Wait..." Rafea murmured. "Three centuries? I thought you were..."

"Older?"

"Well... yeah. I always thought justicars were... well, old. The way you hold yourself, your skills... no offense, but I thought you were a matriarch..." the other asari trailed off, clearly embarrassed and slightly nervous of Saffiya's reaction.

"I should really take that as a compliment," the justicar laughed, weakly. "Matriarchs are the most respected, the most talented, and so on. You're not wrong, anyway; most justicars _are_ matriarchs. Illogical, really..."

"Mind slowing it down for the ignorant turian?" Manado chuckled. "The whole 'Stages' thing's weird to begin with... But... why shouldn't the strongest asari be justicars? That's what justicars are, isn't it? Scarily powerful warriors?"

"True..." Saffiya murmured, trying to choose her words. "But all matriarchs are powerful. What sets the justicar apart is her sacrifice – we give up possessions, bondmates, children... It's so much easier to make that sacrifice as a maiden, when you never had any of it to begin with."

Her expression must have seemed sad, because her two companions were looking at her consolingly, pity etched into their faces.

"I could never do it," Rafea muttered, suddenly. "I mean, I'm not that much younger than you, I'm still a maiden... But I can't even imagine giving up my whole life – there's too much out there to see, to do..."

"And yet you're here, fighting in the same hole as me," the justicar replied, raising an eyebrow. "I don't see any less of the world – more, in fact. I crossed the whole of asari space when I first became a justicar... I've watched the sun rise over the Encompassing, the great world-ocean of Kahje... I've encountered thousands of people, across the galaxy... some of them, I saved... some, I killed..."

"No family, though..." the other asari added, quietly.

"Do you have a family, Rafea? A bondmate? Children?"

"Err, no. Flings, the occasional boyfriend... the occasional girlfriend... but no, no bondmate."

"Then _neither _of us has a family, commando. Don't judge me unless you're different."

Manado was looking from one to the other, her brow furrowed in a mixture of confusion at their conversation, at apprehension at the increasingly argumentative tone.

"But I still _might_," Rafea persisted. "It's still in my future – matron stage, a family... becoming an old matriarch. You don't have that chance..."

"And that is something I am resigned to, Rafea..." the justicar whispered. "If we survive this war – or even if we don't – I will wander alone for what remains of my life. When the time comes, I will _die _alone... but I will look back on a life fulfilled, and smile as the Goddess takes me."


	19. Operation Huntsman Part 11

_**SSV Cambrai, Hawking Eta**_

_**Day 2, 1500**_

"I don't like it any more than you do, Zachary, but it's out of my hands..."

"Bullshit. We could storm up to the CIC and _make _him turn this ship around."

"And _how _do you propose we persuade him?"

"Depends who does the persuading. Yui wants to tear him limb from limb... Andersen's got some pretty nifty shock tech... Personally, I'd settle for putting a gun to his head."

"Zachary..."

"I know, I know, we have to put up with him, but is it _too _much for me to ask to hack his computer? Flood it with X-rateds?"

The colonel's stare gave him his answer, and silenced him.

"Fine," the captain muttered.

"Speaking of hacking, though, I may have a job for your friend Andersen..."

"What do you mean?"

"Don't act innocent, Zachary, I _know _you were trying to access the comm channels when we were over Benning."

"How the hell do you know that?" Murphy asked, with a mixture of guilt and curiosity.

"Because Andersen's not as good as he thinks he is. He set off half the ship's firewalls," Logan replied, and then, with a roguish grin, added, "and I was the one passing them off as false positives..."

A slight smile began to creep over the captain's features, despite his anger. If he hadn't before, he now believe wholeheartedly that Logan was on his side.

"So, what's this job?" he persisted.

"Before we left Benning, all our communications went dark..."

"I _had _noticed."

"Palmer said it was just us leaving orbit – getting 'out of range', so to speak – but the blackout began _before _the Cambrai fled. I don't know about you, but to me, that says Cerberus is jamming us deliberately."

"Agreed," Murphy nodded. "Keep our teams in the dark, and they can't call for evacuation."

"Or air support," Hunter added. "The point being, even when we _do _get back to Benning, we'll have no way of contacting our teams to tell them where to go for pickup. We might as well not go at all."

"So you want Andersen to devise a solution?"

"Creating a counter-virus in secret, and testing it against our firewalls? Nooo... _That would be disobeying orders._"

"Very good, sir," the captain smiled.

He threw a quick salute, before turning on his heel and marching out of the XO's office. As he crossed the crew deck, he drew up his omni-tool and opened a comms channel to Andersen.

"Captain?" the young engineer muttered, in surprise.

"Meet me in the hangar bay," Murphy ordered. "We've got work to do."

A short elevator ride later, and the captain emerged into the hangar bay as promised. It was a hive of activity now – the operatives had risen from their sleeping area, and were stripping and re-fitting various weapons, polishing armour, calibrating omni-tools and biotic amps...

Andersen was in the back corner of the hangar, sat on a crate and lazily tapping away at his omni-tool. Knowing the engineer was banned from combat detail by the doctor, Captain Murphy wondered what on earth he could be preparing – until, that was, a fireball shot out of his omni-tool, blasting into a small cargo container and propelling it through the air. A burly krogan on the other side of the hangar looked up, caught the smouldering, half-melted container in one hand, and walked away chuckling.

"Captain," Andersen saluted, springing to his feet guiltily.

"What the hell did you put in that thing?" Murphy asked, with interest, as he stared at the engineer's omni-tool.

"Just some upgrades to the program," he muttered, as if modding explosives from your omni-tool was a perfectly normal thing to do. "Better propellant, higher plasma temperature..."

"Fancy a real challenge?" the captain chuckled, folding his arms.

"Try me," the engineer grinned back.

"The blackout on Benning. We need to know where it's coming from, how, and we need a way to stop it..."

Andersen let out a low whistle, eyebrows rising as he stared at Murphy.

"That's a big ask, Captain."

"I _said _it was a challenge... Do you think you can do it?"

"I might as well try," Andersen nodded, biting his lip. "How long have I got?"

"Colonel Hunter says we've got another two hours before we leave Hawking Eta... call it at least six hours in relay transit... Eight hours, minimum."

"And we don't know _anything _about the jamming?"

"Not besides the basics – whatever the signal is, it's covering a wide area, possibly the whole city, and it's jamming all ranges – short-range radios, long-range FTL communications..."

"Right..." Andersen murmured. With that, he began to pace around his small area of the hangar, pulling up various displays and programs on his omni-tool. In the minute or so the young engineer spent pondering the problem, Murphy got a supreme insight into his mind.

He'd read Andersen's file, of course – he and Logan had spent their first afternoon on the Cambrai holed up in the XO's office, reading _everyone's _files – but it made a lot more sense when he saw him in action. He was technologically adept, almost genius-level, but not _quite_, with a penchant for electronics, hacking and technical weaponry, the latter of which Murphy had just seen practiced against that unfortunate crate... Rather curiously, though, Andersen had chosen to serve not in Alliance R&D, but as an engineer attached to ships and marine companies – a chance to use his skills, but not his _brains_. Now he had a problem to solve, his mind was wrapping around it with a mixture of skill and sheer curiosity.

"Alright," the engineer murmured, after what seemed to be moments, but had actually bordered on a minute or two. "It can't be targeting specific signals and altering them – that would require sophisticated cyberwarfare gear, and a lot of expertise. It's hard enough to disrupt one signal – imagine altering _every _signal across a city at _every _given moment."

"So, what does that mean, practically?" Murphy persisted. In reality, he was still confused about just how one would 'disrupt' any signal, but decided to nod along and humour the engineer.

"It means they're using interference –a blunt instrument approach, really," Andersen jabbered – he seemed to be growing rather hyperactive and tense as he worked through the problem in his head. "Just fill the air with white noise – every frequency, every signal, slightly blurred, just enough to turn it into garbled static. Are the data lines down, too? Messaging, electronic mail?"

"Yes," the captain nodded, slightly shell-shocked by the sheer bombardment of information that his brain was trying to comprehend.

"Then they're flooding the channels with junk data, too. A message might get through the junk eventually, but it could take an infinitely long time... Captain, why don't you just blow the transmitter up?"

"Err..." Murphy muttered, slightly taken aback by the disarmingly simple question. Finally, after a few moments of fishing around in his brain, he found the answer. "Because we don't know how big it is. We don't have any heavy weapons or demolition gear – if the transmitter turns out to be the size of a building, we can't really bring it down with hand grenades, can we?"

"Right, right... The obvious solution would be to create a secondary channel, a bypass, so to speak, something out of the range of frequencies they're distorting..."

"But?" the captain sighed, presciently.

"_But_, we don't _know _that range. Besides which, that only allows _us _to communicate. We'd need the primary channel to tell our teams in the field to _use _the secondary channel."

"So... a virus?"

"A virus," Andersen nodded, nervously. "Tricky, but not impossible. We'd need to get it past any firewalls Cerberus might have placed around the jammer... we'd need an open channel to transmit it, too... And the biggest problem is designing it. I can fashion a generic virus to redirect _a _signal, but without seeing the signal they're broadcasting, I can't target it... Captain, this is going to be tricky, if not outright _impossible_."

"I'll leave it with you, Andersen," Murphy muttered. "We won't have to make the call until we arrive at Benning. If you've got a solution by then, we'll implement it, if you don't... we'll find another way."

"Got it, sir. I haven't had a challenge like this since... well, _ever_..."

"Then get to work, son. And good luck."


	20. Operation Huntsman Part 12

**A/N: phygmalion: Thanks, I didn't really think it was that impressive... When I'm in the right frame of mind, it only takes an hour or so to write one of these, and I'm writing/proofreading ahead of the uploads (for example, this is chapter 20, but as I write this, I've got chapter 24 open in another window, half-written).**

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><p><em><strong>Apartment Block 6K, Benning<strong>_

_**Day 2, 1705**_

"About an hour or two to sundown," Manado murmured, as she returned from checking the corridor outside. "If we're going to move, we should do it now, while we've still got light."

"Do we need to?" Rafea contributed. "This place is safe enough."

"One way in, one way out," Saffiya agreed. "It's not worth the risk to move somewhere else. We'll hold here, until morning, at least."

"Got it, ma'am," the turian nodded, slumping down in the corner and dropping her rifle at her side.

"You two get some sleep," the justicar sighed, feeling rather tired herself but ignoring it. "I'll take the first shift."

With that, she let her head fall back against the wall, staring dead ahead through the doorway. Avoiding sleep proved to be rather difficult, with only pure willpower holding her eyelids open. After about ten minutes, however, she was distracted by a quiet voice from the corner.

"Justicar?"

Manado was already asleep, slumbering against the far wall. Rafea, however, was awake, peering up at the justicar from the shadows.

"What is it?"

"I wanted to apologise, for earlier..."

"What's said is said, Rafea..."

"Even so... I was tired, I didn't mean to criticise."

"Honestly?" Saffiya began. "It made a nice change..."

Rafea looked truly taken aback at that.

"How so?" she asked.

"Justicars are revered in our culture... Most people don't know the reality of them, though. They see powerful warriors, a moral code, and assume we're heroes. They even assume it's a good life."

"And... it isn't?"

"What do you think? Like you said... no bondmates... no family... I hear it's worse in the matron stage. As a maiden, my body tells me to go and fight, to find adventure and fame, and there's plenty of both for justicars. But once I become a matron, my body will tell me to settle down, to find a bondmate, have children. And I will have to deny myself that, have to fight my own body, my own mind..."

The two of them lapsed into silence – Rafea looked pitying again, and Saffiya had just made herself even _more _tired with the depressing choice of conversation.

Out of the background, however, came a rising noise – a rattling sound, like boots on a steel floor. The two asari exchanged panicked glances, and Saffiya reached for her pistol. Rafea too was clutching a hand cannon, and looking to the justicar for direction.

"Stay here," she murmured, after a moment's thought. "Anyone comes through the door, shoot them."

She stood up, weariness forgotten in panic, and paced out of the room. After a second, though, a thought popped into her head, and she doubled back into the room.

"Anyone who isn't me!" she added, then departed once more.

The corridors were already being cast into darkness – the sun was setting, casting a shimmering glow over the city, and gradually enveloping more and more of it in inky black. The footfalls continued, and to Saffiya's senses – tired though they may have been – they seemed to be resonating through the ceiling. With each second, they got closer, and closer, and as the justicar cast around with her pistol, they seemed to centre above her head, and fall silent.

Then, without warning, they began to clatter off up the corridor to the left – for some reason known only to herself, Saffiya pursued them, first down that corridor, then right, then left again... The footsteps stopped once more, and the justicar began to turn on the spot, examining every angle and every shadow with her pistol.

Out of the corner of her eye, she saw something drop to the floor behind her, and a metallic _clang _echoed through the corridor. Suddenly, her instincts were explained. Whatever was stalking her – or whatever _she _was stalking – wasn't on the floor above, it was _in the air ducts_.

Swiftly following the falling object was a flash of silver – a blade, the likes of which she had last seen in the hands of one of those wretched Phantoms... Panicking, she let her remaining strength flow to her fingertips, felt the biotic waves ripple, and wheeled around, delivering a fierce biotic punch...

...straight between the eyes of Raziel Mac'Tir. The drell staggered back, clutching his face, and clattered against the wall of the corridor.

"OW!" he roared. "What was that for?"

"You snuck up on me! _Why_ were you being sneaky?" the justicar cried, panicking even more as the drell cursed and rubbed his brow.

"I'm a drell! Everything I _do _is sneaky! It's a permanent state of affairs and... Amonkira you can throw a punch!"

Saffiya cracked a rare but nervous smile, and massaged her knuckles as Mac'Tir finally straightened up, groaning slightly.

"Sorry..." she sighed.

"Just... let's try and get through the rest of this conversation _without _breaking my bones, shall we? Speaking of which, I think my nose is broken..."

"Can we stop the guilt trips, please?"

"That's not a guilt trip, it really is," Mac'Tir muttered, pinching his nose between him thumb and forefinger and tweaking it – the bone shifted in a wholly unnatural manner.

"Why are you even _here?_" Saffiya murmured, eager to get away from the guilt of breaking her ally's face. "I thought you were dead..."

"No," the drell slurred, speech distorted slightly by the broken nose. "We took a couple of hits, but nothing our barriers couldn't handle. We thought we'd check these buildings for survivors – I'm amazed you're hiding _here_..."

"Why?" the justicar scowled. "Where _else_ would we hide?"

"In the _tunnels?_"

An awkward silence followed, before Saffiya finally brought herself to ask the damning question.

"_What _tunnels?" she whispered.

"Rabid transport," he explained – Saffiya presumed he meant 'rapid', in a blocked-nose slur. "There's a whole network of them under the city, the resistance has been scurrying around down there for weeks..."

"Oh, Goddess..." the justicar groaned. "We didn't think of that, we've been dodging patrols and moving from apartment to apartment since yesterday..."

"Where's the rest of your squad?" Mac'Tir inquired.

"In an apartment, back the way we came. They're both okay... exhausted, but okay..."

"Exhausted? Sleep deprivation, or...?"

"Starvation," Saffiya muttered, grimly. "We've been getting plenty of sleep, but we used our biotics too much back at the firebase. They're burned out, and I'm not in a much better state..."

"That's not good," the drell sighed, biting his lip. "Colburn and I are alright – we've been using our guns more than our biotics."

"It's just the two of you?"

"And the snipers, the human and the quarian. We ran into them in the streets. And _they _didn't punch me in the face."

"Did you drop out of a vent behind _them_? With a _sword?_"

"Alright, alright, forget it..." he sighed. "Come on, let's fetch your squad, and get down to the tunnels..."


	21. Operation Huntsman Part 13

**A/N: And so it begins... The Benning storyline is coming to an end, whether that's good or bad news is your opinion, but the next storyline is already planned out, and isn't anywhere near as long :P**

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><p><em><strong>SSV Cambrai, Mass Relay Stream<strong>_

_**Day 2, 2300**_

"Alright, men, gather round!" Colonel Hunter roared. He was stood on a cargo crate in full black armour, putting him at least a foot or two above the crowd now gathering around him.

The troops had made preparation they possibly could – even those who weren't going on the ground team were bearing pristine weapons, polished armour, and looks of fierce pride and anticipation. From the back of the crowd, Captain Murphy couldn't help admiring the formidable fighting force laid out in front of him.

"We hit the Arcturus Stream in few minutes!" the colonel shouted. "From there, we go straight to Benning, and this time we are _not _backing down! We're going to get our people out, then show Cerberus _exactly _what we can do when you piss us off!"

"Damn right!" yelled a deep, hulking voice – it might have been Yui, but Murphy couldn't quite see over the heads of the assembled soldiers.

"I want ground teams assembled, and everyone else ready to haul ass – if need be, we're all going in, but we're not leaving until the last man's safe, or the last man falls! Oorah?"

"Oorah!" the soldiers cried, in almost perfect unison – Murphy was pretty sure it wasn't just the humans, either...

"We're on the ground by 0300 hours," Logan concluded. "Make ready, troops!"

With that, the N7s dissipated, spreading across the hangar. The colonel jumped down from his impromptu speaker's stand, and beckoned for the captain to join him.

"Zachary," he murmured, as Murphy approached. He was speaking under his breath, clearly wanting the troops to hear his bravado, but not this. "Tell me you've got a solution for that blackout. If we go in dark, we're dead."

Nervously, the captain drew up his omni-tool, and opened a private channel to Andersen – he was only on the other side of the hangar, but it wouldn't exactly have been subtle to yell for him across the whole bay.

"Andersen, get over here," he muttered, into the channel.

"On my way," came the mumbled response.

Sure enough, the engineer appeared a moment later, wearing full combat armour and tapping away at his omni-tool even as he walked.

"Captain Murphy," he nodded, saluting. "Colonel Hunter."

"Drop the formalities, son," the colonel sighed. "Have you got something for us?"

"I... maybe."

"Maybe?" Murphy echoed. "What the hell does 'maybe' mean?"

"I've got _something_," Anderson explained. "I reverse-engineered a jamming program from the Omega markets..."

"So it's _illegal_, then..." Hunter murmured, coolly.

"Well... depends where you are," the engineer shrugged.

"Ah, only illegal in Council space," the colonel smiled. "I won't tell them if you don't. More to the point, will it _work?_"

"Not at the moment."

Both officers' faces fell, and Andersen looked rather guilty at that reaction, but something about the turn of phrase made Murphy curious.

"How much more time do you need?"

"It's not time, captain, it's information... I need a copy of the original Cerberus signal to target."

"That... might be a problem, son," Logan scowled. "We don't have one."

"I know we don't," Andersen sighed. "And at any rate, I can't transmit it from orbit..."

"Because you need to take down the jamming towers to transmit it in the first place," Murphy nodded, well aware that he was stating the obvious.

"I need to come with you," the young engineer interjected, suddenly. Silence greeted the request, but the captain's brain was now beginning to understand why Andersen had already been in his armour.

"Andersen, you know the doctor banned you from-"

"Combat detail, I know... but it's the only way. It won't take long to adapt the program; I can do it in the shuttle. After that it's just a matter of finding the jammer and... well, _jamming _it into the central processor."

"And you're sure it'll work?" Murphy muttered – he was still sceptical about taking a wounded man on the mission.

"Yes... well, mostly... Ninety percent. Actually, call it ninety-five, it sounds better."

"Good Lord..." Hunter groaned.

"Andersen, this _has _to work," the captain stressed, feeling rather desperate – their whole plan, and its success, hinged on the tinkering of a young, untested engineer. He'd had better days.

"It will, sir," Andersen nodded, sounding rather more sure of himself this time.

"Then I'll leave you to your preparations," Colonel Hunter interjected, still looking slightly worried. "The probes Palmer picked up in Artemis Tau might actually come in useful – we'll try and find the jammer before you go planetside. Good luck, both of you."

The two of them nodded to the colonel, threw salutes, and watched as he swept out of the hangar. Shoulders sagging, Murphy turned to Andersen, and let out a tremendous sigh.

"You don't think this is going to work, do you?" the engineer sighed.

"I don't _know_, Andersen," the captain shrugged. "But either way, we'll be, err... what was it? Big damn heroes?"

He cracked a grin, but was rather surprised to see the tech pulling out his omni-tool.

"Say that again," he instructed, holding the omni-tool up to Murphy's face.

"Why?"

"Just do it, sir, I'll explain later."

"Alright... we'll be big damn heroes. Done?"

"That's all I needed," Andersen nodded, closing what appeared to be a recording program on his omni-tool.

"You're strange, you know that soldier?"

"Great. The turian thinks I'm a geek, the _captain _thinks I'm strange..."

"Then when we get back, you find the prettiest girl on the ship and pray it's third time lucky. Now grab your gear, we're flying in ASAP."


	22. Operation Huntsman Part 14

**A/N: Right, official(ish) update: As I upload this, I'm writing the final chapter of Operation Huntsman (excluding the debrief), which at this rate means the storyline will be complete some time in the next day or two, once the uploads catch up to my writing.**

**Unofficial(ish) update: I rather enjoyed writing this chapter... :)**

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><p><em><strong>Rapid Transit Tunnels, Benning<strong>_

_**Day 3, 0245**_

Huddled in the firelight with the rest of her team, Saffiya was mentally _kicking _herself for not discovering this place earlier.

Mac'Tir had led them down from the apartments, as promised, and it had taken an hour or two for them to locate a maintenance shaft, clamber down into the tunnels, and find the rest of his squad. Now, the seven operatives were to be found scattered around a roaring fire one of the snipers had started – in the enclosed tunnels, there was no danger of Cerberus seeing it. The warmth was a nice novelty after almost three days in the cold, occasionally rain-soaked city streets, but the gnawing sensation in her stomach was still there.

Rafea and Manado were both fast asleep, as was the other vanguard, Colburn. Saffiya, Mac'Tir, and the two infiltrators, Kan'Sura and Vimes, were gathered close to the fire, warming their hands and occasionally making small talk. It was the early hours of the morning, but after two days of catching little bits of sleep whenever they could, day or night, none of them could sleep _now_.

"I've never seen anything like this," Vimes muttered, finally. "Working C-Sec, you see junkies, looters, hostage-taking, organised crime, rape, murder, and suicide... Lots of death, but... nothing like this. None of the chaos."

"Agreed," Mac'Tir sighed.

"What were you, drell?" the sniper inquired.

"I... ah..."

Mac'Tir shuffled nervously on the spot, and looked to the floor.

"It's fine, you can say. _Former _C-Sec, remember?"

"Right... well... I was an assassin, for the hanar."

"Why do the jellyfish needs assassins?" Kan'Sura wondered aloud – as Saffiya looked at him, firelight was dancing off his black visor, all of their faces reflected in the curved surface.

"_Everyone _needs assassins," the drell chuckled. "The hanar just... aren't that good at it."

"You must have seen some crazy stuff," the _former _C-Sec sniper mused, admiringly.

"Enough for several lifetimes," Mac'Tir laughed. "Lots of amazing spectacles, not much of the world's beauty. Although, Kahje..."

Without warning, the drell's eyes rolled back, glossing over, black as night.

"_Warm sand underfoot. The smell of salt on the sea breeze. Soft forms swim beneath the waves. Flashes of silver-white. Giggles. Cheers. More come. Golden sun lights the water. The new ones join the sea. A thousand forms, swimming, singing..."_

As quickly as it had come, the drell's trance went. His eyes returned to normal, and he shook his head slightly as he returned to the here and now. The two snipers were staring at him in utter, uncomprehending shock, and their disbelief only increased when they realised Saffiya was _smiling_.

"Beautiful indeed..." she sighed.

"You know Kahje, justicar?" the drell asked, clearly surprised. She nodded.

"I journeyed there, when I first left asari space. The only world I've ever known where there wasn't an injustice to be found..."

"It's not _that _perfect," Mac'Tir laughed. "But it _is _beautiful. We drell lived on a desert world – our minds process water as this precious commodity, a thing to be prized above all else. To see the Encompassing, an ocean of water which covers almost the entire planet... It's incredible to us."

"Sorry to break up your romantic little chat," Kan'Sura interjected, sarcastically, "but what the hell was that? And why aren't _you _surprised?" He said the first part to Mac'Tir, and the last to Saffiya.

"Eidetic memory," the justicar murmured, answering for Mac'Tir. "All drell maintain perfect memories... right?"

"Right," nodded the drell, apparently impressed.

"And I'm not _surprised_ because I got to know the hanar and drell quite well when I was on Kahje..."

"What about you, quarian?" Mac'Tir muttered. "We hardly know anything about you."

"What is there to tell? I'm an exile, I hate my people..."

"You... ah... you _hate _your people?" Vimes asked, incredulously.

"Well, if I loved them, I'd still be riding on the Migrant Fleet, wouldn't I?"

"Yeah, but... _why_?"

"They're fools," Kan'Sura muttered, simply. "They spend all their time obsessing over the past – fighting the geth, reclaiming the homeworld, it consumes every decision they make. And look where it's got them. The rest of the galaxy is fighting the Reapers, and they're nowhere to be seen..."

Saffiya was about to ask just _why _Kan'Sura had been exiled – although she wasn't quite sure she _wanted_ to know – when a low rumble interrupted her. She grabbed her pistol, looking to both ends of the tunnel, but there was no-one approaching. A little flurry of brick dust fell from the tunnel roof, and as one, the soldiers around the fire looked upwards. The _thing_, whatever it was, was rushing past, above them.

"This might be wishful thinking..." Mac'Tir murmured. "But did that sound like a shuttle to you?"


	23. Operation Huntsman Part 15

_**Firebase Ghost, Benning **_

_**Day 3, 0250**_

"Ten minutes to the LZ," Captain Murphy shouted, above the blare of the shuttle's engines. "Andersen, how's our solution coming along?"

"Almost there, sir," Andersen muttered, tapping away at his omni-tool. "Are we inside the blackout zone?"

It was a random question, but Murphy obliged him, trying to use the radio and hearing a buzz of static in reply.

"That's a big old _yes_, soldier. Communications are dead. Why?"

"Because there's one more thing I need. Sir, use your radio again, and repeat after me: big damn heroes."

"I... what?" the captain frowned – Yui and several of the Alliance marines were looking over at them in curiosity.

"Just do it, sir."

"Okay... big damn heroes," he murmured, into the buzz of static.

"Got it. Thanks, sir. Now..." the engineer bit his lip, tapping away frantically at his omni-tool and drawing up all sorts of programs. Finally, he looked up. "One more time."

"You're messing with me."

"Just humour me here, captain..."

"Big damn heroes," he sighed, into the radio. This time, however, his eyes bulged in surprise. The static that had rendered his words an inaudible mess the last time was gone. "Bloody hell," he breathed, in surprise.

"Jackpot," the young engineer whispered. He was grinning broadly and proudly.

"How the hell did you do that?" Murphy laughed.

"I told you on the ship – Cerberus is lazy, they're just laying an interference wave over all our signals. I recorded your voice on the ship, and then again through the radio when it was being jammed. Taking one away from the other gives us our interference wave, and I can counteract it..."

"So that's... it? The jammer doesn't work anymore?"

"It's not quite that simple," Anderson admitted. "This is a short-range fix. Works in a radius of about twelve feet, but it's not city-wide. If we can get to the broadcast source, I can use Cerberus' signal as a carrier to transmit mine across the whole city..."

"How long will it last?" Murphy asked, cautiously.

"Depends on how smart their engineers are... Once they work out what I've done, it's pretty easy to counteract, just modify the original signal. You should have at least a few minutes, though."

"That's enough to spread the word," the captain nodded.

"Do we know where the jammer _is?_"

"Yeah... Reconnaissance probe got an overhead shot of it. It's in a plaza to the west of the LZ."

"And how _big _is it?"

"We don't know. Birds' eye view – it's about a foot in diameter, but we can't see how tall it is until we get there."

"Bugger."

"Quite..."

"So," Yui grunted, after a pause. "What's the plan? Are we clearing a path?"

"_We _are," Murphy said, carefully. "You're not."

"What?" the big krogan muttered, brow furrowing.

"I need you covering the landing zone, Yui. If our teams get killed on the way to the shuttle, all of this is for nothing. Take your team, clear the LZ, and lock it down until everyone's home."

"Got it," he replied, looking around at the three human marines on his team and nodding to each of them in turn.

"Thirty seconds!" the pilot yelled, from the cockpit. Yui rose to his feet, still clutching his shotgun one-handed, and paced over to the door. As it swung upwards, half a minute later, he leapt out with a roar of fury, quickly followed by the marines. Instantly, the air was thick with shots, and rounds were still _ping_ing off the side of the shuttle as it pulled away, and the door closed shut once more. In the space of thirty seconds, Echo was away...

"Alright, Delta," Captain Murphy murmured, as the shuttle lurched. "Any questions?"

"What's the target zone like, sir?" asked one of the marines, Cole.

"Open plaza," the captain replied. "Square, buildings around the perimeter – unknown height, probably offices. The target is in the centre – some kind of pylon, unknown size. The enemy has fortifications facing outwards from the target, unknown number of defenders."

"That's a lot of unknowns, captain," scowled one of the other marines.

"I know, Harrison..."

"So..." Andersen muttered. "What's our plan?"

"Primary objective is to get _you _to the target," said Murphy, matter-of-factly. "Harrison, Cole, stick to Andersen like glue. I want the three of you to punch right up the centre, shortest route to the target. Enfield, you and me will break off to the right, and try to flank behind the enemy positions."

A loud fist clattered against the door to the cockpit, and the pilot shouted once more.

"Eyes on target! Sixty seconds!"

"This is it..." Murphy muttered, gravely, as he grabbed his rifle. "Good luck everyone."

As they lined up by the door, Andersen found himself squarely in the middle of the line – the marines, it seemed, were dead set on protecting him. Predictably, Murphy was at the front, bracing an Avenger rifle like all of the marines. Behind him was Harrison, then Andersen, then Cole and Enfield.

The shuttle lurched again, and Andersen could have sworn he heard bullets bouncing off the hull. Finally, the hydraulics let out a little hiss, a crack of light appeared at the bottom of the door, and it rose upwards.

Murphy was out in a flash, firing shots even before he hit the ground. In a matter of seconds, all of the marines and Andersen were out too, dropping a foot or so to the floor, and setting off a sprint after the captain.

The shuttle had dropped them in a narrow street, which funnelled them towards the plaza – ahead, he could see at least a dozen Cerberus troopers and a couple of black-hooded snipers, all dug in behind segments of orange portable cover.

Murphy broke into the bright light of the plaza, ducked to the right while reloading his rifle, and disappeared out of Andersen's adrenaline-soaked tunnel vision. His eyes were set dead ahead, looking past Harrison to the defenders as he shot off a few hasty pistol rounds.

His stomach dropped as a red laser sight swept over the squad – one of the black-hooded snipers was taking aim, and before Andersen could shout a warning, Harrison's head exploded with a whip-crack sound and a spray of blood. The marine's neck snapped back, and his legs kept treading air for a few moments, before he crumpled to the ground. Andersen yelled in shock, and hurled himself headlong towards the nearest barricade – he slid into it, only to see the Cerberus trooper behind it leaning over him, taking aim –

_Crack_. The trooper reeled from a shot to the head, fired from Cole's rifle. The marine slid into the cover shield next to Andersen's, nodding grimly to him as he fired shots around the corner. Enfield dived off to the side, following the sprinting Captain Murphy and ducking rounds as he did.

The whole plaza was descending into chaos. Andersen popped up above his shield, and sent a burning fireball over the barricades with a swing of his omni-tool. It hit a trooper, burst in the air, and set fire to two others next to him – the three men dropped to the floor, writhing and screaming. There were more coming, however, and the tide of bullets he and Cole were sending at them could only do so much. Personally, he was praying Captain Murphy had something up his sleeve...


	24. Operation Huntsman Part 16

**A/N: Right, I've finally finished writing Operation Huntsman - it should all be uploaded over the course of the next day or two, as promised. So, I'm taking a little break, and then getting to work on writing the next storyline soon :)**

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><p><em><strong>York Square, Benning<strong>_

_**Day 3, 0300**_

As he sprinted around the side of the plaza, Captain Murphy was well aware of Cole and Andersen, struggling to hold off Cerberus as they poured forward. He paused for a moment, firing off several rounds and picking off at least three troopers, before they spotted him and returned fire, prompting him to race off to the side again. Enfield too was circling around the edge, occasionally stopping to fire a shot before rushing onwards.

"Enfield!" he yelled, as he spotted something behind the enemy lines. "Generators, powering the cover! Light 'em up!"

Almost instantly, the two soldiers began to pump rounds into the nearest of the little steel boxes. In a matter of moments it began to spark and smoke – a jolt of electricity shot out, stunning a trooper stood too close to it, and then, with a violent _bang_, the generator exploded. Murphy switched his shots to the next one, and then the next when the second too exploded in a smoky haze.

His attention was ripped away, however, by a scream to his left. Enfield toppled to the floor, dropping a rifle and clutching a shattered and broken knee – the leg beneath it was a mere stump. Murphy's first instinct was to run to help, but Enfield had drawn his pistol, and began to fire madly towards the Cerberus ranks, warding the captain off with a cry of "Go!"

He obliged – a moment later, with a quick wave of his omni-tool, Murphy vanished from sight. Enfield took two more hits, but was still firing. It was painful to watch, and the captain looked away. He still _heard_, however, the _pop _as Enfield went to reload, the visceral _crack _of a bullet striking his head, and the little gurgle of blood as he slumped dead.

"_Two down," _Murphy thought to himself. _"This is going to hell... again."_

Still invisible, and somewhat detached from the battle Andersen and Cole were now fighting alone, he finally took a proper look at the jamming tower, which had been but a dull shadow in the corner of his vision when he was focused on the fight. It was a tall metal spire, about two storeys tall, with various antennae and moving parts lining the tubular frame. He was _extremely_ glad he'd gone with Andersen's plan, because there was no way grenades could bring _that _thing down...

His attention was drawn back to the battle as his cloak dissipated, revealing him to the world once more. The Cerberus troopers seemed to have forgotten about him, utterly focused on the other two as they were. Slowly, carefully, he lifted his rifle once more, took aim at the hooded head of one of the snipers – what had Logan called it? A Nemesis? – and fired twice. The head juddered on the neck, and the whole body dropped to the floor unceremoniously. _Now _he had their attention, but he was quicker to the draw – advancing towards the tower itself, he picked off the first three men to try and fire back, then used his last three rounds to finish off the other sniper, and dived behind the jamming tower.

Rounds were crashing down around him, bouncing off the tower or else ricocheting past to the buildings beyond, but he could hear his two remaining squadmates fighting back on the other side – an unmistakeably fiery explosion burst into the air, and he knew Andersen had just set several troopers alight.

The shots coming towards him thinned as he listened to Cole and Andersen bring down several of their assailants, and the see-saw tactics seemed to be working – Cerberus either focused on _him_, or on _them_, and whichever way they aimed, they showed their backs to at least one of the marines. Murphy had no problems shooting_ them_ in the back – cloaked, he span out on the far side of the tower and dropped two more men, before retreating behind the safety of the structure once more.

It took a matter of minutes for Cerberus' uncertain defence to fall apart. Eventually, there just wasn't anyone _left _to defend the tower. Pushed back, and with their cover torn down – all of the generators except the one nearest the tower had been destroyed – the troopers had no chance. As the last one fell, Murphy emerged from behind the jammer, nodding grimly to Andersen and Cole, who were approaching from the other side.

"They got Enfield," the captain sighed, and Cole looked especially grim at the loss of his fellow marine.

"And Harrison," he muttered.

"Andersen, how long do you need?" Murphy continued, matter-of-factly.

"As long as you can give me," the engineer replied, eyeing up the jamming tower. "I'll need to climb it – there's a maintenance panel half way up, I can get into the system from there..."

"Do what you have to. Cole, we'll dig in behind this last barrier – enemy reinforcements mustbe on the way, we need to be ready."

"Aye aye," the marine nodded, crouching behind the portable barrier. Behind them, Andersen was already beginning to scale the jamming tower, shimmying up it bit by bit as if he was claiming a drainpipe.

Finally, just as Murphy spotted the first Cerberus troopers coming down the street ahead, Andersen reached the panel – he tore it out, and it landed worryingly close to Murphy's head. With that, he went to work, and the captain set his eyes ahead.

"If we take the pressure off for even a second," he grunted to Cole, out of the corner of his mouth, "they'll start taking pot-shots at Andersen up there, and he's exposed. So, we keep up constant fire – I'll start, and when I go to reload, you start firing, etcetera."

"Aye aye, sir," Cole murmured, bracing his rifle in his arms.

Without a backward glance, Captain Murphy leant up above the barrier, and sent a volley of shots whistling down the street – the first two Cerberus troopers in the approaching platoon were killed almost instantly, and by the time his clip ran empty, another three had joined them in hell.

As he went to reload, and Cole began to fire, he bitterly fought off the temptation to shout a line from the recent vids... _"Hold the line!" _would have been a bit of a cliché, after all...


	25. Operation Huntsman Part 17

_**York Square, Benning**_

_**Day 3, 0310**_

The battle was intense – quite possibly the most intense firefight Captain Murphy had ever been a part of. The two marines held fast, rattling off shots in a near-constant barrage, and left the Cerberus platoon with massive casualties – white and gold-armoured bodies were littering the street and the square, but still they came, apparent dozens of them pouring in through their little choke point.

Once or twice, a rifle shot would crash against his shields, or a sniper's round would force him to duck his head beneath cover, but for the most part, Cerberus didn't get a _chance _to fire – they merely made a mad scramble out of the street, trying to find some non-existent cover before they were mown down by the two dogged marines.

As he reloaded for what felt like the hundredth time, the captain even had time to glance upwards and check on Andersen – the engineer was hugging the tower tightly with his legs, hovering over the bare wiring and core exposed beneath the maintenance panel, and using both hands to work with his omni-tool. Now and then a stray shot would clatter off the steel frame of the tower, but the engineer had been lucky so far, and was working as if undisturbed by the fierce battle just feet below him.

Cole took another hit, a round bouncing harmlessly off his shields, and dropped down to reload. Murphy sprang up, squeezed the trigger and watching as molten death sprayed outwards – the burst killed at least four of the troopers running towards them, and he dropped again, reaching for a thermal clip...

...and there were none. He swore, loudly, and the concerned look on Cole's face told him he too was down to his last clip. Resignedly, the captain grabbed his sniper rifle – it wasn't ideal, it was anything _but _rapid fire, but it would have to do. The first shot decapitated an approaching Nemesis, he slid back the bolt, reloading the rifle, and fired a second shot, causing a sprinting trooper to stumble and fall dead, killed in mid-pace.

To his left, Cole had drawn his pistol - both men were getting desperate. Sensing this, Cerberus pushed forward through the darkness – their troopers were actually getting shots in now, and one or two were sending rounds up at Andersen, sparks lighting up the side of the tower. Murphy heard the engineer's shield crackle as it fought off bullets, and brought the offending trooper down with a shot through the heart. The tide, however, was most definitely turning...

Cole rocked back on his feet, and lurched forwards as he hurled a grenade out over the battlefield – it exploded in a mess of shrapnel and churned concrete, killing three troopers. Murphy did the same, tossing one of his sticky grenades at an approaching enemy's head. It stuck fast, and the man clawed at his helmet for a few moments before it went off, obliterating the top half of his body and killing the man next to him.

The marines only had so many grenades, though, and like their bullets, they were quickly running out. Desperately, Murphy stabbed out with his omni-tool, using a basic cryo program he'd been given in training to freeze a trooper solid. He fell face-down, and shattered on the concrete.

"Andersen!" he roared, as he fired another shot and quickly tried to reload. "Tell me it's almost done!"

"Thirty seconds!" the engineer roared back.

Murphy had only turned his head for a second to check on Andersen. As he looked back, however, his stomach lurched at the sight of Cole, standing up to fire only to take a bullet to the gut. He grunted, slipped backwards, and was already beginning to cough up blood as he hit the ground.

"Cole!" the captain screamed – this had to be a bad dream, it just _had _to be, but his brain was telling him this was indeed reality. He shuffled over, grabbing Cole's pistol and firing it one-handed, as he pressed his other hand to the marine's stomach, trying to stop the bleeding. Cole was already going pale, however, and a moment later, the pistol ran empty. Murphy swore, _very _loudly.

"Captain!" Andersen yelled, from above. "Catch!"

Murphy glanced upwards, and saw a small object plunging down towards him. The gun clattered onto the floor at his side, and he quickly grabbed it – it was a finicky quarian pistol, but it was still a pistol, and it was still loaded.

He took aim, and killed the nearest three troopers in quick succession. Scanning the battlefield, he saw about half a dozen shooters still taking aim at their position – his muscles, soaked with adrenaline and fury, were making him fight back, even as his brain began to consider just giving up and lying down in the dust to die.

"Murphy!" came the call, from above his head. "It's done! Send the message, now!"

Relief – or what little of it he could muster – sprang through the captain's mind. He hunched low beneath cover, tapped away at his omni-tool, and began to speak aloud over the radio. If Anderson's virus had worked, then this would now being broadcast through _every _N7's radio, whether they liked it or not.

"All units, this is Captain Murphy! Blackout's over, folks, now get the hell back to the LZ, we're getting out of here!" He punctuated the sentence by shooting one of the troopers square between the eyes, as he tried to sneak up to the barricade. "On the double, soldiers!"

With that, the radio descended into static again, and Murphy set his mind back to the battlefield. Peering over the barricade, he spotted just five troopers arrayed across the plaza – they were quickly reduced to three as Andersen, still hanging off the tower, tore into two of them with another fireball from his omni-tool.

Murphy span out of cover, shot one trooper to the ground with a couple of rounds to the chest, then used his last round to headshot a second. That just left one... As it happened, that _one _was sprinting towards his cover, drawing a pistol, taking aim...

...and being decapitated. A deafening bang ran through the plaza, as a single round passed through the man's skull and carried on, clattering against the captain's barricade. The body dropped in slow-motion, collapsing just feet from Murphy, and causing a conspicuous silence to fall over their surroundings.

"Sniper," Murphy observed, weakly. He looked down at his left hand, still soaked in blood. Beneath it, Cole had gone white, and stiff. Wearily, he slumped down against the barricade, dropping Andersen's pistol and shutting Cole's eyes for good. He was sick of it all. Sick of the death, sick of the chaos... One part of his brain was asking who the hell the sniper was, but another was asking why he'd taken so long to come and help...

He looked up towards the office buildings lining the edge of the plaza, and sure enough, a figure was visible in one of the ground floor windows. As Murphy watched on, shattered, the sniper disappeared, then emerged from the building's doorway, followed by another. As the two black-armoured figures approached, they became more and more familiar, until Murphy wasn't sure whether to laugh or cry, and a sort of reluctant energy flooded through his veins.

"Captain," Tyco saluted, rifle hanging limply from one hand.

"Soldier," Murphy coughed. "You look like shit."

"Thanks, boss..."

He had a point, though... Tyco and his companion Vanyali both looked to be in a bad way. Tyco was gaunt, slightly bloody, and looked exhausted, not to mention the tell-tale dilation in his pupils that told the captain he was running on stims to stay conscious. Vanyali looked slightly more rested, but her armour was far more battered, and more obviously, her arm was in a messy sling.

"We done here, Andersen?" Murphy called.

"Almost!" the engineer shouted back. "One more thing to do!"

"What's that?"

"This tower wasn't deployed to keep _us _in the dark..." Andersen murmured, apparently beginning a long-winded explanation.

"What?" Murphy and Tyco echoed, in unison.

"It wasn't," he repeated, over his shoulder. "Or else it would have been activated before we arrived. We just happened to stumble across it."

"So who _was _it targeting?" the captain askedd.

"The resistance," the engineer replied, simply. "After we leave, they'll still be here, and this thing'll keep them isolated... But if I can get the current right..."

The three soldiers on the ground watched, incredulously, as Andersen's omni-tool was consumed by flames – a thick coat of plasma was surrounding it, burning fiercely and brightly. After a moment's indecision, the engineer plunged it through the open hatch and deep into the guts of the tower. Thick plumes of black smoke began to pour out, and sparks stung at Andersen's face before he finally leapt away, landing hard on the concrete.

Even as Murphy rushed over to check if the engineer was alright, the tower was sparking viciously, and in a single furious blast, the top and bottom halves of the structure were separated, with the upper section toppling away across the plaza – thankfully _not _on top of the marines' heads.

"Job done," Andersen muttered, as Murphy pulled him to his feet. A bruise was spreading over his face where he'd hit the ground, but otherwise, he seemed to be fine. "Now let's get the hell out of here."

"Agreed," Tyco nodded, speaking in a business-like tone. "That street you came down? It runs all the way back to the LZ. I'll cover you from the rooftops – take Vanyali while you're at it, she can't climb with a broken arm."

Vanyali looked like she was about to protest, but decided against it. With a collective nod and a last, sad look back at the three dead marines amidst the dozens of dead Cerberus troopers, the four of them set off into the night. Already, gunfire was breaking out in the distance, and the captain knew Yui's squad couldn't hold the escape route open forever...


	26. Operation Huntsman Part 18

_**Firebase Ghost, Benning**_

_**Day 3, 0345**_

"Push them back!"

As he roared aloud, Hei Yui was charging across the firebase, Claymore in one hand. He rushed up towards one of the pre-fabs in the centre of the base from the landing pad, where the rest of his squad was holding. Two Cerberus troopers were shooting from the doorway – he tore the first apart with a shotgun slug, then crushed the second's head into the wall with his fist.

A quick glance back showed him his squad – the soft humans were holding well, albeit not _quite _as well as a krogan line. One of them, Mason, was propped up on his side, lying in his own blood but still firing doggedly at any troopers he could see.

Looking forward, through the window, the krogan once again caught sight of the party clambering up on the north side. They were struggling to cut a path – that was the whole reason he was charging across the base to reach them...

He swept into the next chamber – the only occupant was a sniper peering out of the window, who he swiftly grabbed in his free hand, picking her up and snapping her neck before tossing her back through the window.

Another check showed him the approaching team – they were a diverse bunch, led by an asari and a drell, with another asari, two humans, a quarian and a turian following them across the roof. They seemed to be in pretty dire straits – as he watched, the drell cut down two troopers with what the krogan considered to be a _tiny _sword, and the leading asari was scything through opponents with her biotics, but the rest looked desperate. None of the others were using their biotics, and the two who looked like snipers were nonetheless not sniping, instead resorting to sidearms.

"Friendly, coming out!" he yelled, leaping out of the window and into the open plaza the group was advancing across. The same stunned expression crossed every one of their faces as Yui barrelled towards the troopers' exposed backs, tearing through them in a frenzy of shotgun rounds and brutal beatings.

As the last of the troopers – for now, at least – fell dead, the asari and the drell rushed towards him, with the others swiftly following.

"By the goddess, it's good to see you, krogan," the asari sighed, clapping his shoulder – a bizarre gesture of congratulation which humans and asari seemed to use.

"Shuttle's this way," he grunted, nodding towards the landing site. Sure enough, as he turned around, the blue shuttle was still hovering defiantly over the pad, refusing to be driven away by something as trivial as bullets.

"You heard him!" the drell called. "Push ahead!"

The group, now eight-strong with Yui's addition, did indeed begin to push back towards the landing pad. The main body of the Cerberus force had been killed, but a few stragglers remained – Yui blew one into the yawning chasm at the side of the rooftop, as the drell mowed another two down with a sub-machine gun.

Finally, with his charges exhausted but alive, Yui staggered back onto the landing pad. To his surprise, the biotics and snipers didn't simply drop into cover and rest, but took their places in the firing line, preparing to hold out.

With a low groan, he spotted Forge dragging Mason away from the barricade to make room for the newcomers – the latter was quite dead, still soaking the floor with his blood.

"You realise we came to get you out of here?" he muttered, to the drell.

"We're not the last ones out," the drell replied, propping his SMG on the cargo crate he was crouching behind. "Captain Murphy sent that message, and he's not here, so I'm guessing he's still out there?"

Yui nodded, feeling a wave of respect for the biotics – after three days of being shot at and forced to scurry from hole to hole like pyjaks, they still hadn't had the fight knocked out of them.

As if saying his very name had summoned him, the radio began to crackle, and the captain's voice echoed through it, blissfully free of static.

"Echo, we're coming up the stairs now, emerging on the east side! What's your status up there?"

"Mason's dead," Yui grunted. "But we got a team of biotics and snipers up here, seven of them."

"Patch them in."

Obligingly, he patched the asari and drell into the conversation, and Murphy began to speak again.

"Hello?"

"This is Saffiya," the asari gulped through a dry throat – she looked thirsty, not to mention half-starved.

"Good to hear your voice, justicar. Can you give me a headcount? How many of your team are still kicking?"

"All three," Saffiya replied, sounding rather grateful for that. "Bravo lost one, and we've only got two of Charlie with us..."

"We've got the other two," Murphy coughed, happily. In the background, the krogan heard someone whooping at the news. Then he continued, more sombrely, "but the three marines on my team are all dead. I've got Andersen and the two snipers – one of them can't fight, broken arm. We won't be able to hold out on our own, Yui, not unless we reach your position."

"I'll send backup," the krogan muttered. As he spoke, he gestured wildly to Garrett and Forge, and the two marines sprinted off to the east. Something was nagging at Yui's mind, though... "Captain," he continued, "we've got more survivors than I expected. You do know the shuttle can't carry us all?"

"I... feared as much," the captain replied, hesitantly. "We spotted reinforcements coming from the north, looks like a heavy platoon. Whoever stays behind will have to survive that until the shuttle comes back."

"Most of these guys are exhausted, they can't even use their biotics..." Yui murmured, coming over all decisive for a moment. "We send the biotics and the wounded back on the first shuttle. That just leaves the best warriors behind to hold their ground."

"Right," Murphy agreed – out of the corner of his eye, Yui spotted the captain's team emerging from the apartments on the far side of the base. "We're almost at your position. Hold tight."


	27. Operation Huntsman Part 19

_**Firebase Ghost, Benning**_

_**Day 3, 0400**_

The light of an early dawn was just beginning to peek over the rooftops, as Captain Murphy surveyed the field. His squad had limped back to the landing pad just minutes before, and now they were preparing for their last stand.

The plan to give the biotics and the wounded first priority in the shuttle as a good one, he had thought, but he hadn't expected people to argue _against _being the first out. Four figures were all staunchly refusing to get on the shuttle – Andersen, Tyco, Saffiya and Mac'Tir.

"There's not enough of you to hold this place alone," Tyco argued, fiercely. He had a point – if the four of them boarded the shuttle, then the defence would consist only of Murphy, Yui, and the two remaining Echo marines. Four men against a tide of hostiles.

"I... you're exhausted, Tyco," the captain muttered, shaking his head. The other two snipers had already been loaded onto the shuttle with Vanyali for that very reason.

"Tough," the big merc scowled. "I'm staying."

"So are we," Saffiya added, motioning to herself and Mac'Tir. "The others are exhausted, they need rest, I get it, but we've got enough energy left to keep fighting..."

Matters were made even worse as the two other snipers, Kan'Sura and Vimes, leapt back _out _of the shuttle.

"If he's staying, so are we," Vimes grunted, nodding to Tyco.

"You don't even have any bullets left!" Murphy spluttered, desperately.

"They can borrow mine," Tyco growled, handing a thermal clip to each of them.

"Andersen," the captain groaned, turning on the engineer. "What's your excuse?"

"Bravery?"

"Stupidity. You're already wounded, the doctor only let you come on this operation because we _needed _you, and I promised we'd protect you. I can't make that guarantee any more, not now..."

Anderson opened his mouth to protest, but he was drowned out by a deafening _bang _on the other side of the base.

"Something just dropped!" Yui roared. "Biiig crater on the north side!"

"They're here!" Murphy yelled. Without waiting for his permission, the snipers and biotics all rushed to cover, readying their weapons, and the captain finally gave up trying to stop them. Andersen, however, was still at the edge of the pad. He stormed over to him, grabbing the young pup by the scruff of his collar as he growled at him. "Andersen, get the hell on that shuttle."

"Sir-"

"Now!" he barked. "If we don't make it out, tell them what happened down here..."

_Very _reluctantly, Andersen clambered up into the shuttle, taking his place next to a concerned-looking Vanyali, who was watching her fellow snipers take aim. Murphy clanged his fist twice against the side of the shuttle, the pilot took the signal, and the craft lurched away, door closing shut as it did.

"They're away," Murphy sighed, as he took his place at the battle line – a collection of scrap metal and crates had been piled together on the far side of the landing zone to constitute a barricade, and the various fighters left were all crouched behind it.

On the opposite side of the base, the Cerberus troopers were already rushing forward. As per Murphy's first guess, they looked to be about platoon-strength, a mass of troopers occasionally interspersed with the bulkier Centurions.

The first shot, moments later, was fired by Tyco. A single round from Vanyali's Black Widow sent a resounding _bang _echoing across the rooftop. It whistled along, punctured a trooper's helmet, and passed right _through _his head to hit the man behind him. Both of them dropped dead, instantly, and all hell broke loose.

Cerberus had more guns and more bullets, but the N7s were dug in behind cover, not to mention their specialists – the three snipers were all picking off troopers with alarming accuracy, and the two remaining biotics were interspersing their shots with biotic missiles which tore through shield and flesh alike.

Within a minute or two, the Cerberus platoon's front ranks had been thinned dramatically. The left edge of the roof, which would once have provided cover in the form of buildings, was now a deadly precipice. More than once, a trooper dived out of the way of a grenade, or a biotic blast, only to find himself plummeting clumsily over the concrete cliff. Several of the troopers had dug in in the building to the right, that was true, but the majority were caught in the killing field in the centre, and it was living up to its name. Bodies were piling up under the hail of fire.

Then, quite suddenly, the illusion of their invulnerability vanished, in a single moment. A single stray shot sprang through the air, and Garrett, who had just stuck his head above the wall to fire, took it straight in the eye. He screamed for a fraction of a second before the exit wound tore his life away, and he dropped dead behind the barricade.

An instant later, someone else was hit – the drell, Mac'Tir, had lingered out of cover for a second too long, and fell to the floor with a shot lodged in his shoulder. From the lack of screaming, Murphy assumed the worst – a quick look down, however, showed that the drell was quite alive, writhing in pain but sucking it up enough to keep quiet. At a brief nod from Murphy, Saffiya moved to the drell's side, clamping her hands to the wound and reaching for medi-gel.

With two men down and a third person attending to the wounds, the defenders at the barricade began to lose ground. After ten minutes of being massacred, the Cerberus troopers were advancing, room by room, barricade by barricade, crossing the no man's land that lay before the landing area. The snipers were still mowing down targets – Murphy too was using his sniper rifle to cut them down – but they simply couldn't hold them for much longer.

And then, a deathly groan of steel echoed across the base. Peering over cover, the captain could see the crater Yui had mentioned – a great hole in the roof, scattered around its edge with rubble and debris. Deep inside, however, something was stirring. A clawed, mechanical hand gripped the edge, and a hulking form slowly dragged itself over the side, emerging into the sunlight.

Murphy's stomach dropped, as he roared out loud.

"Atlas!"


	28. Operation Huntsman Part 20

**A/N: Aaand, here we are, the end of Operation Huntsman...**

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><p><em><strong>Firebase Ghost, Benning<strong>_

_**Day 3, 0415**_

As the Atlas skulked across the battlefield, every advantage the N7s had fought for was wiped away, step by steel step.

"Heads down!" Murphy yelled, as machine gun fire lit up their barricade.

Tyco hurled a grenade blindly over his head, as did Forge, and moments later the two explosives went off in quick succession, punctuated by the screams of several troopers. That was satisfying, in a way, but the rattling of the Atlas' cannon continued, sparks and bullets dancing off the top of the makeshift wall.

"Once it stops to cool its guns," the captain continued, "target the troopers! Wipe them out, and we can flank that mech, hit it from all angles..."

There were one or two mutters of "Aye aye" and "Oorah", as everyone braced their weapons. Then, finally, after what seemed to be an age of deafening fire, the Atlas stopped – with a hiss of venting steam and coolant, the machine gun went quiet.

"Now!"

In unison, the eight remaining N7s – Mac'Tir had staggered back to his feet, despite the blood wound – rose and fired. An almighty volley flew across the battlefield, and at least a dozen troopers went down in the first few seconds. In their overconfidence, they had flooded out of cover, and were torn apart when the N7s finally got a chance to fire back. Rifles, pistols, SMGs... weapons of all descriptions were being fired over the barricade, along with the odd grenade or burst of biotics.

"For Tuchanka!" Yui roared, levelling a Centurion with his shotgun as the attacker tried to rush the barricade. Next to him, Saffiya hurled a whirling singularity at the mob, tossing four troopers into the air and into easy reach of the snipers' scopes.

The sun was just rising behind the buildings, casting an odd, fiery orange glow over the rooftop. Every shot that leapt across the battlefield was a glowing, ember in the sunlight, and the troopers were almost entirely wiped out by the time the N7s finished firing. There could have been no more than a dozen left, by Murphy's count. The Atlas, however, was still very much intact.

"Ground team to shuttle!" the captain yelled, as another bout of machine gun fire from the mech forced them to duck for cover. "There's an Atlas! We're getting torn up down here, what's your ETA?"

"Three minutes out!" replied a panicked voice – maybe the pilot? He couldn't quite be sure, in the din...

"What the hell do we do now, captain?" Tyco roared, above the noise. The Atlas was closer this time, with a steeper angle to fire from – the rounds weren't just hitting the barricade, but the floor around their feet as well. At the same time, it raised its other arm, smashing the clawed hand down on top of the barricade and causing Kan'Sura to leap out of the way to avoid being crushed.

"It'll blow the shuttle out of the sky! We need to take it down, now!"

The Atlas, however, had other ideas. The machine gun chatter stopped, and the gun began to vent, but before any of them could return fire, a hefty steel foot had smashed clean through their barricade, scattering crates and bits of metal across the ground. Yui was knocked face-down on the floor by the impact, and Forge was scrabbling back across the ground – to Murphy's horror, the Atlas' clawed left hand swept down, grabbing him by the midriff and hoisting him into the air. He winced, as the claws tightened, and Forge's ribs cracked, all at once, the grisly sound filling the air for a moment. The marine was screaming – another squeeze, however, and he fell silent.

As the Atlas tossed Forge's corpse over the edge of the roof, the N7s unleashed a barrage of fire. Shots bounced off the Atlas' shields as it swept around, now bearing down on Yui. To Murphy's surprise – and the pilot's, for that matter – the big krogan stood up, hunkered down, and grabbed the steel claw as it swung down at him. It was quite a spectacle, to see him actually fighting a bloody mech... Murphy's eyes, however, were drawn not to the krogan, but to the asari stood a few feet away.

Saffiya's hands were rippling with biotics – on closer inspection, her _arms _were rippling from the shoulder down, and the ripples became waves, the waves formed currents, and the whole thing was becoming one huge, swirling mass of energy between her palms. Mac'Tir was looking at her with concern, but as Yui continued to wrestle with the mech, the justicar took a bounding step forward, pulled her arms back, then swung them at the Atlas.

A rush of biotics such as Murphy had never seen smashed straight into the mech's side. Yui was swept off his feet and clattered against the barricade, but the Atlas and its pilot took the brunt of the attack. The mech's right arm was torn away, taking its cannon with it, and the canopy shattered in a storm of flying crystal. Then, after a deep gulp of air and a series of low, ragged pants, Saffiya swayed, and collapsed on the spot.

Mac'Tir, who was closest, bolted to her side, murmuring something that sounded like _"See ya"_. The others, for a single moment, focused every ounce of their hatred, for every one of their losses, on the unfortunate Cerberus pilot. He had already been stung across the head and chest by thick shards of crystal, and now found himself the focus of every one of their guns. For a full thirty seconds, they battered him with shot after shot, until the man's body was riddled with dozens of bullet wounds. Finally, Yui got to his feet, reached up into the cockpit, and tore the man out by the scruff of his neck, tossing him to the ground like a hunk of meat. The Atlas, empty, tottered on its steel legs, swung backwards, and crashed to the floor.

There were still about a dozen Cerberus trooper taking shots at the N7s, but with the Atlas gone, they didn't intend on hanging around – in the distance, a familiar rumble was echoing through the air. Backing up but still returning fire, Murphy moved closer to the edge, and sure enough, the rumble grew louder and louder, until a quick glance over his shoulder showed him the familiar blue shuttle hovering a foot or so above the edge of the roof, scarred Alliance insignia glinting in the dawn sun.

"Evac's here!" he roared, as the door swung open. "Let's go!"

As he himself wheeled around and clambered up into the shuttle, Captain Murphy found himself staring in amazement at the craft's only occupant. Andersen had acquired an Avenger from somewhere, and was leaning out of the doorway, firing shot after shot over the heads of the squad on the roof.

"I thought I told you to get the hell out of here?" Murphy laughed, taking the other side of the door and pulling up his own Avenger.

"Guess I misheard the order, sir," Andersen grinned, through a burst of suppressing fire. "Must be all this static."

The two of them lapsed into silence, and continued to pump rounds through the doorway as the rest of their squad backed up along the rooftop, getting closer and closer to the shuttle. The others appeared to be providing cover for the wounded Mac'Tir who, despite the blood pouring down his shoulder, was the first to leap aboard, carrying the unconscious Saffiya over his shoulder. Kan'Sura and Vimes came next, as they finally ran out of ammunition, and that left just Tyco and Yui.

"Come on!" the krogan bellowed, tapping the sniper's shoulder to get his attention. Tyco, tired and consumed by the battle, didn't even appear to have noticed the shuttle's arrival – he started with surprise as he saw it, then set off a run behind Yui, who was already half way to the door. The krogan hopped in with surprising agility, swiftly followed by Tyco's sniper rifle, thrown ahead of the man himself. At long last, the sniper lunged in through the open door, Murphy and Andersen emptied their clips, and the door slid shut, as the shuttle lurched away.

They were in a sorry state as they departed – most of the squad was panting heavily from exertion and nursing battered shields and armour. Now that the job was done, Tyco didn't even seem to have enough energy to pick himself off up the floor, he just lay there at their feet, face down. Saffiya was still unconscious, her breathing shallow, laid out across three seats, and opposite her, Mac'Tir was bleeding quite considerably from the torn wound in his shoulder. Nonetheless, as Murphy opened up a comm channel, he was in a better mood than the last three days combined...

"Cambrai, this is the ground team," he muttered, into the radio. "Job done. We're coming home."


	29. Operation Huntsman Debrief

_**SSV Cambrai, Serpent Nebula**_

_**Day 3, 0440**_

"What can I say?" Admiral Hackett shrugged, wearily.

It was almost impossible for Murphy not to respect the Admiral, at that moment in time. He was co-ordinating a galactic effort, quite literally a war for the survival of civilisation, and yet he was still willing to address his men and honour their sacrifice at this ungodly hour of the morning... Even Palmer, the ship's de facto commander, hadn't shown up to greet them, although the captain guessed that was more to do with the mutinous mutterings amongst the men – it would have been downright _dangerous _for him to face them at present.

The group that had returned from Benning had been drastically thinned out after their arrival, to the point where only four of the original operatives were gathered around the war room table. Vanyali and the still-unconscious Saffiya had both been rushed to the med bay for immediate treatment. Furthermore, Andersen and Mac'Tir had both been collared by the doctor and dragged to the med bay too, despite their protests that their injuries 'weren't that bad'... Manado, Rafea and Colburn, the other biotics, had been ordered to the mess hall to get some calories down their necks, and Tyco had been dragged to the sleeping area in the hangar, after passing out on the shuttle.

That just left Murphy, Yui, Vimes and Kan'Sura, along with Colonel Hunter, who had been watching the whole rescue operation unfold from the CIC, and had rushed down to check on the teams when the shuttle first returned.

"This is your lowest point," Hackett continued, finally. "Your darkest hour. Seven men died today, but remember this – twelve more survived, against all odds. Whatever more is said on the matter, you can hold your heads high. You conducted yourselves with incredible talent and bravery, and what happened down there was _not _your fault."

"Damn right it wasn't," Kan'Sura growled. "Err... sorry, sir."

"Speak freely, soldier," the admiral murmured, with apparent interest.

"It was that fool Palmer," the quarian spat. "He sent us in blind, got our shuttle _shot down_, and then ran away while we were being hunted in the streets..."

"Is that right?"

The Admiral's hologram span around to face Colonel Hunter, who sighed, resignedly.

"Kan'Sura has a point," the colonel muttered. "Palmer's command was... well, absent..."

"How the hell did that man even _get_ a command?" Murphy interrupted, patience snapping. "He's an obnoxious, arrogant little bureaucrat, who's quite happy to sit and watch his men _die _instead of getting his hands dirty! He deserves to swing from the bloody gallows!"

He was breathing rather heavily by the time he finished, and even Colonel Hunter was staring at him in mild surprise. Only Admiral Hackett looked calm, stroking his beard and examining Murphy's red face carefully.

"Operations Chief Palmer got his command," began the admiral, "because he was the highest-ranking officer left on the crew after the fighting at Arcturus Station."

"De facto, then?" Colonel Hunter muttered, with an air of curiosity. "Dead man's boots?"

"Yes," Hackett nodded. "The Cambrai's captain, executive officer and several others were all killed by enemy action during the battle. Hence the skeleton crew when you came aboard..."

"Well, that's good," Vimes scowled. "For a while there, I thought someone in the admiralty had actually been stupid enough to promote him... When do we get to kick his arse off the ship?"

"Gentlemen," murmured the admiral, "I would urge you to exercise some patience. Err... some _more _patience. The next time the Cambrai rendezvous' with the fleet, we will sort the matter out officially. No mutinies, am I clear?"

"Crystal, sir," Hunter nodded, sounding a bit annoyed.

"Now, I believe you've already reached the Widow system?"

"Yes, sir."

"Good. Proceed to the Citadel – there's another batch of recruits waiting for you on Shalta Ward. Hackett out."


	30. Citadel Part 1

**A/N: Right, new storyline. It's a lot shorter than Benning, and like Benning, it's been brought forward because I original underestimated the number of submissions I'd get...**

**Jason Kreuger Myers: Thanks, and noted, I'll tone down the quarian-hating :P**

**Ruven aka Lee: Thanks!******

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><p><em><strong>SSV Cambrai, Shalta Ward Docks<strong>_

_**0900**_

The day after the operatives received their debrief, the Cambrai docked on the Citadel to receive the new batch of volunteers Hackett had mentioned. Tyco had slept off the exhaustion, and the stims, and was now sat about five feet off the floor on top of a pile of crates, watching this 'new batch' filter into the hangar bay, as Captain Murphy checked them off against a holographic list in his hands. The only other occupant of the hangar was Andersen, tinkering away on his omni-tool next to the shuttle – everyone else had gone ashore.

"Thorne," the captain muttered, and waved a brooding human man through the entrance.

"T'Rel," – a serene asari commando followed the human in.

"Cash, Tabris, Vresh..."

Another man – he looked like a sentinel to Tyco – paced in, swiftly followed by a lean-looking woman, and a burly krogan who stuck tightly by her side.

"Bowman," – the next human through the door was a smiling, friendly-looking engineer. He shook Murphy's hand as he entered, quite to the captain's surprise, and then moved off across the hangar to the bunk area, where the new faces were gathering.

"D'Taran, Vaner, O'Leiph..."

An asari vanguard, another hulking krogan, and a rather attractive-looking asari carrying medical gear stepped through the airlock. Tyco was spotting a pattern – besides the humans, most of the volunteers were asari or krogan. A smarter man than he might have thought up some reason for that.

"Gazix," – a tall, turian soldier. "Zya," – a lithe human woman, with a sniper rifle and a worryingly scarred neck.

"Prentiss..." a bored-looking vanguard who was examining a hand cannon as he entered.

"Araya..."

As 'Araya' – a female human toting a krogan shotgun – walked in, Tyco's observation was distracted by a small bleeping from his omni-tool. He drew it up quickly, opening the message in an instant – he'd been waiting on news from the med bay on both Vanyali and Saffiya – and was rather surprised to find, not a notification from the doctor, or a message from his squadmates, but a single sentence from the man he _least _wanted to talk to right now.

"_URGENT. Got a mission for you, report to the captain's quarters. -Operations Chief Palmer."_

Resignedly, the sniper sprang down from his perch – drawing the incredulous stares of a couple of the new operatives as he did – and set off at a brisk walk across the hangar as Murphy ushered 'Ryder' in.

It was a short trip in the elevator up to the captain's quarters, and he found Palmer already waiting for him. The chief smiled as he entered – a rather forced smile, the kind you might expect from someone preparing to tell you you've got three weeks to live.

"What do you want?" Tyco grunted. Palmer didn't even push him for a 'sir' – the chief had been quiet, if not downright elusive, since Benning, going out of his way to avoid even coming into contact with the crew. He claimed he was experienced headaches, but the N7s suspected he was hiding from them, not entirely trusting them to obey Hackett's command of 'no mutinies'.

"Exactly what it said in the message," Palmer muttered. "I've got a mission for someone with your skill set, and seeing as your fellow sniper _Vanyali _is recovering from a broken arm, I find myself in the unfortunate position of asking for your help."

"What's the mission, Palmer?" the sniper sighed. He couldn't even be _bothered _to waste his anger on the guy. "Let's just get it over with..."

"Excellent, excellent," the chief murmured, distractedly. He went over his desk, grabbed a couple of papers, and returned, thrusting them into Tyco's hands.

"Batarian arms dealer by the name of Kamran. He arrived on the Citadel two weeks ago, claiming shelter as a refugee. According to those documents, however, he's been supplying black market weapons to Cerberus from right underneath our noses, on the Citadel..."

"Why would a batarian help Cerberus?" was Tyco's immediate response. "It's a human-centric group, to say the least..."

As he spoke, he was looking over the documents – one of them appeared to be an intercepted message, bearing Kamran's name, and sent from an encrypted source. It called for 'the usual amount', to be delivered to a front company on Illium... The other was a transcript, of a rather pained-sounding confession from a peon of Kamran's. Tyco didn't really want to know how Palmer had extracted the evidence, but it was conclusive, he had to admit that... Still, why _would _a batarian help Cerberus?

"Way to think inside the box," Palmer scolded. "We know Cerberus is connected to the Reapers now – he's indoctrinated."

"Right," the sniper muttered. "Do you want him brought in? You _could _just get C-Sec to do that..."

"You know how C-Sec can be," the chief said, shaking his head. "Kamran's made enough money off of these deals to make the evidence... _get lost_, shall we say... So no, I don't want you to bring him in. I want you to go to his apartment on Tayseri Ward, find the bastard, and kill him."

"Of course, because _that _won't get C-Sec's attention."

"Like I said... evidence can be lost, it works both ways. Just get the job done, soldier. The sooner he dies, the less time he has to stock up Cerberus' arsenal."

Tyco nodded, rather than saluted, and took off back towards the elevator. It was a bizarre set of circumstances he found himself in, but for the first time since meeting the wretched man, he had to admit Palmer was in the right.

He was already slipping into his bounty hunter mentality as he returned to the hangar. He grabbed a Black Widow from the weapons bench – after using Vanyali's on Benning, he had requisitioned one for himself, impressed, and an Aegohr clerk had delivered the weapon that morning, just before the new recruits arrived. He was still in his armour – he almost always was – so all that remained was to load his weapon, grab his helmet, say a quick 'Bye,' to Andersen, and walk out of the airlock, abandoned now the recruits had all checked in.

Half way to the airlock, another message bloomed on his omni tool, again from Palmer.

"_New intel," _it read, _"Kamran's meeting Cerberus contacts in half an hour. Take them all out."_

He closed the message, nodded to himself, and then off he went, to kill a man. It was a strange day, all in all...


	31. Citadel Part 2

**A/N: Epicenter Six: Keep an eye open, he's coming...**

**shadowsilv3r: Fair enough. Bear in mind, I might have to tone the Thane stuff down (I'm trying to keep this storyline as detached from the Normandy's as possible in terms of people, etc.) but I'll try to include a reference :) As for Kamur, I took him out for a while with the excuse of "grieving" so I could make room for someone else's OC. He'll be back too, soon enough...**

**Sailoramber: "It's a trap!"**

**BlackBox Inc: Of course I'm still taking submissions. It might be a little while before they get into the story, it's backlogged, but I'll take them. Hope you keep enjoying the story :)**

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><p><em><strong>Level 31, Shalta Ward<strong>_

_**0910**_

Drinking alone was an... _interesting_ experience, if not a particularly fun one.

With even Tyco and Murphy abandoning the Cambrai, Andersen hadn't really fancied being stuck alone on the ship. At least here, he was stuck alone somewhere fairly nice... A quiet little café on the upper levels of the ward, looking out over the glistening superstructure of the Citadel...

He took another swig of his beer, and had a look around. The people he was most comfortable with were absent, but he was far from the only N7 commando on this level. He'd seen Vimes pass by with some old C-Sec colleagues not too long ago, and in one of the hunting stores further down, Mac'Tir and Yui were both visible. They appeared to be bickering over weapons – it seemed the drell was trying to convince the krogan of the merits of a good pistol, much to the turian shopkeeper's amusement.

"Andersen," muttered a familiar voice. Captain Murphy appeared at his side, slumping down in the chair next to him and taking a deep draught from a beer of his own. "Hell of a view."

"That it is..." the engineer sighed, looking out over the great arms, stretching into space.

"Where's your squad?" the captain asked.

"Saffiya's in the med bay," Andersen murmured, "Kamur's at the turian embassy."

Murphy looked at him, questioningly.

"Sorting out his family's affairs," he explained, sadly.

"Ah... And Tyco?"

That surprised him. Surely the captain would know about Tyco's mission? He _was_ on a mission, wasn't he? Walking out in full armour with a sniper rifle wasn't exactly typical for shore leave...

"He's... on his mission, sir."

"Mission?"

That one-word reply set something off at the back of Andersen's mind, that instinctive little part of the human brain that told him _something _wasn't right.

"He left the ship ten minutes ago. Pack, armour, combat gear... I just assumed..."

"Hold that thought," Murphy muttered, gravely. He flipped out his omni-tool, and dialled up a comm channel. Then, finally, "Colonel Hunter? Tyco, the sniper – tell me you just sent him on a mission."

"What are you talking about, Zachary?" the colonel replied, and Murphy's face fell. "You know there's no operation planned for the next few _days_, at least..."

"I... very good, sir," the captain nodded, and hung up. He looked up at Andersen with a slight hint of panic in his eyes.

"Palmer..." he murmured, realisation dawning over his face. "Get hacking."

"What? Hack _what?_"

"Anything! Messages, security footage, hell, Palmer's _diary_. Just get me something from Palmer – I don't like this..."

It was good to know his own feeling of disquiet was shared by the captain, but it was scary in equal measure – there was something going on, and neither of them had a clue what. Quickly, he began to open programs on his omni-tool, but there was a forlorn sense about it.

"There's no way I can get through the firewalls," he scowled.

"Leave the firewalls to the colonel," Murphy replied, firmly, and Andersen knew better than to ask what he meant. He just kept hacking, and sure enough, although the firewalls were triggered, it was as if something was cancelling them, one by one. Every time he set one off, it would disappear the second time he tried... He had the most bizarre of feelings that Hunter was _letting _him hack the system, not that that made any sense.

After a full minute, he was in, and he began to pore through the archives for any data sent in the last half hour.

"Mac'Tir, Yui!" the captain yelled, as he waited. "Get over here, we might have a problem!"

All too quickly, Andersen was getting the impression their pleasant little shore leave was taking a turn for the worse... Then, he found the message. Sent from the dead commander's terminal, to an encrypted receiver.

"Oh my god," he muttered, holding it up to Murphy just as the drell and krogan reached their table.

"Bloody hell!" Murphy swore, and began to read aloud from Andersen's wrist:

"_The pawn is on his way. Kamran and the others will be dead within the hour... –CP"_

"Palmer..." the captain snarled again, viscerally. "Andersen, run a background check on 'Kamran', whoever he is. _Now_."

It took only a few moments of scanning Alliance dispatches before Andersen ran into the name, plastered across several documents. He held up the results to Murphy, as his stomach began to descend even further into nausea.

"Batarian," Andersen murmured. "An arms dealer – working with the Alliance... He's meeting them in less than half an hour."

"Right," Murphy mused, cogs clearly turning in his mind as he devised a plan of action. "Andersen, have you got the address of the meeting on there?"

"Yeah..." the engineer sighed. "Private block on Tayseri Ward. Twenty minutes away by public shuttle."

"Or five in a C-Sec car," Mac'Tir muttered, cracking his knuckles.

"Do what you have to," the captain growled, slightly wild-eyed. "Andersen, go with him, _get _to Tyco, and stop him. Yui, come with me. We need to have a word with Palmer..."


	32. Citadel Part 3

_**Level 22, Tayseri Ward**_

_**0915**_

This was crazy. It just... was. Andersen still wasn't _quite _sure he knew what was going on, but what he _did _know was that Mac'Tir had disappeared mere minutes ago, and he was stood at the edge of this level, looking out over the ward. People were still flocking to the public shuttle terminal just metres down from him, and he was beginning to regret not choosing _that _plan instead.

Murphy and Yui had stormed off towards the docks, presumably back to the Cambrai, and... what was that rumbling noise? It was coming from somewhere below...

Before his astonished eyes could quite register the sight, a dark blue C-Sec car came to hover just feet away. The drell in the driver's seat pushed the door open, and grinned broadly.

"How? Just... _how?_"

"Not the time for questions, human. Get in."

He was ninety-nine percent certain the car was stolen, but what the hell... He vaulted over the railing – to the surprise of several onlookers – and hopped through the open door into the passenger's seat. The car swung away before he'd even closed the door, and began to race along the ward.

"Where's the meeting place?" Mac'Tir asked, as casually as if he was sat in his bunk, not driving at... Andersen quickly looked _away _from the speedometer again – he felt much more comfortable _not _knowing they were tripling the ward limit.

"A private complex on Tayseri Ward," Andersen murmured, drawing up the building's location on his omni-tool screen. "Marking it now..."

With that, they lapsed into silence, whistling up Shalta Ward towards Presidium Junction. Andersen nearly evacuated himself as they came inches from a cargo truck, but the drell looked as placid as ever. They reached Presidium Junction in a matter of minutes - far quick than he knew was legal - shot over the pristine lakes and gardens, and swung back down through the Junction to Tayseri Ward in all of thirty seconds.

"Hey, slow down," he muttered, as they raced through the Tayseri skyline.

"_Slow down?_" the drell replied. "We're racing to stop an assassination... and you tell me to _slow down?_"

"The phrase 'drive like it's stolen' does _not_ apply, Mac!"

With that, they plunged below roof level, and Andersen was seriously considering jumping out of the car and taking his chances. An apartment block, half-built, whizzed past on their right, and the engineer could _see _the construction work going on within. They span left, narrowly avoiding a taxi, and at long last, the target was in view – the small complex was below them, straight and slightly to the right. A pair of two-storey buildings flanked a walled courtyard – they could probably land there, and...

..._crunch. _Andersen looked at Mac'Tir with a mixture of resignation and _'I told you so' _smugness. The car that had careened into the tail end of theirs juddered and dropped slightly, but retained control. Their own car, going rather more quickly, was not so lucky. Before the drell could do anything to react, the car flipped over, span, and began to plummet.

"Whoa!" Mac'Tir roared, excitedly, and the drell was actually _laughing _as they careened earthwards. Buildings were rushing up to greet them, the car clipped a rooftop and flipped again, the right way up this time, just in time for them to see another half-finished apartment building getting closer and closer...

With a resounding _bang _and a hail of debris, they ploughed into the building's side. The windscreen shattered immediately, the controls let off flurries of smoke and little bursts of sparking electricity, and the interior lights dimmed to a red emergency glow. The car slid along in plumes of dust, smashing through several metal uprights, before finally grinding to a halt.

Andersen practically _fell _out of the door, coughing through smoke and dust and reaching for his pistol. Behind him, he heard the drell clamber out too, and looking up, he saw they'd arrived in a construction site. He half expected to see furious workers approaching, or a C-Sec patrol car sweeping down on them, but the floor was abandoned.

"Well, that was unexpected," Mac'Tir muttered.

"_Unexpected?_" Andersen hissed. "You _crashed the car!_"

"We're close _enough_," the drell sighed. "Look, the complex is just over there."

Sure enough, as he pointed through the rising smoke, the meeting place was visible on the opposite side of the traffic lane. Cars were whizzing past, but more promisingly, a square steel bridge linked the two sides, running almost straight across to Kamran's compound. The drell was already running towards it, drawing his pistol.

"Come on," Mac'Tir called, waving for Andersen to follow. "We've still got time."


	33. Citadel Part 4

_**SSV Cambrai, Shalta Ward Docks**_

_**0920**_

As he marched into the Cambrai's hangar, Captain Murphy had no idea what Anderson and Mac'Tir were doing. All that concerned him was getting to Palmer and tearing him apart – Yui, at his flank, seemed to have the same idea.

"Cerberus traitor," he spat, as they reached the weapons bench. "When I get hold of him..."

"Remember what I said?" Yui snarled. "You pin him down, I'll tear his legs off."

Murphy nodded, still red-faced with rage. He grabbed the nearest gun he could find from the bench – a Phalanx pistol – and set off for the elevator. He was still in casual clothing, a crewman's shirt with sleeves rolled up, but he knew the krogan behind him was fully armoured – as always – and carrying his precious Claymore. Frankly, there wasn't much that could hurt him with that sort of backup.

The hangar was abandoned, and the two of them called the elevator, before proceeding upwards through the ship. The engineering deck above was occupied only by the half-dozen engineering team, who looked concerned at the appearance of the two armed soldiers, especially fearsome Yui, but decided not to ask. After a brief bout of questioning – no, they hadn't seen Palmer, no, he hadn't made any announcements, _no_, they didn't have a claw hammer Yui could borrow.

As Murphy stepped out of the elevator, with half a mind to fetch Colonel Hunter from his office, he caught sight of several people moving about inside – two soldiers who didn't look much like marines were stood by the bar, chatting idly, and he could see the doctor flitting about in the med bay window.

Rounding the corner, he recognised the soldiers as two of the new recruits – Prentiss, the vanguard, black haired and bored-looking, and Bowman, the bright-faced engineer. The two stopped their conversation, and stared at the newcomers with looks of surprise.

"Err... captain?" Bowman muttered, throwing a nervous and rather confused salute.

"Soldier," Murphy grunted, then murmured, "Yui, check the forward battery."

"What's going on, sir?"

"Palmer's gone rogue..."

"W...what?"

"You heard me," the captain growled. Yui had stormed off to check the gunner's deck, and the two recruits were both staring at Murphy as if he were a madman. "He's helping Cerberus."

"That can't be right, sir..." the young engineer said, shaking his head. "He's an Alliance veteran!"

"Have you got proof?" Prentiss interjected, cocking his head to one side.

"Documents," Murphy nodded. "A message from Palmer to a Cerberus contact."

He deliberately excluded Tyco's mission from his explanation – if the worst came to the worst, and the sniper wasn't stopped in time, the crew would have to be able to believably deny he was there.

"They could be forgeries," Bowman replied, biting his lip. "Cerberus trying to turn us against each other?"

"Or... no..." Prentiss began, but trailed off.

"What?" Murphy snapped, rather sharply – his patience, usually plentiful, was running dry. He didn't feel like _himself_.

"We know Cerberus is linked to the Reapers, sir... And I hear you spent a lot of time around Cerberus down on Benning."

Murphy froze on the spot. Did he mean... indoctrination? He wasn't indoctrinated, he'd know if he was... wouldn't he?

In hindsight, Murphy would come to the conclusion that Prentiss' aim was to make him doubt himself – it worked – and create the illusion of his own mistake _just _long enough to distract him. He came _so _close to succeeding, but mere moments before his success, Murphy spotted the knife in his hand, and knew instantly that his suspicions were right.

He ducked aside, dropping his pistol, just as the vanguard stabbed at his head. Bowman had dived away too, leaving Prentiss with his back to the wall, up against the bar.

"Bowman, help me out here!" he growled, as he ducked another swing of the knife. Bowman, however, seemed otherwise occupied, or paralysed by indecision. On the third plunge of the knife, Murphy sidestepped, grabbed Prentiss' knife arm with his right hand, and swung a hefty punch at the vanguard's face with his left.

The knife clattered to the floor – Murphy kicked it away – and Prentiss staggered back, a livid bruise rising over his eye. The vanguard's first reaction was to try and hurl biotics at the captain, but Murphy was too quick, pinning his hand against the wall – the biotic blast missed his face, instead sweeping over the bar and scattering glassware over the mess hall. Murphy let go momentarily, and delivered a haymaker to Prentiss' face. The vanguard stumbled into the wall, and slid it down, groaning.

"Why the hell didn't you help?" he yelled, turning on Bowman, but as he did, he answered his own question – the engineer had picked his Phalanx up off the floor, and was aiming squarely at his chest.

"Well, look at this..." Bowman snarled. It was curious how a single action could change the look of a person – the pristine smile was no longer visible, all Murphy saw were glaring eyes, and a tense, slightly panicked face, with a finger on the trigger.

"You _traitor_..." Murphy hissed. "You fu-"

_Bang. Bang. Bang._

Murphy shook with each concurrent hit. The mess hall fell silent. He looked down at his bloodied shirt, coughed once and crumpled, as the world went black.


	34. Citadel Part 5

_**Level 22, Tayseri Ward**_

_**0920**_

As Murphy and Yui stormed the Cambrai, Tyco was making an entrance of his own.

The compound in which the Cerberus agents were meeting consisted of a small courtyard, flanked on two sides by two-storey buildings, and on the other two by high adjoining walls. Approaching the southern building from the abandoned street outside, he spotted a human lookout on the ground floor, and that was it.

"_This is too easy_," he scoffed, in his head. Cloaking, he approached the door, opened it with a pre-bought shunt program, and slipped inside, all in less than a minute.

The lookout even came to him. Whether he was a Cerberus agent or an indoctrinated peon of Kamran didn't matter, he was _stupid_. He didn't even report the incident to the others, just wandered _straight _towards the suspicious-sounding noise. _Idiot_.

Much as he would have liked to, Tyco couldn't kill the man. A gunshot or a scream of pain would have raised the alarm, and if anyone in the courtyard had an automatic alert set up for a squadmate's death, they might come running. Instead, he crept up behind the lookout, simultaneously punching him in the small of his back and clamping his other hand over the man's mouth. He kicked out, and tried to twist out of the sniper's grip, but Tyco had strength _and _surprise on his side. After about thirty seconds, the man gave a little gurgle, and slumped to the floor.

Taking the man's pistol for good measure, Tyco dragged him to the corner of the room, dumped him there, and proceeded up to the second floor. It was unguarded, surprisingly, and there were three tall windows, all of which provided him the view he needed of the courtyard.

As he took his place by the middle window, pulling the Black Widow off his back and peering down the scope, he surveyed the meeting place. It was a rather plain, rectangular area between the two buildings, steel like everything else in the complex.

In the centre of the courtyard stood four men – the batarian, Kamran, was immediately obvious, opposite three other men in civvies waiting beside an X3M skycar. One of them was chatting earnestly with the batarian, handing him a datapad, while the other two flanked him, apparently accomplices or bodyguards.

The practical problem, as far as Tyco was concerned, was picking targets. The Black Widow could fire three rounds – there were four targets, not to mention the likelihood of there being at least one lookout in the other building. He could pick off three, but then he would have to reload, putting himself at risk and possibly allowing one of the four targets to escape. Maybe if he waited until they lined up... the Black Widow could pass through them, after all, hitting two at a time... No, that was silly, it relied on chance too much. Perhaps a grenade? Throw one, then pick off anyone left with his rifle?

His train of thought was interrupted by the sight of a turian in the upper window of the building opposite. The lookout was staring straight at him, and he dived to the side, hiding behind the window frame. Nonetheless, the turian had probably spotted him, and... wait, turian? That _really _confused him. He'd accepted the 'indoctrinated batarian' explanation, but two of them?

Whatever doubts were creeping into his mind, they were abruptly deafened by a screaming noise. Something shot overhead, and an almighty _crunch _filled the air from the other side of the street.

Almost immediately, the Cerberus agents in the courtyard began to panic. He could see the three humans edging towards their car, and Kamran looked to his turian watchman.

"What the hell was that?" the batarian boomed.

"I don't know!" the turian shouted back, anxiously. "But... I... _maybe _I saw something, I'm not sure!"

Tyco was running before the turian had even finished speaking. He wasn't hanging around waiting for them to find him. He would reposition, wait for the chaos to die down – already, he could hear sirens in the distance – and then move in from another direction. He was quietly confident they wouldn't run, not with such an important deal on the table. Then, quite suddenly, he began to wonder just _why _the deal was so important. The message hadn't mentioned amounts, or qualities – by all accounts, it was just another "usual" order. But he'd assumed it was important... _No_, something in the back of his mind was _definitely _telling him it was important, but the more he thought about it, the less he could think of the reasons...

As he reached the entrance of the building once more, he sprang outside, and stopped to catch his breath – the run hadn't exerting, it had barely been a hundred metres, but his mind was aching... He smacked the side of his head, trying to _knock_ some sense into it. He needed it to be working properly if he was going to kill that batarian... wait, why had his mind jumped straight back to that already?

The sniper shook his head, trying to clear it of the uncertain thoughts. His vision was going slightly hazy, but through the haze, he could see two figures sprinting towards him. One of them held out a glowing orange _thing_ – an omni-tool?

Yep, that was definitely an omni-tool, he decided, as a few hundred volts shot through his shields. They broke with a crackle, and he found himself tumbling limply backwards.

"Got him!" cried one of the figures, rushing to Tyco's side and kneeling over him as his vision went dark. "Mac, check inside, make sure Kamran's still alive."

"_I swear that sounds like Andersen," _Tyco thought to himself, as he succumbed to the blackness, and passed out.


	35. Citadel Part 6

**A/N: Over 100 reviews... wow.**

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><p><em><strong>SSV Cambrai, Shalta Ward Docks<strong>_

_**0925**_

Colonel Hunter hadn't _quite _realised the extent of the chaos unfolding on the Cambrai until he heard three resounding shots in the mess hall next door.

In a matter of moments, he sprang up from his desk, still in officer's dress, and charged out through the door of the XO's office, a fierce glare on his face.

The glare shifted to a look of sheer shock as he walked into the mess hall. Two of the recruits, Prentiss and Bowman, were stood in the middle of the room, by the bar – Prentiss had a whistling ball of biotics ready in his palm, and Bowman was wielding a pistol. Yui had emerged from the forward battery to face them, wielding his shotgun in one hand and a hefty pipe wrench in the other. The doctor was staring out of her med bay window, looking absolutely terrified at the standoff developing outside. Logan, however, was more concerned with Murphy, slumped against the mess table in a pool of blood. A few ragged breaths tore out of his chest, but he was in a bad way...

"Guns down, both of you," Hunter ordered, somewhat futilely. Prentiss kept his eyes fixed on Yui, while Bowman span around, turning the pistol to the colonel.

"Yeah, sure, sir," the engineer scowled, sarcastically. "That's exactly what I'm gonna do."

His finger tightened on the trigger, and Logan ducked as the first shot sprang out, passing over his head and burying itself in the far wall. He charged forward, sidestepping the second shot, and grabbed Bowman around the waist before he could fire a third. He dragged the engineer down with him, smashing him hard against the steel floor.

A second later, Prentiss swept around and unleashed a biotic blast at the two of them – the colonel felt himself picked up off the floor and thrown through the air, and saw Bowman tumbling in mid-air next to him. His legs clattered against one of the mess chairs, but even as he rolled back onto his feet, Prentiss was being rushed by Yui – the big krogan bowled him over and kicked him hard into the bar.

"What the _hell's _going on here?" the colonel roared, as an unnatural pause fell over the combatants.

"Palmer's gone rogue," Yui grunted, covering the two turncoats with his shotgun. "He's helping Cerberus, so are these two bastards..."

"Get after him," Logan muttered. "Deck by deck, start in the captain's quarters."

"You're the boss," the krogan nodded. He swept off across the mess hall – kicking Prentiss once more for good measure – and casually tossed the pipe wrench towards the colonel. He caught it, braced it in both hands, and wheeled around, smashing it across Bowman's jaw even as the engineer tried to sneak up on him.

The recruits were looking wary, both scrabbling across the floor to get away from him, but they seemed confident, too. After all, they were both in full armour, with biotics and tech to rip him apart. He was in casual dress, with nothing but a pipe wrench. He was still an N7, though, and it seemed like an age since he'd had a good fight...

As Bowman got back to his feet, he rushed over and grabbed him by his shattered jaw, twisting his hand and causing the engineer to yell in pain – moments later he let go, swung the pipe left, then brought it crashing across to the right, catching Bowman in his ribs and knocking him head first into the mess table, scattering chairs to the floor .

While the engineer groaned in pain, the vanguard, Prentiss, was just getting to his feet. He sent a half-assed wave of biotics at Logan that did little more than toss the wrench out of his hands – abandoning it, the colonel rushed at Prentiss, who looked rather more panicked at the sight of the burly N7 racing towards him. Despite the biotic's vain attempts to block, the colonel delivered a series of quick jabs to his head – _one two three _– then slugged him hard in the gut, causing him to double over. A palm strike to the base of his neck, and the vanguard crumpled to the floor, pain undoubtedly shooting through the biotic amp Hunter had just pummelled.

It was all feeling rather easy now. The colonel had time to casually stroll around the mess hall, pick up the pistol in one hand and the wrench in the other, and open a radio channel with Yui. The only source of panic in his mind was Murphy, who was still unconscious at the very edge of the room.

"Yui? Any luck?"

"He's not here!" the krogan bellowed, through the radio, and the note of frustration in his voice was worrying. "There's Cerberus troops on the ship! Bloody Phantoms, on their way up!"

_That _got Logan's attention. He quickly checked his two opponents – Bowman was splayed across the table, looking battered and beaten. Prentiss, however, was staggering to his feet, biotics flowing to his fingertips once more...

The colonel's patience had run out. He raised the pistol, and fired twice – the first shot hit Prentiss in the chest, the second in the head. Little plumes of blood spray burst into the air, and the vanguard toppled back against the bar, dead before he hit the floor.

That just left the Phantoms – he'd save Bowman for interrogation. Just as Yui had warned, the elevator doors opened to reveal two of the lithe, inhuman forms. They sprang nimbly out of the elevator, blades drawn, one moving to the left, and one to the right.

Logan quickly took aim with the pistol – he was trying to guess how many rounds were left – and bombarded the Phantom on the right as it jumped around the corner. Whatever tactics the creature had been trying to use, they failed – bullets sprang through the air one after another, bouncing off the Phantom's barriers and finally breaking them. A fatal shot smashed clean through the _thing_'s skull, and it fell to the floor with a screech.

The other one was advancing quickly – the colonel fired three last rounds at it before the pistol clicked empty. With that, he resorted to hurling the pistol right at the Phantom's head, causing it to cartwheel out of the way before he waded in, shifting the wrench to his good hand.

As they came together, Logan aimed a hefty swing at the Phantom's skull – it ducked nimbly, and landed a kick between his ribs, _hard_. He staggered sideways, looking up just in time to parry a swing of the Phantom's sword, cracking the creature's hand away with the business end of the pipe wrench. Rather desperately and _slightly _madly, he swung again, belting his attacker across the chest, then again, on the shoulder.

Retaliation came in the form of a quick stab from the sword – it glanced his arm, drawing blood but failing to do much more, as he relentlessly beat the Phantom again. Another blow smashed against the side of the monster's helmet, causing two of the eye-lights to go out. He backed off slightly, and the Phantom cartwheeled towards him, aiming high, towards his head...

He lashed out with his boot, buckling the Phantom's elbow and making it drop mid-cartwheel. Dazed and in an awkward heap on the floor, the hideous form was easy prey – he brought the wrench down again, and again, and again, pulverising the thing's head and spattering blood across the floor in crimson streaks. It was dead long before he stopped, but he kept going regardless. Finally, he kicked the still-upright corpse away, and it toppled sideways to the floor.

That just left Bowman, and the colonel descended on him, eyes burning with wrath. The engineer had managed to turn onto his back, still lying on the table, and as Logan approached, he made a vain attempt to reach for one of the steel chairs as a weapon – in response, Colonel Hunter slammed the wrench down on his forearm, snapping the bones in two and causing the arm to hang limply off the table, as Bowman yowled in pain.

"Get talking," Hunter snarled – he hadn't been this angry in a _long _time. "I said talk, you Cerberus bastard!"

As he spoke, he untightened the wrench's jaws, and set them around Bowman's already-broken arm. Bit by bit, he began to close them tight, but the traitor, rather than begging or screaming, began to laugh darkly through gurgles of blood.

"Sorry, skipper," he choked, "but we're done here."

For a moment, Hunter watched in confusion as Bowman ground his teeth. Then, dull realisation hit him, and he leapt back, just as a bright white flash filled the air. He stumbled, tripped, and collapsed backwards, hitting his head hard.

When the white haze passed from before his eyes, the mess hall was deathly calm. The elevator doors were just opening to admit Yui, who walked in with a slightly shell-shocked expression at the devastation the colonel had wrought. On the table in front of him, Bowman's head had been reduced to a pulpy mass. Ocular _bloody _flashbang...

A hacking cough from the corner of the room snapped him back into focus. _Murphy_. The captain was coughing up blood as he resumed consciousness, and made a futile attempt to stand up, only to slump back down again, moaning.

"Get him into the med bay!" Hunter roared at Yui, picking himself up off the floor. The krogan bolted over, lifting Murphy easily and sprinting the few feet to the med bay, where the doctor was already bustling about, clearing a bed with a panicked expression on her face.

As he took another look around at the bodies, Logan pulled out his omni-tool once more, and opened a comm channel.

"This is SSV Cambrai to docking control," he coughed. "Put out an alert to all of our crew – tell them to return to the ship ASAP..."


	36. Citadel Part 7

__**A/N: Right, prior warning, updates are going to slow down a bit from the next few days onward. I'll try and do them as often as I can, but holidays are over, so my free time's going out of the window. I'll try and backlog as many this weekend as I can, so I can do regular(ish) updates.**

**NiaUnoriginal: There's not a lot I can say to that... :P**

**Sailoramber: If it makes you sad, I'm doing my job right. As for the Phantoms, yeah, I always imagined they'd freak the hell out of the N7s in the game... Them and Banshees (*shudder*)**

**Mr. Martin: He's been sat behind a desk for the last twenty chapters, he had to get at least _one _CMOA.**

**shadowmythic: I asked a few previous contributors to send them to me by PM - it would have spoiled the surprise slightly if they were plastered on the review section as double agents :P**

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><p><em><strong>SSV Cambrai, Shalta Ward Docks<strong>_

_**0935**_

"Colonel, I thought I expressly told you, _no mutinies_."

"Not a mutiny, sir. Pest removal."

Hackett gave him a rather sardonic stare.

"I believe your account, colonel, but we need your proof on record."

"I'll have it forwarded to your desk, sir, but surely the fact that he _ran _is proof enough."

"And the fact you were attacked by Cerberus troops," Hackett added. "How did Phantoms even get onto the ship?"

"Yui said they broke out from the port cargo hold," Hunter considered. "Someone probably smuggled them in – my money's on Palmer... ah!"

"Yes?"

"Artemis Tau. He insisted on refuelling when we ran from Benning, but we could have gone to any cluster with an intact fuel depot. Palmer had a specific destination in mind... he probably snuck those Phantoms on when we were refuelling."

"And they were waiting there the whole time..." the admiral mused. "How did no-one find them, if they were in the cargo hold?"

"No-one checks the port hold," the colonel replied. "I haven't seen anyone go inside since I arrived on the Cambrai. They said it's been shut since Arcturus – the cooling system was fried in that area of the ship."

"Colonel, how long have you been on that ship?" Hackett asked, randomly.

"Seven days, sir."

"And you know which areas of the _cooling _system are broken?"

"Err... yes, sir. Why?"

"No reason, Logan, just making observations."

Hackett looked rather contemplative, stroking his beard and staring at Logan's face, as a question popped into the colonel's mind.

"Right... Sir, if I can ask... how did Prentiss and Bowman get onboard?"

"I don't follow..."

"They both made it through as 'N7' recruits, using the term loosely. But they were both working for Cerberus. How the hell were they let onboard our ship?"

"We weren't vigilant enough," Hackett admitted, sadly. "We didn't screen them nearly as much we probably should have, but this sort of thing is hard to pick up... Tell me this – did you honestly think Palmer was with Cerberus before today?"

"I... guess, not," Hunter grumbled. "He was an ass, but I don't think any of us had him marked as a traitor..."

"My point exactly," the admiral replied. "We'll do what we can, but Cerberus is powerful. We can't make the mistake of underestimating them again."

"Believe me, admiral, we won't. First Benning, now this..."

"Were there any casualties on your crew?"

"Four," he nodded. "The Phantoms killed three engineers on their way out of the cargo hold, just cut them down before they knew what was going on. And Bowman shot Captain Murphy..."

"Is he alright?" Hackett murmured, with concern.

"He's in surgery," Hunter muttered, shaking his head wearily. "One of the shots collapsed his lung. The doctor gives him 50/50 odds, at best."

"I see..."

"Sir, I haven't had time to check in with our team on the Citadel – did they stop the assassination?"

"Yes. They did."

The admiral was scowling, and Hunter wasn't quite sure he _wanted _to know what Andersen and Mac'Tir had done – the last he'd heard was from Yui, that they'd gone rushing off to stop Tyco's misguided mission.

"You don't sound too happy about it, sir..."

"Oh, I _am _happy, believe me," Hackett began, not looking happy at all. "They saved one of Aria T'Loak's best operatives, and the three Alliance agents cutting a deal with him. Aria's promised us the shipment, free of charge, as much intel as she can provide on Cerberus' new capabilities, and even a vorcha enforcer to join our crew..."

"Right, well-"

"They also stole a C-Sec patrol car and crashed it into the side of an apartment building."

That hung in the air for a moment. Both men, grizzled veterans, stared at each other, and Logan felt like a child, caught with his hand in the cookie jar.

"I... err... what?"

"Quite."

There was another pause, and a sly smile crept over Logan's features.

"You know, admiral... I remember a certain N7, from my class, who stole _one of your frigates _right off the Citadel, crew and all. And _they _managed to avoid C-Sec's... hospitality."

"Your men _were _acting in the line of duty," Hackett admitted, with a sigh, ignoring the reference to the Commander. "I'll see what I can do, colonel. C-Sec isn't totally unreasonable, especially in these desperate times..."

"So, where do we go from here, sir?" Hunter asked, changing the subject rather.

"You realise there _will _be an inquest?" the admiral replied. "Firstly to make sure you and your crew acted legitimately – that's just a formality, as far as I'm concerned – and secondly to try Palmer in absentia."

"Understood, admiral. What about the ship, and the crew?"

"The ship will have to remain in dock until the matter is resolved, I'm afraid. As for the crew, give them a week's shore leave on the Citadel."

"Aye aye, sir. I'm sure they'll be grateful for it."

"They deserve it, after Benning. Hackett out."


	37. Shore Leave  Shalta Ward 1

_**Level 31, Shalta Ward**_

_**Day 1, 1000**_

Less than an hour ago, Andersen mused, he had been sat in this same café, looking out over the Citadel and contemplating life in general. Now, everything looked slightly... _different_.

Not visibly different, mind... There were no darkened skies, no burning fires, nothing you could _see_, it was more like... more like he was seeing it in a new light. There was no fighting here, no chaos, and its absence seemed insulting. The passers-by – mostly asari, hanar and drell on this ward – had no idea what had just happened on the Cambrai, nor did they care, he imagined. A few of them shot ponderous looks at the huddled ensemble of N7s in the corner of the café, especially at the big krogan, but most simply drifted past in their normal, day-to-day lives.

"Today sucks," Andersen muttered, glumly.

"_Complete _understatement, human..." Kamur chuckled, darkly.

"You two are cheerful," Yui sighed, with a slight grin.

"Three of our men _died_ in the last hour," the young engineer growled, feeling slightly frustrated with the krogan – not that he could do anything about it, Yui could crush him in one hand, but _still..._

"And seven of them died on Benning," scowled Vimes. "You were looking cheerful enough this morning, after _that _happened."

"I... I suppose so... this felt _personal_ though, y'know?"

"I hear that," Tyco grumbled, from the chair next to him. "It's one thing to lose men to the enemy, it's a _completely_ different thing when they turned round and stab you in the back..."

"Are you _sure_ you're alright?" Andersen asked, for the fifth time. "I electrocuted you half an hour ago!"

"The doctor gave me the all clear," the sniper replied, exasperatedly.

"How _could _she?" persisted the young engineer. "She's been in the theatre performing surgery this whole time!"

"Not _that_ doctor," Tyco tutted, as if that was _perfectly _obvious. "The new medic – asari? Dresses like she's from Afterlife?"

"Oh really?" Yui murmured, leaning in. "What was she like?"

"Put your tongue back in your mouth, big guy," Vimes muttered – the krogan looked rather abashed.

"So anyway," the sniper continued, "I asked if she could check me out, she said I looked fine, I told her she looked _more than _fine, and she kicked me out. If that's not an all clear I don't know what is!"

"Well, Saffiya's not here, so I guess I'll have to say this for her..." Kamur smiled.

"Say what, turian?"

"You are _such _a dog..."

Tyco looked affronted, staring at his squadmates open-mouthed as if to say _'Who, me?'_

"Stop gawping, human, you look like a drooling varren," Yui scowled. "Now who wants drinks?"

"It's ten in the morning, Yui!" Andersen moaned. "Beer might not touch _your_ guts, but it makes the rest of us a bit too stupid for this time of day..."

"Andersen..." Vimes began, "there's no day and night cycle on the wards, that's only on the Presidium."

"So beer makes the rest of us a bit too stupid at _any_ time of day," the engineer corrected.

"Correction," the former C-Sec sniper smirked. "It makes us a bit too stupid at _every _time of day."

The five men around the table grinned at each other, as the first inkling of an idea began to creep into their minds.

"There's a good club down on Level 12," Vimes murmured. "Lusia. I used to patrol near the place..."

"Drop your gear on the ship," Tyco muttered – he himself was still wearing his armour. Then he continued, sarcastically, "we move out at 1300 hours, go, go, go!"

The five of them – Andersen, Kamur, Yui, Tyco and Vimes – got up, and began to pace back off towards the elevator to the docks. Walking at the back with Kamur, Andersen saw Yui lean over to Vimes with a conspiratorial whisper.

"Hey, Vimes. What's this club like?"

"Good place," the C-Sec officer replied. "As long as you don't _start _the fights, you're fine. It's Shalta Ward, and the hanar ain't too good at the partying thing, so it's mostly packed with asari..."

"Hell yes!" Yui boomed, punching the air.

"_He has problems," _Andersen thought to himself, smiling and shaking his head, as he set off towards the elevator.


	38. Shore Leave  Shalta Ward 2

**A/N: Phygmalion, BlackBox Inc: I know, the problem was that I couldn't use the existing characters. Prentiss and Bowman weren't "new" submissions, or I would have taken time to introduce them, they were purely redshirts written for the purpose of that betrayal, hence they didn't have much impact... The main emotive points were meant to be Palmer's betrayal, and Murphy getting... well, I won't say "killed" just yet. Not to give away too many spoilers, but the "why?" question is still in a lot of the crew's minds, and the shore leave is going to be exploring their minds quite a bit...**

* * *

><p><em><strong>Level 12, Shalta Ward<strong>_

_**Day 1, 1305**_

Three hours after their original plan was born, the N7s were sat against a railing outside Lusia. Mac'Tir had politely refused to join them, and Saffiya – now out of the med bay, much to Andersen's relief – had refused slightly _less _politely, but they had roped in the vanguard, Colburn, and Kan'Sura had begrudgingly agreed to come along too.

"_That's _your casual wear?" Vimes was saying.

"Krogan don't do casual," Yui replied. The suit he was wearing at least looked like it was _trying _to be casual, with a high collar, open neck, and definite _folds _rather than steel plates, but it also looked like it was tougher than most of Andersen's battle armour – a sort of steel-reinforced trench coat, entirely different to the crew fatigues the human members of the group were wearing. The engineer had to admit, Yui had a point – the hulking reptile looked utterly uncomfortable out of his armour, almost as if he was _too big _for the casual dress. "Anyway," the krogan continued, "the quarian hasn't even changed! How come you're not taking the piss out of him?"

"Because I'd _die _without this suit," Kan'Sura scowled, beneath his mask.

"Oh. Right."

"If you're quite finished," Colburn interjected, "we're in."

Sure enough, as Andersen turned around, they saw the line at the door had disappeared, and the turian bouncer was staring at them, partly urging them to get a move on, partly wishing they would clear off – seven marines of all shapes, sizes and races couldn't exactly have been an exciting prospect for a doorman.

"Stag party?" he guessed, as Andersen and Kamur led the group to the door.

"Shore leave," Andersen corrected, and the turian's brow knitted into a frown.

"Who from?" the doorman scowled.

"Alliance."

"With a turian, a krogan, and a quarian...?"

"It's a long story," Kamur muttered.

"Now _that _I believe," replied the doorman. "Go on, get inside. Just tell your buddy not to hit anyone" – he looked pointedly at Yui – "and we won't have a problem."

"Got it," Andersen chuckled, and beckoned for the others to follow as he stepped through the door, lit from overhead by the emerald-green letters spelling 'LUSIA'.

Lusia consisted of a series of diamond-shaped stages, getting higher and smaller as they got further from the doorway. The whole place was a medley of angular corners which, partnered with flashing green strobes and a bass line that seemed to be on a permanent loop, made a veritable _assault_ on the senses.

"Alright, gentlemen," Tyco called, rubbing his hands together as he set off towards the bar, at the very top end of the club. "Time to blow off some steam."

An hour or two – or maybe three, he couldn't tell – later, the steam was still being blown. Andersen, Kamur, Vimes and Kan'Sura were sat in a booth next to the bar, drinking beers and being rather careful not to mix up the levo-blue and dextro-gold varieties... A few feet away, at the bar, Colburn and Tyco were sat on barstools either side of Yui, downing rather dubious-looking shots.

"How are you even drinking that?" Vimes muttered, watching Kan'Sura tip a beer towards his helmet.

"Emergency induction port."

"Isn't that a stra-"

"Shurrup," the quarian slurred.

"O-kaaay..."

An awkward silence followed – Andersen and Kamur looked at each other, searching for something to say, before finally just tipping their drinks back and finishing them off.

"I'll get another round," Andersen mumbled, staggering to his feet and over to the bar.

As he arrived, propping himself against the bar next to Tyco, Yui appeared to be beginning a rant. Contrary to Andersen's expectations and _all_ his prior experience, the krogan was actually _drunk_. Whatever Tyco had ordered in the cocktails had worked.

"You know why this club's called Lusia?" he began.

"It's named after the _planet _Lusia?" frowned the asari bartender.

"Exactly!" the krogan roared, catching the concerned attention of two asari further along the bar. "Planet Lusia, birthplace of the Krogan Rebellions!"

"Oh god..." the bartender murmured, rubbing her brow.

"No, no, I'm not _criticising!_" Yui boomed, stamping his steel foot on the floor. "They're a bunch of bastards on Tuchanka, and have you _seen _krogan women? Give me an asari any day!"

The asari looked shocked, and ever so slightly disturbed.

"He doesn't mean it literally," Tyco muttered, coming across rather sober, and her brow twisted into something less like a frown.

"I mean don't get me wrong," he continued, getting into his stride and digging his hole even deeper, "I'd kill a salarian – tear off his... ah... what are those little... horn... things? Well, I'd kill him. And I'd kill a turian too!"

Kamur looked up, apparently alarmed.

"But... heh... here's the best bit... I've killed more krogan than salarians or turians or... whatever the hell else you kill. Tuchankan politics come down the barrel of a gun!"

As Andersen – and almost every other occupant of the bar – watched with trepidation, Tyco mouthed something to the bartender behind Yui's back, and tossed a credit chit in her direction. She nodded, and disappeared behind the bar...

"Hey... hey, where you going? Ah, well _anyway_... uh... where was I?"

"Tuchankan politics?" Colburn volunteered, despite Tyco glaring at him, and making slashing motions across his throat to try and shut him up.

"Oh yeah!" he roared, as Tyco buried his head in his hands. "I say celebrate Lusia! Gimme a home and a dozen asari" – the two asari at the end of the bar shuffled away nervously – "and I'll live there in peace! You know-"

"Krogan," the asari bartender interrupted, re-appearing and pouring the lime-green contents of a cocktail shaker into three glasses. "Shut up, and drink the ryncol."

To Andersen's amazement, Yui simply shrugged, downed the drink in one, and chuckled. Then, he looked left and right at his two companions, and their still-full glasses.

"You not drinking?" he slurred.

"Ryncol?" Colburn laughed. "Not a chance, mate..." With that, he hopped off the barstool, and went to join the others at their booth.

"Suit yourself," the krogan mumbled, grabbing Colburn's glass and downing that too, before turning to Tyco. "What about you?"

"I wouldn't recommend that," the bartender interjected. "Ryncol's... well, imagine _strong _had a baby with _deadly _and you've got your word."

"The word's krogan," Yui grinned.

"Ah, hell..." Tyco muttered, grabbing his glass. "Safe is overrated."

With that, he tipped the ryncol down his neck. Andersen watched as the big sniper sat there, stoically. A moment later, he shivered as if afire, and dropped sideways off his stool. The asari bartender leant over the bar, peering at him sardonically.

"Told you so," she sighed...


	39. Shore Leave  Shalta Ward 3

_**Level 5, Shalta Ward**_

_**Day 1, 1600**_

Saffiya wound her way lazily through the streets, casting a careful eye over everyone and everything she saw. It was rather hard for a justicar to just 'switch off', and even now, she found herself examining the slightest of murmurs, the smallest of movements, for any sign of an indiscretion.

That, really, was why she had refused to go to Lusia with the others when Andersen and Kamur asked. Quite apart from the unappetising prospect of going _drinking _with seven _male _marines, there was the knowledge that her code was ever-present, and if her previous experiences were anything to go by, there would be quite a few... indiscretions in the club that she would be compelled to deal with.

She was much more content to walk across the ward, watching the busy streets and the bustling crowds. Level 5 was in the lower reaches of Shalta, and it was a hive of activity – the streets were tighter than on the upper levels, the towering buildings seemed taller by perspective, and everyone had a greater sense of urgency. A few street vendors were dishing out food and other goods – she tried not to look too hard, lest she saw something illegal and had to step in – and she went largely unnoticed, even given the relative fame of the justicars among the asari. There were a _lot _of asari – Shalta Ward was dominated by them – but down here, they all seemed too busy getting on with their lives. The sunlight filtering through from the top of the ward was sparse, and most of the light on this level actually came from street lights on the walls and roof, casting an orange glow over the whole place and giving it the feeling of an under-city.

Despite the poor light and the thin layer of smog filling the air, it was rather peaceful. Even better, the chances of bumping into her drunken friends was almost non-existent. That said, as she rounded the next corner, emerging onto a walkway which looked out at the glistening hub of adjacent Kithoi Ward, a familiar figure was leaning against the railing, looking out into space.

Mac'Tir looked rather contemplative, staring ahead into the void. He was wearing the open trench coat that seemed customary to all drell assassins, albeit with the right hand side pulled slightly off his shoulder, allowing air to reach the bandaged wound beneath.

"Mac'Tir," she muttered, getting as close as possible before opening her mouth. The drell barely flinched, and Saffiya got the most unnerving impression he had sensed her the whole time.

"Justicar," he murmured, not even turning to face her, but simply speaking over his shoulder. "I assumed you'd be with the others, at Lusia..."

"Why aren't _you?_" Saffiya countered, folding her arms.

"Too humid," Mac'Tir sighed. "I prefer this place. The heat exchangers from the upper levels vent down here. It keeps the streets nice and... arid."

"That's why most of us avoid it," the justicar laughed, absent-mindedly tugging at her collar.

"Arid's good. It means my lungs don't wither."

"Because of course, the industrial smoke down here is _so _much better..."

"Lesser of two evils, asari..."

"Asari? What happened to _siha?_"

Mac'Tir turned to look at her, eyes bulging, and made a few fish-like motions with his lips before words eventually came out...

"You... how... you were unconscious when I said that!"

"_Semi-_conscious," she smirked. "Enough to know who carried me off the rooftop."

"Siha," Mac'Tir muttered, looking down to hide his smile. "I don't know quite _how much_ you know of our culture, or what others have told you. The word is... well, to say it's a romantic term is a misinterpretation."

"I know," Saffiya nodded, reassuringly. "It's a religious term. A warrior..."

"A warrior-angel of Arashu, the Goddess of Protection, yes."

"Oh, so I'm an _angel_ now?" the justicar teased.

"Can you at least _try_ not to make this more awkward?" the assassin moaned. "But the point still stands. A devoted protector of the innocent, a fearsome warrior..."

"Practically the drell word for justicar," Saffiya smiled.

"Considering you'd just torn a mech in half to save us... and nearly killed yourself in the process... it seemed, ah... appropriate at the time."

"Siha it is, then," she murmured, moving to his side and looking out over the railing.

As the two of them peered out over the purple nebula below, Saffiya was wrestling with her oft-neglected curiosity. Justicars usually discouraged curiosity – the reasons were summed up by the old cliché of a criminal being a loving father, and this making it harder for the justicar to kill him. Just this once, however, she decided to indulge it.

"Why doessiha get misinterpreted?" she asked.

"I thought we just got over the awkward bit?"

"It's just a question, Ma- wait... what _is_ your first name?"

"Raziel," the drell replied, slightly reluctantly.

"Alright, Raziel... why _does _siha get misinterpreted as a romantic thing?"

"It's... cultural, I suppose," he muttered, as if considering it for the first time. "By the Compact, the drell who are left are almost all in servitude to the hanar – _willing _servitude, symbiosis even, but servitude nonetheless. Our society encourages us to help them, be it as an assassin, like me, or as a personal assistant, a diplomat, and so on... Whatever we choose to do, generosity, self-sacrifice, community – they all have a special value in our culture. The hanar showed those virtues when they saved us from Rakhana. They're what our ancestors sought to emulate."

"And this ties into the pet name... how?"

"It's not a _pet name_," Mac'Tir scowled. After a moment, he drew his thoughts together and continued. "The _siha _embodies all the things we value most. Purity. Benevolence. Skill, grace, fortitude... They're our cultural image of perfection, and perfection is what most men – drell or otherwise – look for in their ideal partner. On Rakhana, it was a simple religious description. After centuries on Kahje, it became a way of summing up everything we love about a person..."

Saffiya merely stood and listened, and when he was finished, she was silent. There seemed to be only one thing she could say to that...

"Thank you."


	40. Shore Leave Shalta Ward 4

_**Level 4, Tayseri Ward**_

_**Day 1, 1900**_

"Ah, this takes me back..."

"Omega?"

"Yeah, the slums... Permanent smog, crumbling buildings, guns on every corner..."

Kyra had to admit, her friend Vresh had a point. Tayseri Ward, once the cultural capital of the Citadel, had been worst hit in Sovereign's attack, and had been the slowest to rebuild. That left some levels, like this one in the smoky underbelly of the ward, feeling distinctly uncivilised. To the high flyers on the Citadel, it probably looked like an urban wilderness. To her and her krogan friend, it looked like home.

"And we're here looking for a vorcha?" Vresh continued, sceptically. "Are they even allowed on the Citadel?"

"They are now Aria's here," Kyra laughed. "The Blood Pack's thrown in with the Alliance, so in come the vorcha... Lucky for the Council they're squatting down here in the ruined areas."

"They breed like varren, though," the krogan muttered, off-handedly. "Good thing they only _live_ as long as varren..."

"Vorcha are easy," the human replied, examining the black market geth sniper rifle in her hands. "Just use fire. It stops their regeneration, and that freaks the _hell _out of them."

"They're squishy," Vresh scowled, shortly. "You don't need fire, just tear them in half."

"Well, most of us don't have krogan strength... I'll make do with incendiaries."

"Did the boss give you any details on this vorcha?"

"Nah... just said he was Blood Pack, and we'd know him when we saw him. Name of Lisk."

"Right..."

As they continued through the half-built area, vorcha were even more prevalent than Kyra had expected. They stayed off the main street, as it was full of construction workers for the nearby buildings, or small gangs trying to look threatening, and failing – after what Kyra had seen of the gangs on Omega, these guys were nothing. The vorcha, or at least the few she saw, stuck to the alleyways. Occasionally, they would hear a guttural snarl, or see a jagged figure running in the shadows – they weren't visible, but there were definitely a few of them _there_.

They wound their way through the street almost without incident – several people on the way down had told them there was big trouble with human, turian and vorcha gang members, but none of them seemed brave enough to try and take on the big krogan at her side.

They weren't the only "good guys" down here, either. As they passed one alleyway, rifle fire blared out – a couple of turians in Blue Suns uniform were picking off human thugs at the far end of the alley. One of the turians turned to look at them, shot a nod of acknowledgement their way, then went back to work.

"How far is it now?" Vresh moaned. Crawling through this slum of a district looking for a vorcha clearly wasn't his idea of how to spend shore leave...

"He said the meeting point's near a batarian weapons dealer, just up ahead," Kyra sighed, for the third time.

"Well, there's the batarian," her partner grunted, to her surprise.

Sure enough, as the street they were walking along split into a T-junction, going left and right, there was a small, one-storey building on the opposite side of the junction. A batarian was lounging inside, and the shelves were lined with basic but plentiful weaponry. To be honest, she'd been wondering how any merchant could stay in business in a district so overrun with gangs, but the batarian was spinning a pistol in his hand – clearly he employed the philosophy of 'if you can't beat them, join them'.

Approaching the junction, however, there was no sign of the vorcha. A couple of humans – wannabe gang members, she guessed, from the way they were showing off their pistols in broad daylight – and a bored-looking street lady were scattered around the junction, but no vorcha...

Then, with the sound of scuffling, a fist on flesh and a howling yell, a vorcha was quite literally _thrown _into view. He appeared from behind the ruined building on their right, in midair, and crashed to the dusty floor with a yowl, a battered pistol landing next to him. One of his eyes was bloody, and as he picked himself up, he was spitting out the dirt he had swallowed on landing.

"You Lisk?" Kyra called, as Vresh reached for his rifle, cautiously.

The vorcha merely growled in reply, then looked back the way he had come, and dived headlong to the floor, reaching for his pistol. He was only half way there when his head exploded in a spray of blood and miniscule brain matter.

"No," snarled another vorcha, emerging around the corner with his rifle drawn. "I'm Lisk."

As they watched, Lisk strolled over to the other vorcha, kicked him a couple of times to make sure he was dead – as if the gaping hole in his head wasn't evidence enough – then tossed his body over to the side of the road, hurling his pistol over the rooftops as an afterthought. Then, he paced over to the two Alliance operatives, and merely stood, staring at them.

"You're Aria's enforcer?" she asked, looking him up and down.

"Yes," he muttered. "Blood Pack."

Lisk cut a rather impressive figure, for a vorcha. His skin was a pallid white, not the faded pink or muddy brown she was using to seeing, and covered in scars, some little, some... not so little. A great spiral-shaped crack in his chest was particularly visible, as it appeared to have been scarred _twice_ – hit once, healed, then hit again. His lower half was covered by steel-coloured metal greaves and boots which appeared to have been salvaged – or perhaps looted. His upper half was bare, apart from a thick piece of armour running from his shoulder to his forearm, painted in Blood Pack crimson. On closer inspection, it appeared to have been twisted to fit his arm, and Kyra could have sworn there were the remnants of an Eclipse emblem on the shoulder guard, messily carved away with the point of a knife.

"You Alliance?" Lisk continued, following Kyra's eyes as she took her measure of him.

"Yeah," Vresh nodded. "The boss said Aria's sending you with us."

"Yes... Sent to fight, sent to kill. _Kill_ for Aria."

"Kill for _us_," the krogan grunted. "That's all we need."


	41. Shore Leave Shalta Ward 5

**A/N: Right, today is probably the last day of repeated updates, it'll be about one per day during the week after this. I've got one (rather long) chapter in waiting after this one, to publish tonight or tomorrow depending on the pace I write the next ones at, and I'll be including an author's note with it to outline three more plot lines that will follow shore leave. For the time being, though, the shore leave chapters are going to continue for a while, because they're mostly shorter (thus easier to write in limited time) and they just work - the events of the battle mean nothing unless you know the characters who are at risk...**

* * *

><p><em><strong>SSV Cambrai, Shalta Ward Docks<strong>_

_**Day 1, 2340**_

"Colonel Hunter?"

"Come in."

"I've got those files you asked for," the yeoman murmured, as she walked into the XO's office.

"Good, good," the colonel nodded. "Just shove them on the desk."

"Sir, what on earth are you doing in here?" she asked, as she dropped the three datapads she was carrying on the corner of the desk. Half a dozen other pads were already littered across it, as was a half-stripped Phalanx pistol, the same one he had picked up that morning.

"Just looking through some records," he muttered, checking the first of the new datapads absentmindedly. "A bit of light reading."

"You need to get some rest, sir..."

"I'm not on the battlefield – this _is _rest."

"Aye aye, sir," the yeoman sighed, exasperatedly. She turned on her heel, and swept out of the room.

For once, Logan wasn't reading for leisure in his off-duty hours. He was poring over crew files, C-Sec and Alliance records, message archives, anything he could find on Prentiss and Bowman.

"_This sort of thing is hard to pick up," _Hackett had told him. It couldn't have been predicted... could it?

As he read through the latest files the yeoman had delivered, Colonel Hunter was trying to reassure himself of that, checking every inch of the two turncoats' lives to find some character flaw, some exposure to Cerberus, some extraordinary event that could have turned them into traitors, and which he couldn't possibly have picked up on...

"Colonel," muttered a familiar voice. Hackett's hologram bloomed once more from the projector on the corner of the XO's desk. "Anything?"

"Still nothing, sir..." Logan sighed.

"Logan," Hackett continued, using the colonel's first name for the first time he could remember. "You might just have to accept there was nothing we could do. You know how unpredictable cases of indoctrination can be..."

"They might not have been indoctrinated," Hunter mumbled, still flicking through files as he talked. "They could have been willing volunteers, sympathisers... even if they _were _indoctrinated, there must have been some exposure to Cerberus, or the Reapers!"

"If you're really intent on this, colonel... you might need some extra help with Prentiss."

"Sir?"

"This is strictly off the record, colonel, but if you asked one of your techs to examine his personnel file, I'm sure they'd find a few data fragments hidden in the program..."

"Black tape?"

Hackett nodded, silently. The hologram reached to his right, tapped something into a terminal, and then simply sat behind his desk and watched.

To Hunter's amazement, one of the two personnel files began to light up, and an extra entry or two was being added to the end of the document. He picked up Prentiss' file, and looked cautiously at Hackett.

"Go on," the admiral sighed. "Read it. It's not as if I don't trust you with it..."

"_Excerpt from 52__nd__ Marine Division battle logs. Corporal James A. Prentiss confirmed KIA at 1153, 05/06/2176. Cause of death: Friendly fire."_

He looked up, staring at Hackett's hologram face. Hunter was utterly confused at the words, wondering how on earth Prentiss could have been KIA...

"His brother," the hologram volunteered, and Logan felt rather silly.

"Friendly fire?" he echoed, changing the subject.

"Elysium," Hackett muttered, by way of an explanation. "During the Skyllian Blitz. Prentiss' squad was overrun by the pirates – their captain called in an airstrike on their position. It took out several dozen pirates and delayed them long enough for reinforcements to fill the gap, but of course, the only message his family got was 'friendly fire', none of the heroics, or the greater good."

"So the younger Prentiss goes on to blame the Alliance for his brother's death..."

"Exactly... He was enlisted at the time, but it wouldn't have been hard for a Cerberus sympathiser to manipulate it, turn him to their cause..."

"And Bowman?" the colonel continued, picking up the other traitor's file.

"Similar reasons..." Hackett mused. "But there's no black tape for me to lift on that one. The information's already there."

"Admiral, I've been over these files a dozen times already."

"Then go over them again."

Logan scowled at him in frustration. The admiral was testing him...

He pored over the files once again. How on earth was he _similar _to Prentiss? He was an engineer, not a marine, he didn't have biotics, he didn't have older siblings or-

The colonel stopped mid-sentence in his reading, and ran his eyes across the 'family' section a few more times to double-check it.

"His parents are both listed as deceased... on the same date." Logan muttered. Then, rather sharply, he continued, "who were his parents, admiral?"

"Edward and Silvia Bowman," Hackett replied, with a steely gaze. "Marines on the SSV Einstein, killed in action in 2170."

There was a long pause, as Hunter processed the ship and the date. Then, realisation hit him, and he slumped back in his chair with a sigh.

"Mindoir..." he murmured.

Hackett nodded, sadly.

"They were killed in the attempted liberation of the planet," the admiral explained. "I expect Bowman went to live with aunts or uncles."

"From the age of eight," Hunter nodded, working it out from Bowman's birth date, and the date his parents were killed. "But he still enlisted after university... why would he have done that if he was harbouring a grudge?"

"I doubt he _was _harbouring a grudge," Hackett reasoned. "At the time, anyway... I expect Cerberus got hold of that information and twisted him, just like Prentiss."

"They lost their faith in the Alliance," the colonel concluded. "With a little help from Cerberus..."

"Just like that, two regular, talented servicemen became ticking time-bombs. When Palmer needed help escaping from the Cambrai, they went off."

Hunter had half a mind to add _"And shot one of our best operators", _but restrained himself. Just as he thought of Murphy, however, he became aware of raised voices, and a warning chime in the background, a little electronic bleep that resonated through the walls. Via the med bay window, he could see the doctor scrambling around her room in something of a panic...

"Colonel?" Hackett murmured, as Logan stood up.

"That'll be all, sir," Hunter muttered, absent-mindedly. He walked around the desk, through the door, and made for the med bay as quickly as he could.


	42. Shore Leave Shalta Ward 6

**A/N: Right... this chapter is a bit heavy to read, a little bit wordy, so you have been warned.**

**On a different note, as promised, here are three of the upcoming operations. They might be in any order, and there may well be other operations between them, but these are the three I have planned at present:  
>- Tuchanka. Enough said.<br>- A mission involving ship-to-ship combat.  
><strong>**- A return to Benning. This one won't be for a while.**

* * *

><p><em><strong>SSV Cambrai, Shalta Ward Docks<strong>_

_**Day 2, 0000**_

"What's going on?" Ria murmured, as she entered. Already, there was a sense of foreboding – being paged at midnight was bad, but it usually meant something _worse _was happening in the med bay.

"I just stabilised a cardiac arrest," the doctor muttered, not looking up from the bed she was leaning over. With a sad pang, Ria recognised the captain who had welcomed her onto the Cambrai, seemingly lifeless on the bed.

"What happened to him?"

"Three bullets wounds, across the chest and torso. One of them collapsed his left lung, typical pneumothorax and major internal bleeding... I surgically repaired the chest cavity, and it's holding, but..."

"How did you repair it?"

"Pleurodesis – adheres the lung to the cavity wall."

"I know what pleurodesis is, doctor, I _am _a medic..."

"Right, right, sorry..."

What pleurodesis effectively meant, Ria knew, was that the doctor had plugged the hole in Murphy's chest cavity with his own lung...

"So, what's happened?" Ria continued, figuring something must have changed for the doctor to page her.

"He was struggling after the surgery, and went into cardiac arrest – I attributed it to the internal bleeding and the surgery, but that finished..." she checked her notes, and the asari got the impression she'd been on her feet the whole time. "Eleven hours ago. He's been on a ventilator since then; assists the right lung, takes pressure off the left, but when I tried to take him off the machine, he went into cardiac arrest again..."

"Why?" the asari asked. That was strange, and not in a good way...

"I think he's got a pulmonary embolism – it's a possible complication from the pumps we use to replace the heart and lungs during the surgery, although admittedly it's not a _common_ problem..."

"How the hell does that work?" Ria echoed. The whole situation was moving a bit too quickly for her, but she still knew what a pulmonary embolism meant – a blood clot blocking the way to his lung. It would certainly explain the problem – without the ventilator, his one working lung would be unable to make up for the non-functioning one, and his heart would struggle, leading to the cardiac arrest.

The doctor sighed. "We inject the patient with anticoagulant to stop blood clots, but the surgery lasted a few hours, it's possible it started to wear off. Blood gathers up in the circuit of the pump, forms a clot, and gets introduced to the bloodstream. It's a design flaw, I know, but I needed to stop his heart for the surgery, so I _had_ to use the heart-lung machine..."

"So... what are we going to do about it?"

"We're going to open him up, and surgically remove the clot. Hopefully then we can get him off the machine and using his own lungs."

"Doctor, I don't know as much about human medicine as you do, but isn't that dangerous?"

"Very," the doctor admitted. "But we don't exactly have many options. And it's Gina, by the way."

"Noted, Do- Gina. I'm Ria."

"I know. I approved your transfer. Now, go and get Colonel Hunter – he came in here a few minutes ago wanting to help. Well, now we need it..."

"What do we need him for?" Ria muttered, curiously. She couldn't envisage a need for the big marine colonel, not in a med bay.

"We need to anaesthetise him again," Gina replied. "No offense, but I don't think either of us are strong enough to hold him down on our own."

With a nod, the asari medic trotted out of the med bay, and into the adjacent mess hall. Sure enough, the colonel was waiting anxiously at the table, and watched her as she approached, as if expecting bad news.

"Colonel, we need your help," she began, nervously. "We need someone to hold the captain down while we anaesthetise him."

The colonel didn't reply, he just nodded dumbly, and followed her back into the med bay. As they returned, Ria saw the doctor examining the surgical equipment arrayed beside Murphy's bed, with an urgent expression.

"Desflurane and nitrous oxide in the vaporiser," she was muttering to herself, as she prepared a breathing tube. When the two of them reached the bed, she looked up at them. "Ria, I need you to hold his legs down, he might try and kick when we administer the anaesthetic. Colonel, can you come here? Pin his shoulders and arms down.

They moved into action rather rapidly – Ria found herself pressing Murphy's ankles to the bed as the doctor slid the tube into his throat. Sure enough, the captain bucked with surprising strength as the cocktail of gases flooded into his body – oxygen and, according to Gina's mutterings, nitrous oxide and desflurane. Colonel Hunter was gripping Murphy's forearms rather tightly, and the captain's upper body barely moved, such was the strength the colonel was applying to it. Ria, however, wasn't quite as strong, and stifled a cry as a hefty kick found her midriff. Nonetheless, she kept her grip, and after a minute or two, Murphy's body fell very still.

"Right..." the doctor sighed – she already had a scalpel in her hand. "We can begin. Colonel, can you just wait to the side? We might need you again... Ria, come here, I might need another pair of hands."

The procedure was a short but intense one, and in hindsight, Ria would view it as one of the most strenuous she had ever been a part of, not least because of the colonel's anxious presence on the sidelines.

The doctor worked with surprising dexterity and efficiency, more than she had come to expect in ship-board medics. They were usually confined to the role of distributing pills and fixing broken bones, not performing intense surgery... Gina, however, kept an icy nerve as she opened up Murphy's chest, quickly accessing the pulmonary artery and locating the clot. She only spoke two words to Ria during the process, muttering "clamp" and indicating a spot on the artery with the point of her scalpel. As instructed, Ria slipped a clamp around the artery to cut off the blood flow. A second instruction of "clamp", and she inserted another, a centimetre or so along, leaving the blood clot as a clear bulge between the two.

"Right..." she murmured, to herself rather than her two companions, biting her lip. It occurred to Ria that she could _see _her bitten lip – none of them were surgical masks, or aprons, such was the rushed nature of the operation. She wasn't even sure how much time was passing, as the doctor carefully slit along the side of the artery, and rather casually plucked the crimson lump out, dropping it into a small metal tray on the bench beside her.

From there, she made it look even easier, sealing the artery shut once more, motioning for Ria to remove the clamps, and closing up Murphy's chest by way of a dozen sutures.

"Now for the tricky bit," she sighed, and that made Ria rather nervous – if cutting up the artery from his heart to his lung was the _easy_ part, how hard did she expect the rest of it to be? "We give the ventilator time to get his left lung working again, and then we take him off it. There's a good chance he'll slip again."

"What does that mean?" Colonel Hunter interjected, rather nervously for a man of his stature.

"He's been relying on the ventilator for almost half a day... He'll have to adjust quickly to having it removed. His lungs might not be able to cope initially, and that could put a strain on his heart... It's a lot of ifs and buts, colonel..." Then, she said, resignedly, "Ria, he's had time. Take the anaesthetic out before the ventilator – keep in mind, he might try and tear it out when he comes to."

Ria circled around to Murphy's head, and gently eased the anaesthetic tube out of his throat. Once it was removed, she set a hand on the ventilator, but sure enough, it was only half way out before Murphy's eyes opened, and his hand reached up to hers, tugging on the ventilator – with each tug, it scraped his neck and he choked in pain, but he kept it up nonetheless. Before the asari even had a _chance _to panic, Colonel Hunter shot over, and pinned Murphy's arms to the floor. Carefully but quickly, Ria pulled the ventilator the last few inches out of their patient's throat, and took a step back.

A deathly quiet filled the surgery – the only noise was Murphy's ragged breathing, as he coughed and spluttered into consciousness. Moments later, however, his head slipped back onto the bed, he lost consciousness, and the various instruments around the bed began to bleep like crazy. Hunter, still pinning Murphy to the bed, was wild-eyed, Ria froze in panic, and the doctor quickly rushed to the captain's head, beginning mouth-to-mouth. After a few seconds, as another chorus of electronic bleeping filled the air, she looked up at Ria.

"His heart's going!" she barked, panicking for the first time that night. "Compressions, now!"

Ria shuffled down the bed, planted her hands over the captain's bare chest, and began to hammer away. Hunter was still pinning him by the midriff, as the two doctors alternated – Ria would compress his chest, stop, and Gina would try to breath air into his lungs. The process carried on for at least ten tense minutes, before finally, a spluttering cough met the human doctor's efforts.

Ria felt her shoulders sag with relief as Murphy's eyes opened again. He looked like hell – eyes bloodshot and breathing shallow – but he was _alive. _Gina had already grabbed an oxygen mask from the bedside, and clamped it over his mouth almost instantly. Within moments, the captain slipped back onto his bed, unconscious, but still breathing raggedly.

"Goddess..." Ria murmured.

"Quite..." Gina echoed. Colonel Hunter was looking from one to other, and shook his head in a weary sigh, looking just as exhausted as them.

"Is that it?" the colonel muttered, finally.

"For now," the doctor sighed. "Breathing's shallow, and the pulse is faint, but at least they're there. We'll keep an eye on him through the night, make sure he doesn't relapse..."


	43. Shore Leave Shalta Ward 7

_**SSV Cambrai, Shalta Ward Docks**_

_**Day 2, 0400**_

"Alright..." Zel murmured. "What kind of experience are we talking about, here?"

The turian biotic was sat on a cargo crate in the bunk area, a bottle of dextro wine in one hand and a bar of turian chocolate in the other. Rafea, the asari, was perched cross-legged next to her, on the same crate.

Arrayed around them were several of the newcomers, some sitting on crates, some lounging in the makeshift beds, all settling in for their first night on the Cambrai. Saffiya was still out on the ward, and Tyco's group of marines were presumably still off getting drunk. In fact, everyone was gone except Zel and Rafea, and this batch of new recruits. They had lit the dark hangar with an emergency buoy, which was casting pale orange light from the ceiling, and were sat around, loudly discussing... well, everything.

Zel took another look at the recruits gathered around. There were two other asari commandoes, D'Taran and T'Rel, and a trio of humans; the shotgun-toting Araya, the sentinel Cash, and the brooding biotic Thorne. Another human, Zya, was on board, but had disappeared to the cargo hold to "practice", whatever she meant by that.

"I'll start off if you like," Cash volunteered. "Five years as an Alliance marine, retired, re-enlisted last week to join the Cambrai."

"I... lived on Omega?" Araya piped up, as if that was training in itself.

"You lived on Omega?" Rafea interjected, sceptically. "That's it?"

"That's enough," Thorne laughed, darkly. "Surviving on Omega? You have to be able to handle a gun, at the very least..."

"Oh? So what's your resume, human?" the asari replied.

"Six years biotic training in the Ascension Project, one year Alliance military, seven years as a mercenary..."

"What's the Ascension Project?" Zel asked, curiously.

"Biotic academy," the human replied. "Takes youngsters with potential and helps them harness their powers. It also teaches them how to blend in with society – some humans don't take kindly to biotics."

"Tell me about it," the turian muttered. "My people have the cabals instead – they just shove biotics in a special regiment and keep them away from the infantry."

"It's so _weird_," the asari D'Taran interjected. "Biotics are just normal to us."

"That's because _all _of your people are biotics," Thorne scowled. "That said, _my_ people used to try and burn witches – I guess we're just not that good at accepting the weird and wonderful..."

"Good point," T'Rel laughed, supping at a beer. "We're just used to it. I've spent more than a century using my biotics as a commando... Peacekeeping, anti-piracy, and so on..."

"Now _that's _weird," Cash chuckled. "If a human lives past a hundred, he's doing well."

"And if an asari lives past a hundred, she's still a child..."

"Like I said. Weird."

"So what about you two?" the commando continued, turning to Zel and Rafea.

"Same as you," Rafea nodded, to T'Rel. "A century or so of mercenary work and commando service."

"And you, turian?"

"A year of turian boot camp, six years of cabal training... and I didn't see battle until I joined this crew."

A few jaws dropped open at that.

"You'd never been into battle before?" Cash gawped.

"Nope, just training and drills. Benning was my first time in real combat..."

"Baptism of fire," the human sentinel grunted. "The yeoman said it was rough down there."

"It was," Zel nodded, sadly. "The marines had the worst of it – six dead, and a shuttle pilot."

"They had the worst of it?" Rafea laughed, grimly. "Zel, we were starving to death by the end of it!"

The others were staring from Rafea to Zel with a mixture of amusement at the argument to horror at the conditions they were describing.

"We weren't _dead_, though," the turian reasoned.

"Yeah, but it might have been easier if we had been," the asari countered. "Fighting against the odds is one thing, but not being able to use your biotics? That makes me feel defenceless..."

"I suppose so... and I had sniper training, so it wasn't quite as bad for me."

"You were really starving, then?" D'Taran murmured, with a mixture of morbid interest and concern.

"Yup," she nodded. "We went in expecting a few hours' fighting, so we didn't bring rations."

"Then Cerberus dropped an airstrike on our heads," Rafea continued, picking up the story, "and we had to scurry off into the city to hide. Spent three _days _hiding in apartment buildings, transport tunnels..."

"Rafea," Zel interjected, rather suddenly. "I just realised something. That was my first kill."

"What?"

"Back on Benning – that Centurion, the one I saved the justicar from? That was my first kill," she repeated.

"And they say you never forget your first," Cash chuckled, apparently amused by the irony.

"Ooh, that's a good one!" Zel burst out, taking another swig of wine and a bite of chocolate. "First kills! Come on, who wants to go first?"

Before _anyone _could go first, a gunshot rang through the hangar, and someone screamed – it took Zel a moment or two decide that it _wasn't_ her. In the same instant, the buoy above their heads exploded, and twinkling flecks of light tumbled to the floor, fading as they landed.

"Will you lot shut up?" shouted a rather grumpy-looking Colonel Hunter, illuminated in the light of the elevator with a pistol in his hand. "It's four in the morning and we can hear you from the bloody crew deck!"


	44. Shore Leave Shalta Ward 8

_**Level 24, Shalta Ward**_

_**Day 2, 1300**_

"Argh..."

That was really about all Andersen could manage. His head was pounding, his tongue felt heavy in his mouth, and he was pretty sure there was something _living _in his stomach, from the way it was growling. Also – and it took him at least ten minutes to realise this – his shoes were missing.

One of the first things he _did_ notice, besides the plethora of ways his body was broken, was the rather hard steel floor against which his face was currently pressed.

"Are we dead?" he muttered.

"If we are, it's a sorry-looking heaven," croaked another voice, also on the floor. Turning his head required precious effort, but showed him Vimes, sprawled out on his back a few feet away.

"You think _we'd_ get into heaven?" interjected a third voice. This time, he didn't need to look – the filtered voice identified Kan'Sura, speaking from somewhere nearby.

"Don't get all philoso... philosophi... Don't get all _wordy _on me. It's too early for that crap."

"It's the afternoon," Andersen announced, checking his omni-tool with no small amount of effort. The numbers were too blurry, but he could make out double digits.

"I _think _we're drunk..." Kan'Sura sighed.

"We were _drunk _twelve hours ago. Welcome to the wonderful world of hangovers, quarian..." Vimes muttered.

"You mean this is _normal?_"

"Yup... I mean, I can usually remember where I left my legs, but I guess there's a first time for everything..."

As he finally persuaded his head to look upwards, Andersen began to take in some of their surroundings. They appeared to be in a fairly up-market apartment, albeit a bare one. He finally spotted Kan'Sura, slumped against the wall to his left. In the centre of the room, a few feet away, was a plush-looking sofa, on which Tyco was slumped, still unconscious. Beyond him, ahead and to the right, were a couple of panel doors leading to other rooms – neither of which interested him in his befuddled state.

With the room fully accounted for... sort of... he turned to himself. Aside from the aforementioned aches, pains and missing shoes, he appeared to be intact... The only oddity was a slight bulge in the back pocket of his uniform – after a minute of fumbling, he pulled out a holo. The name "Rachel" was scribbled across the corner in bright red – was that lipstick? – along with a phone number and a little 'x', while the holo showed a mousy-haired human girl beaming at the camera...

In a similar train of thought, the door on the far side of the apartment swung open, and not one but two asari emerged, both clad in dancer's outfits. Behind them was a bare-chested Kamur, whose plated face looked so smug, Andersen wanted to get up and punch it – if his legs would allow it...

They wouldn't, so he settled for scowling at the turian from the floor.

"What?" Kamur shrugged, blearily. "You got that little human girl, I got... them."

"_Them_. Plural. I rest my case, you scaly git."

The turian chuckled, and perched on the edge of the sofa, as Andersen dragged himself into a sitting position. Just as he did, there was a loud grumbling noise to his right – a moment later, the door over there burst open, and the young engineer witnessed, for the first time in his life, a krogan hangover.

Yui stumbled out of the door with a groan. The skin around his eyes was red, and more worryingly, his left eye was also sporting a sizeable bruised lump, with another on the right hand side of his jaw. As he staggered into the main living room – Andersen assumed it was a living room – there was a stormy expression on his grizzled face.

"Who did this?" he grunted, pointing to the black eye and staring around at them all.

"Don't look at me," Kamur replied, raising his hands in an expression of surrender. "That was that matron behind the bar."

"Say what?" Yui mumbled, clearly not remembering a thing.

"Well, you started putting the _moves _on her somewhere ryncol number six and seven, and she punched you on... nine?"

"And this?" the krogan continued, waving at his battered jaw.

"Okay, that one _was _me," Kamur admitted.

"Turian..." Yui growled.

"If it's any consolation, you deserved it."

Vimes laughed weakly at that, as the krogan took a few threatening – albeit slow – steps towards Kamur, then gave up and stumbled backwards, sliding down to sit at the base of the wall next to the C-Sec sniper.

"Never had this from ryncol before," the krogan muttered.

"I'm _pretty _sure she spiked it to shut you up."

"Why, what was I saying?"

"Besides drooling over every asari that walked past? I think you managed 'ripe fruit of Thessia' before she landed that right hook..."

Yui groaned, and buried his head in his scaly hands. Then, he looked up, and noticed Tyco for the first time. A flicker of what appeared to be _guilt _passed over his features.

"Is he alright?"

"He's fine – the ryncol knocked him for six, though. I rented the apartment and dragged him over here from the club..."

"Which is why you're still sober," Andersen began.

"While you're all moaning like vorcha. Yup."

"No need to be so smug about it," Vimes scowled, from the corner.

"Oh, there's no _need_," Kamur agreed. "It's just fun..."


	45. Shore Leave Shalta Ward 9

_**SSV Cambrai, Shalta Ward Docks**_

_**Day 2, 1900**_

"Are there any objections?"

"None, Admiral..."

Colonel Hunter watched on with amusement, as the three holograms conferred. It was a damn sight less formal than most Alliance proceedings – proper procedure was hard to uphold with so many officials dead – but there was still an air of decorum about it. He was stood in the war room, joined by three holograms, of three admirals, of three fleets. The familiar figure of Admiral Hackett stood in the centre, having called the tribunal, and he was as composed as ever, hands tucked behind his back in that usual pose. To his right was Ines Lindholm – Logan had first met her while serving in the First Fleet, but time and the sacrifice of a large chunk of her fleet had weathered her once serene face. To the left, making up the jury of three, was Nitesh Singh, the Third Fleet's Admiral. Like Hackett, he looked focused, despite the horrors Hunter knew were falling around his head each day.

"Then this tribunal finds, irrefutably, that Operations Chief Edward Palmer is guilty of the charges of treason, desertion, and conspiracy to murder Systems Alliance personnel," Admiral Hackett declared – everyone in the room knew it was a foregone conclusion, but it needed to be put down on record, officially.

"Edward Palmer is henceforth stripped of his rank and command," Singh continued, "and is to be apprehended as soon as his location is confirmed. Given the nature of his defection to Cerberus, the arresting officers are authorised to use lethal force."

"This hearing is concluded. Dismissed."

The little recording device in the comms console dimmed, and ceased its activity. The holograms, however, remained, and Hunter found all three admirals watching him carefully.

"Admiral?" he muttered, finally, turning to Hackett.

"There's one more matter to discuss, colonel," the admiral replied. "What to do with the Cambrai..."

"The fleets need ships," Singh reasoned. "The Cambrai survived Arcturus pretty much intact. According to the engineer's report, all critical systems are functioning at full capacity; the only issue is the skeleton crew. Bring her up to capacity, and we could make use of her in the Third Fleet. She'd be best served in the front line."

"We'll have to disagree on that, Singh," Hackett interjected. "The Cambrai isn't an old Hastings class; she's a Normandy, a _stealth _frigate. Not to mention the fact that she's got two dozen special forces operatives bunking in her cargo hold."

"If you shift the Cambrai to the fleets, you'll have to relocate the non-humans, or scatter them back to their own people," Hunter chipped in. "It'd be much easier for us to continue covert operations."

"We even have a list of targets," continued the admiral. "The N7s secured enemy operations data from a base on Noveria. We can clear their bases out one by one, bleed them dry."

"N7s?" Lindholm inquired, backtracking.

"Ah... it's a... unofficial name," Hunter murmured, nervously. "A couple of Alliance marines starting using it after Noveria, and it stuck..."

"Nice morale boost," she smiled. "Just keep it out of the official files, it might get confusing."

"So..." Hackett muttered, returning to the matter at hand. "Are we agreed on the Cambrai?"

"I still think she could be more use in combat," Singh persisted. "These covert operations haven't had the best success rate – a data retrieval on Noveria, and a huge loss on Benning..."

"They only _set out_ to retrieve data on Noveria," the colonel countered. "That mission was a total success. As for Benning, every mistake on that mission was down to Palmer – now, I have to wonder whether he screwed us intentionally..."

"You really want ships, Nitesh?" Hackett concluded. "I'll transfer the Perugia."

That seemed to knock the other admiral for six. He looked at Hackett with surprise, and seemed to be undergoing a fierce mental struggle with his own judgement.

"The Perugia's a cruiser," Singh murmured, examining his fellow admiral carefully. Lindholm too was looking at them in surprise. "Far more valuable than a single frigate... you're _that _sure the Cambrai's worth it?"

"Absolutely..."

"Damn it. You haven't led us wrong so far... Keep the Cambrai – and the Perugia, too. Just..." here, he turned to Logan. "Give 'em hell."

The colonel nodded mutely, as Singh's hologram turned and disappeared. Hackett let out a low sigh of relief, and Lindholm was looking from him to the colonel.

"Well, that's that sorted," she sighed, thankfully. "Admiral Hackett, I'll speak to you when we next pass the... err, _project._ Colonel Hunter... good luck out there."

With that, she too disappeared, and Hackett's hologram was left alone, looking slightly weary and staring at Hunter.

"You do realise what this means?" he began.

"What, sir?"

"You're in charge now, colonel. The Cambrai is yours, along with any other support you need."

"I... what?"

"Well, quite apart from being the highest ranking officer on the ship, you're an N7, you've shown a talent for leadership throughout all the time I've known you, and you already proved to me that you know that ship inside out..."

"The cooling systems," Hunter murmured, with a dull realisation. "That's what you meant by-"

"_Just making observations_," Hackett interjected, smiling. "Yes. If the Cambrai's going to be running these operations full-time, she needs a captain who the operatives will follow to hell and back. You fit the bill. I'll forward mission profiles as soon as I can. Let your men finish their shore leave, then be ready to fight."

"Of course, sir..."

"One more thing, colonel."

"What's that, admiral?"

"I just took a big gamble on you and your crew. Don't disappoint."


	46. Shore Leave Shalta Ward 10

_**SSV Cambrai, Shalta Ward Docks**_

_**Day 3, 1400**_

The day after the tribunal's verdict, Colonel Hunter was to be found on the engineering deck of his new command, looking out over the cargo bay through the great glass windows.

Hackett had stayed true to his word. Mere hours after the tribunal, he had sent a whole dossier of Cerberus and Reaper targets to Hunter's desk, with information, reconnaissance images, and even recommendations as to which they should attack first. Not only that, the Hong Kong had arrived that morning, on his orders, bearing a whole cache of equipment and ordnance. There was another shuttle, to replace the one lost on Benning, along with a brand new M35 Mako, and more weapons than they knew what to do with. He had even offered to transfer a _VI _to help the yeoman and the colonel organise their business, but the yeoman had insisted she could manage that.

Apparently, thinking of the devil worked as well as speaking of it, because the yeoman chose that very moment to chime in on the radio.

"Colonel?" she murmured. "The operatives you requested are in your office now."

"Good," he nodded. "Tell them I'll be right up."

"Aye aye, sir."

With one last look over the cargo bay – a group of engineers, including a sobered-up Andersen, were examining the two new vehicles. It wasn't an assigned task, they were on shore leave, but the colonel got the impression that the gear heads got a kick out of that sort of thing...

He turned, stepped into the elevator, and made the short ride up to the crew deck. Pacing through it, he saw more examples of his crew not _really _taking shore leave as it was intended. Half a dozen operatives had chosen to hang out in the mess hall, rather than a Citadel bar, and he could see the two doctors chatting amicably in the med bay.

As he stepped into his office he found, just as the yeoman had said, three operatives waiting for him.

Closest to the door was Tyco – according to rumours amongst the crew, the big bounty hunter had only awoken in the late hours of the previous afternoon, having attempted to drink ryncol... Stupid sod. Now, he was lounging against the wall in his black armour, helmet and rifle at his feet.

Beyond him was Vimes, the former C-Sec sniper, clad in red and grey and toting a sub-machine gun. Like Tyco, rumour stated he had gone on the marines' piss-up on the first day of shore leave, but he wasn't _quite _such a silly sod, and had managed to avoid krogan liquor.

Finally, stood next to Vimes, was another figure in red armour – the assassin, Zya. She was a rather intriguing figure, and as he walked around to the desk he could see the lump in her throat all too clearly. He'd been given the details of her close shave with Kai Leng, and it was somewhat chilling. Her voice was gone, replaced by that synthetic modulator, and most of the emotion in her speech had gone with it...

"Colonel," she nodded, the modulator making her sound like a VI. He nodded back, and came to a stop on the other side of his desk, taking a file from one of his drawers.

"Good to see you all," he muttered, dropping the file on the desk. "I know you're on shore leave, but this couldn't wait."

"What is it, boss?" Tyco asked, straightening up and stepping away from the wall, curiosity etched on his face.

"Palmer," the colonel grunted, simply.

All three snipers stood a little straighter at that, as sly smiles passed over both Tyco and Vimes' faces.

"We're going after him?" said Tyco. Hunter nodded.

"The data your team retrieved on Noveria included references to safehouses out in the Traverse. We're sending you to find them and clear them out. Hopefully you'll get a chance to track down Palmer while you're at it."

"No offense, colonel," Zya began, brow furrowing. "But any one of us could do that. Why send a whole team?"

"We've underestimated Cerberus before," the colonel sighed. "I don't want to take any chances."

"Should we get Mac'Tir onboard too, then?" Vimes pondered. "He _is _an assassin."

"Yes, he is, but he's not right for this mission," Logan replied. "Mac'Tir kills with a sword and biotics – he likes to improvise his routes in and out and take the target on at close range. That doesn't work well for a team effort. _You're_ all snipers, though – between the four of you, you can lay down enough crossfire to cut off all routes of escape."

"Four?"

"_Four_. I spoke to the salarian, Rilum, this morning. He put me in touch with one of his STG colleagues, an infiltrator named Arrete. He'll be waiting for you on Zakera Ward."

"Why do we need him?" Zya murmured. "There are other snipers on the crew. Tabris, and that turian, Manado..."

"It's not that he's a sniper," Hunter muttered. "It's that he's STG. We know Cerberus has forces in the Traverse, but that's _all _we know. You'll need information networks to find them."

"And we've all got a different one..." she interjected, sagely.

"Exactly. C-Sec records and informants, Terminus mercenaries, assassin networks, and the STG. Short of having the Shadow Broker on side, you couldn't be better equipped for tracking a target. Meet Arrete on Zakera Ward – he's arranged transport into the Traverse on an Eclipse freighter. Do anything and everything you can to find Palmer, and when you do... make him pay."

"Aye aye, sir..."


	47. Shore Leave Shalta Ward 11

_**SSV Cambrai, Shalta Ward Docks**_

_**Day 3, 1730**_

"How's the Mako?" Kamur muttered, as he crossed over to Andersen. The young engineer was leaning on a crate by the bunk area, watching the salarian, Lynus, scan the IFV.

"Beautiful," he grinned. "That cannon could tear a building down in two minutes flat."

"You don't need the cannon," the turian replied, rolling his eyes. "Just smash that heap of scrap into the wall and watch it come down..."

"Heap of _scrap? _This thing's a beast!"

"It's got no mobility! It handles like... well, like _you_ when you're drunk."

"This from the turian? You're not exactly known for agility yourself..."

"_I'm_ not a truck."

"It's not a truck, it's a _tank_."

"Whatever it is, it's useless in precision tactics. Why aren't we using those... err, what are they called? The flying things?"

"Hammerheads?" Andersen guessed. "Too flimsy and too complex."

"Oh? I thought they were meant to be an improvement?"

"Sure, the technology's better, but that means there's about a million more things that can go wrong with it. The hoverjets stop, you crash. The VI system glitches, you crash. The exhaust manifold overheats, it blows, and _then _you crash. And because it doesn't have kinetic barriers like the Mako, if you crash, you snap the damn thing in half. In ground assaults, the Mako carries more people, does more damage, and takes a hell of a lot more effort to destroy... It's like a krogan with hubcaps."

"Simple to drive, too..." Kamur conceded.

"Yup. Forward, back, left and right. It's much easier than driving in three dimensions."

"Ah, you're the gear head. As long as this thing can get us into battle, I don't care..."

There was a slight pause, before a question popped into Andersen's head.

"What are you doing here?" he muttered, rather suddenly.

"Beer run," the turian grinned. "We're having a poker game in the cargo hold tonight. You in?"

"Sure... I'll check in with Lynus first, see what needs doing, but after that, I'll be right up."

"Good man – eight o'clock, on the dot. And... a word to the wise? Watch out for Kan'Sura. Those masks make for one hell of a poker face..."

Still grinning, Kamur set off across the hangar once more, heading for the airlock. Andersen, on the other hand, paced over to the Mako, where the green-skinned salarian was just finishing a scan with his omni-tool.

"Excellent timing," Lynus began, without turning round. "I was just about to call you over. I've finished my scans, received a briefing from the colonel."

"A briefing?" Andersen asked, curiously. They still had four days of shore leave, why was Hunter giving them a briefing? More importantly, where was he sending them?

"Details of the next mission," the salarian continued. "Four days' time. The colonel wanted the Mako modified for optimal performance..."

"Modified? The Mako can deal with anything, why does it need upgrading?"

"See for yourself."

He held up a green wrist, with the captain's message displayed on his omni-tool. Craning his head slightly, Andersen read it, and his mind began to work, processing the information, and what they needed to do. With that destination in mind, the salarian was right – the Mako could deal with it, but there was a lot to be done to improve it...

"Arid terrain," he mused. "Rocky, possibly salt flats... I'm thinking suspension... environmental systems?"

"Perfect," Lynus nodded, smiling approvingly and still looking ponderously at the Mako. "Raise and soften suspension for rough terrain, seal mechanical joints to stop mineral build-up... Improve thermal shields and venting for high temperatures... Maybe upgrade the radiation shielding?"

"Yeah, that should be enough for the climate. Given the local wildlife, I'd check the environmental seals against disease, and upgrade the _regular _shielding, too."

"Yes, yes... We should call in the quarian – he had some ideas for improving the kinetic barriers. Can you do anything to the armament?"

"Calibrate the targeting system, modify the ammunition... I reckon I can handle that."

"Modify the ammunition?" Lynus echoed, questioningly. "Is that safe?"

"Maybe not with the mass accelerator, I don't want to blow myself up, but I can do something with the machine gun. Incendiaries, just like you'd apply to a rifle."

"Good man..." the salarian murmured, looking at Andersen for the first time in the conversation. "Not used to this display of talent in human engineers. Quarians, yes. They can do anything with scrap and wires. Humans always seemed... clumsy."

"Right," the young engineer frowned. "I'll try to take that as a compliment."

"It was intended as one. I'll speak to an STG colleague on the Citadel, acquire some parts. Enjoy your card game" – Andersen started in surprise at the salarian captain's bat-like hearing – "we can begin work tomorrow morning. Nine o'clock. Bring the quarian."


	48. Shore Leave Shalta Ward 12

_**Level 29, Shalta Ward**_

_**Day 7, 1800**_

The last day of the Cambrai's shore leave was rather less eventful than the first. No shootouts, no betrayals, not even a drunken night on the wards. Just a quiet evening in the hangar bay, preparing weapons, armour, and anything else they'd need.

Granted, they'd spent most of the week preparing. Apart from that first night, Andersen had spent the week on the Cambrai. Upgrading the Mako had taken up the last three, with Rilum, Kan'Sura and himself all working feverishly to optimise the systems.

No-one else seemed to have taken shore leave quite as it was intended, either. At such short notice, and with the galaxy in so much chaos, there wasn't much opportunity for people to see their families, not unless they happened to live on the wards. For the most part, the N7s had spent their days and nights playing cards and swapping stories over a drink or two. Tyco and Vimes had departed on their mission, and Saffiya had taken to wandering the lower levels for the last few nights – alone, Andersen assumed, although the drell had accompanied her once or twice. That left the young engineer spending his evenings with Kamur, Yui, and Kan'Sura - he had gotten to know the latter quite well while working on the Mako.

On the last night, the four of them were to be found in the armoury, polishing armour, cleaning weapons, and generally readying themselves for battle. Unlike most of the other marines, Andersen knew where they were going next, and knew it would need a _lot _of readying.

"Look at that," Kamur said, the sub-harmonics in his voice turning the mutter into a purr. He was examining an assault rifle with a pride, and fitting a scope module to the top of it.

"It's a gun," Yui grumbled. "We have lots of guns. They delivered a whole _ship _full of 'em."

"That shipment was all human guns," the turian replied, dismissively, and Andersen scowled at him. "This is a _Phaeston_. Turian light machinegun – zero recoil stability dampeners, pinpoint accuracy, and holds about a hundred rounds with the right mods. It'll fire every one of them in under thirty seconds, too."

"We get it," Kan'Sura moaned. "You like the gun. You _love _the gun. You want to settle down with it and start a family."

"I'm just saying," Kamur scowled, "it's the best of turian design."

"And _this _is the best of krogan design," Yui replied, grabbing a bulky, rust-coloured weapon from behind one of the crates. "We call it a Graal. It fires a whole bunch of these iron darts, and it can break your arm."

"It fires darts?" the turian muttered, sceptically.

"Yeah. And it kills thresher maws. Shove that in your stability dampeners."

Rather obediently, Kamur fell silent, occasionally casting a cautious glance at the Graal, which Yui had thrown back behind the crates.

"I don't know about you guys," the krogan muttered, as he started cleaning his knife. "But I want to get back out there. Sitting on the Citadel's all well and good, but it's better to be in the battle lines..."

"I don't know..." Andersen murmured. "It's good to feel like you're helping people, but I don't exactly get a _kick _out of being shot at."

"You don't? Huh. Guess that's just me."

"I don't want to throw my life away, that's for sure – and neither should you. Your people have just got their future back, don't throw away yours..."

"Don't give me all that sanctimonious crap... I'm a fighter, always have been, always will be. Besides, there's no future left for my clan..."

Before any of them could ask Yui just what he meant by that, a dull rumble filled the air. The blare of the engines was rising outside the ship, and the whole thing lurched, swinging through space. Moments later, it was followed by a message from the CIC, sweeping through the hangar by way of the comms system.

"All hands," Colonel Hunter announced, "we are clear of the Citadel. Navigators, report to the bridge. The rest of you, get some sleep. We'll be hitting our target at 0400 hours. Hunter out."

"0400?" Kamur echoed, anxiously. "Dawn strike, not to mention how soon it is... Wherever we're going must need help bad."

Andersen shared a knowing and nervous look with Kan'Sura. They knew exactly where they were going, and if it was as badly in need of help as Kamur seemed to think, a certain krogan friend of theirs wasn't going to be happy about it...

"Wait... do you two know something?" the turian asked, looking from one to the other. Andersen cursed inwardly – had he been that obvious?

"I... ah..." he stammered.

"We know where the mission is," Kan'Sura interjected, resignedly. Kamur and Yui both straightened up, and turned to look at him.

"Where?" Yui frowned.

"Tuchanka."

"Hey!" Kamur chuckled, grinning at Yui. "Looks like you get to go home, you lucky sod..."

The krogan, however, wasn't smiling. His eyes looked far-away, and his jaw was set in a worried grimace.

"What's the matter?" the quarian murmured, as caringly as his filtered voice and sarcastic manner would allow.

"Tuchanka's not the battleground," Yui scowled. He sounded like he was trying to convince _himself_, not them. "The fight's on Palaven, that's why my people are there! Tuchanka can't be in danger..."

"We don't know how bad it is, yet," Kamur muttered, trying to sound consoling.

"It shouldn't be _any _kind of bad... We cured the genophage, we're rallying the clans, and we went off to help your turian asses! If the Reapers snuck in the back door while we were saving _you_..."

Yui went rather silent – then, without warning, he simply stood up and walked off across the hangar bay. Part of Andersen's brain, the part that was still wired up to deal with humans, told him to go and check if he was alright. The other part, the one which realised – quite rightly – that Yui was a krogan, told him to back off and stay out of weapon's range.

Resignedly, he dropped the Predator pistol he had been working on, and swung himself up into one of the hammocks, strung between two cargo crates. As he looked back, he saw Kamur and Kan'Sura were both watching Yui's retreating back, apparently undergoing the same mental debate as him.

"Leave him to it," he sighed. "And get some sleep."

And so, they did. Over the course of the next hour, more and more of the N7s trickled into the hangar bay, filling the bunk area. As Andersen drifted off, however, he was all too aware of the noise from the other side of the bay – a krogan growling, and the sound of hefty punches smashing against the steel wall.


	49. Operation Mirage Briefing

_**SSV Cambrai, Mass Relay Stream**_

_**Day 1, 0330**_

"Alright, people, ten minutes to the Krogan DMZ."

Rather than hold a rally in the hangar bay, as he apparently had before Benning, Colonel Hunter had just called the operatives who were going to Tuchanka up to the war room.

Kyra Tabris, however, was wishing he _had _held a mass rally in the hangar, because right now, she felt a bit small... She was stood between three hulking krogan, all in full battle armour – Hei Yui, who looked wild-eyed and slightly sleepless; Uthar Vresh, her friend; and Malice Vaner, a surly-looking krogan holding a Mattock rifle. The only other non-krogan in the room was the colonel himself.

"I know we were slated for anti-Cerberus ops," he began, "but there's been a change of plans. The Urdnot clan leader has requested help with a situation on Tuchanka, and seeing as we've got krogan onboard, the Alliance decided to send us."

"_Situation?_" Yui growled, impatiently. "What does that mean?"

"Let me explain... As you know, since the genophage cure was distributed, Clan Urdnot has been contributing to the coalition fleets – they're assembling the various clans and deploying them across Council Space. In fact, most of Urdnot's own army is on Palaven, fighting the Reapers. Unfortunately, that leaves them in a precarious position at home..."

"If they're away fighting, their homes are undefended," the krogan replied, gruffly.

"Exactly. An attacking force, be it the Reapers or another clan, could waltz right in and attack while the bulk of their forces are light years away. With that in mind, this mission is intended to stop both."

"Just get to the point, colonel."

"You'll be deploying into the territory of Clan Suroc."

"Suroc? I know that name... Good fighters, went to war with Urdnot a century or two ago over hunting grounds..."

"That's the one. Ever since Urdnot began uniting the clans, Suroc has been holding out – they're not attacking, but they aren't _helping_, either."

"So what's changed?" Vaner asked, shrewdly.

"One of the females from Clan Suroc came to the Urdnot neutral ground, seeking aid. Apparently, Suroc teams have been going dark at a key site for weeks. Every time they send more troops in, they lose them. The females suspect the Reapers are involved, but the males were too stubborn to ask Urdnot for help."

"Typical..." Kyra murmured, under her breath. All three krogan males turned and scowled at her, before Hunter continued.

"Clan Urdnot is sending one of their warriors, but they can't commit any more – a mixture of bad blood between the clans, and a lack of manpower to defend their territory. Instead, they asked the Alliance to send a team in to help – that's you."

"Get in, kill the Reapers, and leave," Vresh nodded. "Sounds simple."

"The _mission_ is. The politics aren't. Firstly, Urdnot hopes that extending this olive branch will make Suroc more likely to join the other clans. Secondly, showing that the Reaper threat can be beaten back on Tuchanka means _all _the clans, not just Suroc, are more likely to send the majority of their troops off-world."

"But all we have to do is kill things..." Kyra's partner frowned. "...right?"

"Right," Hunter sighed, resignedly. "We're sending you three because... well, because you're krogan. It's your planet, and your people. Suroc's also more likely to accept help from other krogan – that's the same reason we're _not _sending salarians or turians."

"Why are you sending Kyra?"

"Because I wouldn't trust you three to be diplomatic if your lives depended on it..."

"Gee, thanks," Vaner scowled.

"You're _quite _welcome," the colonel replied, sarcastically. "The shuttle will drop you off at the Urdnot scout's co-ordinates once we reach Tuchanka. He'll explain more, and take you to the Suroc camp. While you're proceeding to the target, I'll have Andersen ready a backup team with the Mako, just in case."

"This is great," Vresh grinned. "We get to go back to the homeworld, and kick the bastard Reapers off it."

All three krogan, even the tired-looking Yui, were smiling at that, and Kyra couldn't help grinning – both at their enthusiasm, and the worried expression on Hunter's face, as if he wanted to get them to Tuchanka as quickly as possible before they started 'celebrating'...

"Right," he managed, finally. "We'll be there in a few minutes. Grab your gear, and report to the shuttle bay."


	50. Operation Mirage Part 1

_**Urdnot Rendezvous, Tuchanka**_

_**Day 1, 0400**_

"Welcome to sunny Tuchanka!" Vresh laughed, as the shuttle lurched towards the surface. Through the viewscreen on the far wall, Kyra could see images of the world outside – a writhing mass of rocky dunes and nuclear winds, all wrestling beneath the fiercely-burning sky. Tuchanka looked like hell, not that she dared say to that to her partner – he was in such a good mood, she didn't really want to disturb it...

"Thirty seconds!" the pilot roared, over the intercom. Kyra grabbed her helmet from the floor and pulled it on, as she hefted her geth sniper rifle – she was rather proud of the prototype, bought on Omega's black markets – into her arms.

Moving like clockwork, the shuttle swung to the ground thirty seconds later, the door slid open, and Kyra found herself jumping out first, followed by her three krogan companions.

The area they were emerging into was just another stretch of wind-swept sand and rock. The only distinguishing features were a small campfire, smouldering to embers, and a tomkah, a krogan truck, with its wheels buried a few inches into the dune.

Stood next to the campfire was a patiently-waiting krogan, red-crested and holding a Revenant machinegun. He spotted them approaching, and kicked the fire's embers into the sand, extinguishing them, before walking over to meet the four operatives as the shuttle soared away.

"Alliance?" he bellowed – the wind was speeding up, whipping sand all around them, and Kyra was rather glad of her helmet and visor. Her krogan companions, however, barely seemed to notice the desert stinging at their eyes.

"Urdnot?" Yui called back.

"Aye... Urdnot Dax," the other krogan muttered, extending a hand to shake Yui's as the two met. "Sandstorm's picking up, I'll brief you in the truck!"

With that, the now five-strong party paced over to Dax's tomkah, and he yanked the side hatch open. The Urdnot scout clambered in first, then Yui, and then Kyra found herself climbing up, with Vresh giving her a boost into the tomkah's hold. Once they were all inside, Dax sat down on the far side of the compartment, as the N7s took their places around him.

"Somebody take the wheel," he murmured. "Co-ordinates for the Suroc camp are already loaded."

"I got it," grunted Vaner, disappearing into the helm section. Kyra and her two remaining companions were left in the rear, sat around the scout as the sandstorm outside rippled across the truck's exterior, sounding eerily like waves. The dunes, she supposed, were Tuchanka's only sea...

"How much have you been told?" Dax began, toying with the hilt of his dagger. As he spoke, the tomkah jolted, and they began to pull away across the sands.

"Only that Suroc's losing men," said Vresh. "And they need us to save their asses."

"Pretty much," the Urdnot scout laughed. "We're headed to Suroc Temple. It used to be the clan's burial ground, but it was abandoned centuries ago, after the clan shrank from the genophage."

"No use for ceremony in death when it becomes the norm," Yui sighed.

"Exactly. But a few weeks ago, the Suroc clan leader sent scouts to check the temple out, see if it was still standing."

"And the scouts didn't come back," Kyra guessed.

"Right. Neither did the team sent to find them. Or the team sent to find _them_. All in all, Suroc's lost four teams of scouts in that temple. Now, the females are pushing the clan leader to send a proper force in, and to accept our help."

"What kind of numbers are we talking about here?"

"The clan chief, a dozen Suroc warriors, and us."

"And the enemy force?"

"Unknown. All we know is, it managed to overpower four consecutive scout teams. We're presuming Reaper troops."

They lapsed into silence, as the truck rumbled through the sand, occasionally skipping over a rocky outcrop or dropping a few feet on the shear side of a dune. Eventually, however, after what seemed like an age of bumping and bouncing across Tuchanka, they rolled to a halt, the brakes screeched, and Dax stood up, knocking the entrance hatch open with his boot before jumping out. The N7s swiftly followed, one by one, and stepped out into the sandstorm once more.

The first thing Kyra noticed, apart from the sand and dust ripping against her visor, was the huddle of krogan ahead. Suroc's warriors made for a rather impressive sight, all clad in blue, almost teal armour, with the great domed helmets that seemed customary to all krogan. Only two figures had bare faces, and they were both pacing towards the newcomers. One had the swinging-shouldered gait of a rather arrogant leader, and was staying a few steps ahead of the other.

"About time!" the apparent leader shouted, as he approached.

"Suroc Jarr, I assume?" Dax asked, extending a reluctant hand. The Suroc chief didn't shake it.

"Urdnot," he grunted. "Who are your little friends? And _why _is there a human?"

Kyra's stomach dropped as the chief paced over to her. He was a big specimen, even for a krogan, and was looking at her with an expression of supreme disdain.

"This is an Alliance team," the Urdnot scout scowled. "What did you expect?"

"Someone a bit tougher," Jarr growled, and Kyra felt like slapping him. "I could snap her in half with one hand."

"And I'd vent your head if you tried," Vresh snarled, suddenly. That surprised Kyra slightly – he'd always looked out for her, but the way he was glaring at the chief worried her, quite frankly.

"You've got a quad," the chief snorted, staring at her friend. "What's your name?"

"Uthar Vresh."

"Clan Uthar... not _too _bad. Small, but you might be of some use. What about you?"

He had nodded at Vaner, and the surly krogan was silent for a few moments, as if picking his words. Kyra had to admit, she didn't actually _know _too much about him.

"Malice Vaner," he said, cautiously. "Clanless."

Kyra had picked up the bare bones of krogan culture through her time with Vresh, and she knew being "clanless" couldn't be a good thing, but she hadn't expected the reaction it got. Suroc Jarr's brow creased, and his teeth bared slightly. Even Vaner's allies reacted strongly – Dax looked shocked, while Yui and Vresh exchanged a worried glance, as if fearing the chief's reaction.

"Clanless? I should put you on a leash..."

"Shut it, Jarr."

The interruption had been quite sudden, and it took Kyra a moment to realise it was Yui who had snapped at him.

"And who the hell are you?" growled the chief.

"Hei Yui. I knew your father..."

"Ah, yes. I think he mentioned you, once or twice..."

"Was that before or after you put the knife in his back?"

The atmosphere felt dangerously charged, but the Suroc leader was actually _laughing_.

"Come on now, Yui, you know how these things work. Or, maybe you don't."

Quite suddenly, the chief's face became more serious, even threatening, as he and Yui stared each other down. Kyra half expected someone to draw their gun.

"What's that supposed to mean?" Yui muttered, darkly.

"You're a relic, Hei Yui. A dead clan, a couple of blue daughters... No wonder you're not a proper krogan."

Yui certainly _looked _like a proper krogan to Kyra, as his grip tightened on his shotgun. Before he could yell a response, however, the figure behind Jarr spoke up, for the first time.

"The men are restless," he sighed, speaking more to his leader than to the N7s. "We should get moving."

Jarr grunted, turned, and walked away, followed by his second and beckoning for their team to follow. Dax, however, held them back, and leant in conspiratorially.

"Jarr's trying to get under our skin," he murmured.

"It's working," Yui growled.

"If we snap and turn on him, he'll have an excuse not to work with us," the Urdnot scout continued. "Just stay away from him. If you need to discuss the mission, talk to that lieutenant of his, Meer. I've dealt with him before, when our scouts crossed paths – he's smart, and a hell of a lot more reasonable than Jarr."

"Are you babies coming or not?" Jarr bellowed, from up ahead. Resignedly, Dax beckoned for his companions to follow, and they set off after the Suroc warriors.


	51. Operation Mirage Part 2

_**Suroc Temple, Tuchanka**_

_**Day 1, 0430**_

With dawn light filtering through the sandstorm, Kyra and her squad didn't get a good look at the temple until they were right on the steps. When she finally saw it, however, she let out an astonished gasp, and stopped dead in her tracks, staring upwards at the structure ahead.

The main body of the temple was made up of a series of great, square shelves, getting progressively smaller until they reached the peak, topped by a stone structure that reminded Kyra of the old vids from Earth – the Greek and Roman ruins she had marvelled at so during her childhood. The mausoleum sat on top of the rest of the temple like a morbid crown.

Between them and it, however, was the enormous stone staircase. There must have been about a hundred steps in all, built for a krogan stride and running all the way up the side of the pyramid. Up ahead, the Suroc warriors were already beginning to climb them, waved on by Jarr.

"Come on!" the chief bellowed, as the N7s finally caught up. "We can't wait all day for you!"

Reluctantly, Kyra trotted towards the first step and hopped up onto it, as her companions did the same. Quickly at first, they began to spring upwards, growing closer to the sky with each stride. The actual distance shouldn't have been tiring for her, but the stairs had been made for krogan – each step was just a little bit higher and further away than she was comfortable with, and her calves were aching from the climb by the time she finally staggered to the top, flanked by Vaner and Vresh.

The Surocs were already waiting at the top, huddled together in twos or threes and checking their weapons – a lethal-looking assortment of rusted krogan shotguns, newer off-world rifles, and heavy weapons, including two battered missile launchers, old ML-77s.

"Are you okay, human?" Vaner murmured anxiously.

"I'm fine," she replied, taking a deep gulp of air. "I'm just... not quite as _big _as you."

"Alright, move up!" came Jarr's roar from up ahead, and Kyra couldn't help a little groan escaping her lips. "Get into the mausoleum and spread out! Find those scouts!"

"Jarr," Kyra heard the Suroc lieutenant ask, up ahead, "why are they carrying missile launchers?"

"To blow up the enemy! You can be really _dumb _sometimes, Meer."

"Wait..." Meer frowned. "You're letting them _fire _those things inside the mausoleum?"

"Why not?"

"It's a _tomb! _Haven't you heard of respect for the dead?"

"Why should I respect them? If they were strong, they wouldn't be dead," Jarr scowled. He shook his head, and walked off, leaving a rather stunned Meer behind him.

Dax quickly beckoned for his team to gather round, a little way behind the advancing Suroc warriors. As Kyra watched her krogan companions expectantly, her stomach was ill at ease. The lurching winds all around them, the presence of the buried dead beneath their boots, the fierce heat... It all made her rather sick.

"Here's the plan," the Urdnot scout grunted, clutching his Revenant. "We go in with the Surocs, but _stay back_. Jarr doesn't care if you get caught in the crossfire, so don't get in front of their guns. You three" – he motioned to Kyra, Yui and Vaner – "go up the centre. Vresh and I will take the flanks. We rely on each other, not the Surocs."

With a brief exchange of nods between the five of them, they split up, and hurried towards the mausoleum in the wake of the other warriors. Already, the first few Suroc soldiers were stepping through the dark precipice of the mausoleum's entrance, and as Kyra stayed close to Yui's flank, they were enveloped by the darkness.

"Switch your flashlights on!" Meer called – Kyra was already beginning to see what Dax meant about the lieutenant having more sense than his chief. Ahead, a dozen flashlights on a dozen weapons burst into bloom, puncturing the dim dawn light and illuminating the entrance.

As she finally reached the great high doorway, Kyra felt a cold shiver pass down her spine. There was something chilling about this place. She began to cast about with her rifle, sweeping every corner with the little beam of light from the muzzle.

Were it not for the Reaper troops apparently crawling in the shadows, and the krogan dead lying all around them, Kyra might have been able to appreciate the place. The walls were filled with fading paintings, chipped in places but clearly displaying krogan idols. The daubs were simple, but easily recognisable, rather like human cave paintings.

"How old is this place?" she asked aloud.

"Thousands of years," Dax murmured back. "This place is as ancient as Tuchanka gets."

Setting her eyes back to the floor, Kyra sidestepped around a rather suspicious crack in the stone floor – it might have lasted for thousands of years, trillions of little moments, but she didn't trust it to hold her weight for _these _moments.

"What's that?" one of the warriors up ahead roared, suddenly. A dull rumbling was filling the air, but the krogan wasn't talking about that – he was staring at the ceiling, and seconds later, as if dislodged by the now-growing tremor, a pale blue form dropped to the ground.

"Husk!" another one cried, and a deafening barrage filled the air, as almost every one of the Suroc warriors fired on the single creeping form – it recoiled, and tumbled to the ground, riddled by bullets.

In a matter of moments, the temple had descended into the hell Kyra thought it really was – more lithe, hissing forms were tumbling from the ceiling and walls, and the tremulous din was rising to fever pitch. Acting on pure instinct, Kyra raised her rifle, and opened fire on the nearest husk she could see – it quivered and fell under her fire, as did a second, and a third...

Yui and Vaner had stopped either side of her, and were pumping round after round into the air, firing wildly and probably blindly at anything that moved. In front of them, one of the Suroc warriors yelled out, as a skeletal husk sprang onto his chest. He toppled backwards, the husk's clawed fingers tearing at his armour, as another joined it, smashing a pale fist against his head.

The whole grisly scene seemed to play out in slow motion, drowned by echoing gunshots and that persistent, _deafening_ rumble. Missiles shot out from the two launchers, presumably fired in panic, and one smashed against the wall, shattering it and hurling husks aside. To Kyra's surprise, Jarr came into view, holding what appeared to be another missile launcher... was that a Hydra?

She got her answer moments later, as a swarm of missiles billowed out of the weapon's maw, darting here and there, arcing through space to find targets. Her eyes slowly drifted back to the grounded krogan, whose helmet was bludgeoned and twisted, four husks now piling on top of him. One of them raised a bony hand, slammed it down, and...

Just as the krogan's head shattered in a bloody spray, the world exploded. The gradual rumbling reached its crescendo and died, only to be replaced by an ear-splitting roar, as the floor was rent apart beneath their feet.

That, frankly, was surprising. As the stone shattered she heard Yui, at her side, bellow something that sounded like "not again".

And then, they were plunging downwards, her weapon was smashed out of her hands, and the darkness rushed up to swallow her...


	52. Operation Mirage Part 3

_**Suroc Temple, Tuchanka**_

_**Day 1, 0445**_

"What the _bloody _hell is happening?"

It was a rather apt question, Dax thought. Mere moments after he heard Vresh bellow it, the Urdnot scout had to hurl himself headlong towards the wall to avoid falling into the abyss. Whatever the hell _was _happening, it was utterly insane. The air was thick with krogan death-bellows and the screeching of husks, all blurred amidst the noise of crumbling, crashing stone. A harrowing scream filled the air, far too loud to have come from a husk or krogan, and there was a flash of steel-like skin. And then...

Silence.

Conspicuous silence. The occasional echo of crumbling rock filtered through the background, but apart from that, the air was still. Just as quickly as it had come, the screaming _thing _had disappeared beneath their feet. Dax rolled over onto his back, shuffling up towards the wall and away from the great black rift at his feet, as he took stock of the situation.

It was a mess, really. The mausoleum had been mauled as if by a god – two great scars were stretching the length of the hall, one on the ceiling, one on the floor. The gash in the ceiling was letting light pour into the once-blackened tomb, while the rip in the floor, by contrast, showed nothing but darkness beneath. Scattered around the edges of the abyss were krogan and husks, with the former getting slowly to their feet and putting the latter out of their misery. He saw Vresh boot a husk into the chasm, sending it screaming downwards, but the rest of his team was nowhere to be seen, and Suroc Jarr was conspicuous by his absence.

"Head to the light!" he called, finally. "Get back to the trucks and regroup!"

As he spoke, a few husk stragglers were already descending from the walls. The scout grabbed his Revenant from the floor where it had fallen and mowed down two with a savage burst of fire, all the while backing up and making sure he wasn't about to fall over the precipice.

"You heard him!" shouted another voice. "To the trucks! Cover your backs as you go!"

Backing up was far slower than simply running, but it worked. Step by step, they moved towards the outside world, and the husks never made it closer than twenty yards, mown down by crossfire as they approached. After a few minutes, Dax found himself shoulder-to-shoulder with Vresh on one side, and a Suroc soldier on the other. They were the last ones out of the entrance, and as the last few husks fell, they heard a cry from somewhere behind them.

"Fall back!" the voice said. "Get down the steps, double time! First three down, take the guns!"

Turning to look, Dax saw that the Suroc lieutenant, Meer, was the one giving the orders. At his words, the Suroc soldiers turned and began to sprint down the steps – the Urdnot scout followed suit, rushing down the steps two at a time, and to the left, he could hear Vresh at his heels. They were all hurtling down towards the tomkahs drawn up around the base of the stairs – one of them his, and two belonging to the Surocs. Meer's comment about 'the guns' suddenly made sense, as he saw the first Suroc warrior reach the bottom, and clamber up into the nearest truck without missing a stride.

Dax and Vresh were still half way up the side of the temple when the tomkah began to fire. A mass accelerator shot roared over their heads, and the krogan _felt _the heat on his back as it exploded, scattering husks. A few moments later, a gunner scrambled into the second tomkah, and that second gun joined the first – then, a third. They battered the steps relentlessly, and by the time Dax came to a panting halt at the bottom of the stairs, there were no husks left, only corpses ripped apart by fire.

The guns fell silent as suddenly as they had begun, and the cluster of krogan at the base of the stairs exchanged shell-shocked expressions.

"Is everyone alright?" Meer asked, apparently ignoring the missing soldiers for the time being. "Any wounded?"

"Rett's got a broken arm," one of the warriors muttered, nodding to his friend - he was holding a rifle in his left hand, utterly ignoring his right as it dangled limply at his side.

"It's fine," 'Rett' replied, with a dismissive grunt. "I can still fight."

"I know you can," the lieutenant frowned. "But you'll fight even better with it fixed. There's medi-gel in the truck. Tazz, patch him up."

The two krogan disappeared into one of the tomkahs – Rett rather reluctantly – and Meer turned to stare at Dax. He wasn't quite sure what to expect, but to his surprise, the Suroc warrior let out a weary sigh, and paced over to him, shaking his head.

"What the hell happened?" he muttered, taking Dax to one side – presumably to avoid panicking the troops.

"I don't know... I thought a _Reaper_ landed or something, but..."

_But_, the skies were clear. Sort of. The sandstorm was still whipping around them, but the air was conspicuously Reaper-free. A dull rumble echoed somewhere in the distance – the stone inside the tomb was probably shifting, debris breaking up and falling to the ground.

"What are your casualties like?" Meer asked.

"I've got one still standing, but the other three... I don't know. Could they even survive that fall?"

"The crypts go miles beneath the ground," the Suroc lieutenant sighed, not sounding too hopeful. "If the whole structure fell through..."

"How many did you lose?" Dax murmured, and Meer took a quick head count.

"Err... four soldiers, I think. And Jarr..."

"Good riddance," the Urdnot scout muttered, under his breath. The other krogan looked at him curiously. "No offense, but your chief's an ass."

"I know."

Dire as the situation was, Dax couldn't help laughing at that. Vresh, however, wasn't laughing as he made his way over to them. He looked shell-shocked and harrowed, and was gripping his rifle very tightly.

"What's the plan?" he inquired, anxiously. The two other krogan exchanged looks, as if devising the plan telepathically, before Meer seemed to come to a decision.

"We hold here," the lieutenant nodded. "We can't risk leaving and letting those husks escape into the dunes. The tomkahs can keep them penned in, and keep the route clear for survivors."

"Right," Vresh replied, approvingly. Apparently, he was clinging on to the possibility of there _being _survivors. "I'll call the Cambrai, tell them what's going on..."


	53. Operation Mirage Part 4

_**Suroc Temple, Tuchanka**_

_**Day 1, 0500**_

"Am I dead? I'm pretty sure I'm dead..."

"You're not dead, now shut up, you're making my brain hurt!"

The two krogan's mutterings made for a rude awakening for Kyra, as her eyes opened once more, and began to adjust to the gloom.

"Hello?" she called, unable to think of anything better to say.

"Holy crap, she's alive!" one of the two krogan exclaimed – through the half-light, she saw Malice Vaner's red and purple form scrambling over the rubble towards her. In the background, watching on concernedly, was Hei Yui, whose eye appeared to be bleeding.

With a groan, she checked her arms and legs – all intact – and then went for her rifle – missing. Damn. Her brain was replaying images of the weapon flying out of her hands and bouncing through the debris – whether the memories were real or fabricated didn't matter, the rifle was gone. She checked for her pistol – damn, that was gone too...

"Are you alright, human?" Vaner muttered, as he reached her. He looked remarkably unhurt, still clutching a Mattock rifle.

"I'm fine..." she mumbled, sitting up and scattering rubble as she did. "Nothing's broken, I don't think... I've lost my weapons, though."

"Hang on," Yui grunted. Kyra's stomach dropped as she spotted two blue-armoured bodies next to him. The nearest had a clearly broken neck – Yui reached over, plucked a pistol from the dead krogan's waist, and tossed it to Kyra. "Use that."

She caught it deftly, and turned it over in her hands – it was a rather battered but functional Predator pistol. It would do.

"What happened?" she asked, finally.

"Something tore through the mausoleum. I don't how many of the others made it out..."

They lapsed into silence, and Kyra took a look at their surroundings. It was a low corridor, almost pitch-black and littered by rubble and dust. To her left was a great pile of debris, to her right, the corridor stretched on into darkness.

"We should move," Kyra sighed. "No sense in just hanging around waiting to die..."

"Shame," Yui scowled – or at least, she _thought _he was scowling, with her limited vision. "Sitting here and rotting sounds good."

"What the hell's wrong with you?" Vaner interjected in frustration. "You've been moping ever since we got here. Pull yourself together!"

"Pull myself together?" the other krogan replied, angrily. "Vaner, this is our home. It's infested with husks, we're rotting in an old tomb, and there aren't enough soldiers left on the planet to keep our people safe – not after we sent them all to save the turians!"

The krogan was panting heavily as he finished, and Kyra's eyes were drawn to his own fierce bulbs. They were glaring through the darkness, despite the livid gash beneath the right one, which was trickling blood down the side of his face.

"Our people have been screwed for centuries," Vaner muttered, stepping over the rubble towards Yui. "But we've got a future now. Our children – we can have children! – should know we stood among the brave..."

After a moment's pause, Yui let out a reluctant sigh, leant to one side, and punched the second corpse hard in the leg. To Kyra's great surprise, the 'corpse' rolled over, moaning. Suroc Jarr's face stared up at her, as the big chief clutched his brow.

"Come on," Yui growled, impatiently. Every trace of the friendliness he had exhibited before the mission was gone – he was glaring at Jarr with a hateful expression... "We're moving. Get up."

"Are you ordering me about, clanless?" the Suroc leader snapped, angrily.

"I'm not clanless – and yes, I bloody well am ordering you. Get up and move, or we'll leave you to the husks."

Jarr snarled under his breath, but got up nonetheless, grabbing his rifle. Yui was already setting off up the corridor, and Kyra found herself and Vaner walking behind him, with Jarr pacing ahead of them, a little way back from Yui.

After a few minutes, the corridor widened into a respectable path, and the tunnel, which had forced the three krogan to stoop low as they ran, gave way to a broader corridor, with cleaner walls and a high-vaulted ceiling. More striking, to Kyra, were the rows upon rows of stone sarcophagi lining the side of the path. Each one, she knew, held a krogan corpse. Some were blank, mere stone oblongs – others sat before daubs, like the 'cave paintings' in the upper mausoleum. As she sprinted past, she caught mere glimpses, and could only guess that they illustrated the fallen krogan's life, or perhaps his death...

"Something up ahead!" Yui roared, from the head of the pack.

Sure enough, as she peered into the gloom, Kyra could make out another widening in the path, and the lance of Yui's flashlight delved into what seemed to be a large chamber beyond.

They picked up their pace, and within a minute or so, they were emerging into an even larger room than the one they had just passed through. The ceiling was a great domed affair, seemingly miles above them, and the chamber housed a crossroads of sorts, where four stone pathways like the one they were on converged, at a central, circular platform. Kyra's stomach dropped as she glanced to the side and saw, not the rows of eerie sarcophagi, but a sheer drop into what looked like never-ending darkness.

In the centre of the platform was a gargantuan pillar of steel, reaching all the way up to the vaulted ceiling. The metal structure seemed typically _krogan_, somehow. It didn't look pretty, made of red-brown steel, and several of the supports looked worn and rusted, but if this thing had lasted for thousands of years, like the temple, then it must have at least been well-built.

"What is this thing?" she called, eyeing up the great steel oddity in the centre – a square framework of steel bars, with a huge iron cylinder suspended inside by metal cable.

"It's a maw hammer," Suroc Jarr muttered back. "_Now _we're going to have some fun..."


	54. Operation Mirage Part 5

_**Suroc Temple, Tuchanka**_

_**Day 1, 0515**_

"Alright, back up. What the hell's a maw hammer?"

"Seismic device," the Suroc chieftain grunted. "Drop it, and if there's a thresher in the area, it brings it running. Err... crawling. Maybe slithering..."

"And we know there _is _one in the area," Vaner interrupted. "That's what attacked us earlier, right?"

"Probably... but why's there a hammer down here anyway?"

"You don't know your history, do you Jarr?" Yui scowled. Then, he reconsidered. "Of course you don't. You don't even _respect_ your history..."

"If you're so respectful, clanless, then explain it."

"Firstly, I'm _not_ bloody clanless-"

"- then you're a relic. Either way you don't matter-"

"SHUT UP, JARR!"

Yui's roar actually stifled the Suroc chief – he took a step back, and stared dangerously at him. The other krogan turned to Vaner and Kyra, and carried on as if nothing had happened.

"During the Krogan Rebellions, the popular line is that we were winning before the Genophage, that the turians never got close to wiping us out. But that's not entirely true... They used the Shroud to distribute the genophage – it's not far from here, on the border of Urdnot territory – which meant they had to _get _to the Shroud. That was the only time, before the Reapers, that a hostile force ever launched a ground war on Tuchanka. However tough our ancestors were on the surface, the turians had orbital control. They bombed them out of their homes before the infantry swept in. The krogan had to resort to using any shelter they could get. I'm guessing that included this place..."

"They turned a _temple _into a fortress?" Vaner gawped, with mild disgust. "This is a burial place!"

"It's also a brilliant holdout," Yui sighed. "Huge stone walls can hold off orbital bombardment for a while, and an infantry force would have to climb that staircase to get close to the defenders. If either attack breached the upper mausoleum, the defenders built these tunnels beneath. Orbital strikes can't hit that deep, and if the turians marched in on foot, the krogan would just disappear inside and hold them off tunnel by tunnel."

"Wait..." Kyra murmured, as a realisation popped into her mind. "The defenders built the tunnels? Does that mean..."

She looked back down the previous corridor, at the sarcophagi lining the catacombs.

"Yeah... These graves? They hold every warrior who died defending this place."

A dull shiver passed down Kyra's spine, and it began to make sense. The murals she had noticed in the upper mausoleum – they showed great heroes, leaders, religious figures. That was clear, even in the primitive daubs. But the illustrations down here? They showed warriors, fighting and dying. They showed turians, in bizarre, bird-like form. Chillingly, she suspected they showed just how each warrior had been killed...

"What about the maw hammer?" Jarr interrupted, impatiently.

"Last resort," Vaner scowled. "God, this is what I don't like about our people – ruthless pragmatism. If the turians overran them here, they summon the thresher. It kills them all and destroys a holy site, but hey, _it was worth it_, we killed some turians. Hey, we just lost a dozen females, but it's alright, they weren't fertile, now let's share out the one who is! We're not working on a cure for the bloody genophage, but it's alright, because we get to play at kings and live in the rubble!"

The clanless krogan was heaving with anger, breathing heavily and glaring around him by the time he finished his rant. Both Yui and Jarr were staring at him in shock, and Kyra was sorely tempted to take a few steps back, to get out of arm's reach.

"Well," the Suroc chieftain sneered, finally. "Thanks for the input, but I think I'll ignore the opinion of clanless-_urk!_"

With a whip-like crack, Yui headbutted Jarr across his brow, knocking the chieftain to the floor in an unconscious heap. He glared at him for a second, and one hand considered his shotgun, before he stopped himself.

"Suroc wants their chieftain back alive," he grunted. "Or I'd break him."

"What do we do now, then?" Vaner asked, still trying to look angry but apparently suppressing a grin at Yui's handling of the chief.

"We camp here," Yui replied. "I'm not carrying that bastard out. If we wait until he wakes up, that gives the others some chance to contact us."

"What if there are husks down here?" Kyra murmured, as that particular worry came to mind.

"We'll hear them coming. Besides, I don't think they'll risk coming near the maw hammer. They have to know what it does, Reapers aren't stupid – unless we set it off, they've got no reason to force our hand."

"Smart."

"Now, Vaner..."

"Yeah?"

"You've got some explaining to do."

"What?" Vaner scowled.

"Where did all _that _come from?" Yui persisted. "Ruthless pragmatism? Playing at kings?"

"It's all true," the other krogan shrugged, as Kyra watched on, curiously. "Look at Jarr. What did he do? He killed his father, just so he could sit in a pile of rubble and say he owned it. Now, the genophage is cured – I'm clanless, I'm screwed either way, but him? He could take his men out into the stars and make them heroes, give them _families, _while I sat and watched. Instead, it's the other way round. The chieftain's sitting here in the dust, clinging onto his broken crown, while the clanless helps save his people."

There was an awkward silence, and Kyra looked between the two. It occurred to her that both of them were rather remarkable – Vaner especially was far more eloquent than most krogan, and his speech was actually _touching_. That in itself was noteworthy...

"Then here's to the future," Yui grinned. "And not having one..."

"You've got a future," Vaner sighed, shaking his head.

"What future? You heard Jarr – they think I'm clanless already. The rest of Clan Hei's dead, all I have is a shack in the wilds with two asari daughters in it."

"That's still a future, Yui... It's still a family. Appreciate it, or you're as bad as _him_," – with the latter words, Vaner nodded at the unconscious chieftain.

There was a slight pause, before Yui steered the conversation down a different avenue.

"You know you could always go back? Your clan's not unreasonable. I'm sure they'd have you back. Failing that, Urdnot would take you..."

"I don't want them to _take me_... That would be admitting a mistake, and I haven't made one. If I go crawling back, I'm basically saying that the clanless can't be anything more than failures. I _refuse _to say that..."


	55. Operation Mirage Part 6

_**Suroc Temple, Tuchanka**_

_**Day 1, 0600**_

"Hold them back!" Suroc Meer roared, above the blare of the tomkah guns.

As he did just that, pumping a trio of Mattock rounds into an approaching husk, Uthar Vresh took stock of the situation. Husks were pouring down the temple steps, as the krogan dug into the only cover they could find – the trucks. The high-riding suspension of the tomkahs allowed what remained of the Suroc battalion, joined by Dax and Vresh, to actually crouch _beneath _the trucks, using the wheels as cover.

At present, Vresh was hiding behind the wheel of the Urdnot tomkah, along with its owner, Dax, and Suroc Meer himself. To the left, the two Suroc trucks were host to the seven remaining warriors – four had been lost in the temple, and a fifth, caught by surprise by the Reapers, was lying dead on the ground before them, out of reach.

The Reapers surged again – a dozen or so husks tried to make it down the steps, led by a couple of those turian creatures... what had they called them? Marauders? Before Vresh could line up a shot, a wave of machinegun fire had swept over the line from Urdnot Dax's Revenant, killing at least four of the approaching creatures. The rest, instants later, were swallowed up by the tomkah guns, blown to smithereens in a haze of fire and noise.

"Vresh!" barked a nearby voice – turning around, he saw Meer looking at him. "Did you say your ship had a backup team?"

"Maybe," he replied, with a hint of uncertainty. "They were assembling backup when we left, I don't if they're ready yet. Why? We're holding, aren't we?"

"For now!" the lieutenant called back. "But if they throw more at us, I don't know... Just get on the radio and see if backup's an option!"

With an assenting nod, Vresh scrambled towards the entrance hatch on the tomkah's side. It put him right in the firing line, and a couple of shots bounced off his shields, but at the same time, Dax stepped out and flooded the air with machinegun rounds, successfully distracting the Reapers long enough for Vresh to clamber inside the truck. Once inside, he quickly darted to the comms panel on the far wall, and hailed their ship, in the skies overhead.

"Cambrai!" he roared, as the mass accelerator above him began to blare out once more. "Cambrai, this is Uthar Vresh, with the ground team! Situation update!"

"What is it, Vresh?" came the reply – it was the yeoman, sounding rather panicked. He'd already told them about the earlier disaster, and the three possible casualties... _Damn it, don't think about Kyra_, he cursed, inwardly, as he remembered his friend.

"We're under attack!" he continued. "Reaper troops, out of the temple. We're holding, but we might need backup!"

"The backup team is ready to go," she muttered, after a brief pause. "Just send up a flare, we'll drop them at your position."

"Got it."

He closed the comms panel with a grunt, grabbed one of Dax's flares, hanging beside it, and marched over to the still-open hatch, leaping out into the sandstorm once more.

Almost instantly, three shots cracked off his shields – a group of Marauders was rushing down the steps, bombarding the krogan positions far more fiercely than the close-range husks had been able to.

Acting on instinct, Vresh hurled the flare ahead of himself. As it hit the ground, the IR beacon on the tip of it began to blink, and he knew it was transmitting a signal into the swirling air around them. At the same time, the rest of the flare began to billow scarlet smoke, forming low, dense clouds over the desert sand, and obscuring the krogan from view behind the smokescreen. Vresh had time to casually pace back underneath their truck and draw his rifle, as the Marauders found themselves unable to aim through the haze.

The Marauders, however, were the least of their worries, as they were about to discover. With a snarling, guttural roar, _something _launched itself through the smoke. Vresh saw a hulking figure, easily twice as tall as a krogan, with a turian's skull for a head. He didn't quite know why the thing sent shivers down his spine, not until he realised the turian skull was mounted on krogan shoulders...

"Brute!" Dax yelled, as the _thing _lurched forwards. For a moment, Vresh thought it was heading their way, until it swept to the left, going for the middle of the three tomkahs. Despite waves of crossfire from the krogan, it made it to the truck almost entirely unscathed, and in a grisly display swept out a massive, clawed hand. It scythed one of the Suroc defenders cleanly in two, and tossed the tomkah away as if it were weightless – the truck knocked the two krogan beneath it to the ground, bounced over their heads, and fell somewhere in the dunes behind, twisted almost in two.

The Brute swung forward again, this time going for the grounded soldiers. Vresh _knew _they were hitting it – he saw two of his own shots puncture the Brute beneath its armoured shoulder – but the hits just weren't doing anything. They watched, helplessly, as the beast stabbed down into the earth with its claws, impaling one of the two krogan on them. As it did, the other scrabbled to his feet, loosed a couple of rounds from his shotgun, and aimed a hefty kick at thething's skull.

His boot bounced off almost harmlessly, and in a split-second the Brute span around, grabbed him with its clawed hand, and raised him high. Then, before any of them could stop it, it was pummelling him into the ground, his bones crunching with each piston-like impact.

Once the creature was quite sure he was dead, it tossed the krogan away into the sand, and looked around, as if deciding which of the two trucks to go for next.

"Spread out!" Meer shouted, ducking out from beneath their truck and stepping to the side – as he did, he quickly dispatched two husks who had been trying to sneak up on the distracted krogan.

Vresh darted the other way, anxiously watching as the Brute's eyes rolled over him, then Dax at his side, then around to the Suroc warriors on its right. Before it could make up its mind, however, it was distracted – as were the krogan – by a loud _thump _out in the dunes. Looking over, he saw a white form crash into the sand, and his eyes bulged.

"Get out of the way!" he yelled – the Mako lurched through the dunes, still riding on the Cambrai's momentum as the frigate swung past in the sand-blurred sky. He turned and sprinted away, pushing the stunned Urdnot Dax ahead of him.

Behind them, the Mako was still bouncing across the sand, almost uncontrollably – the Brute got a few seconds to stare at the skipping tank, before it collided with the ugly creature, pummelling it into the ground. The Brute swept out a clawed hand, dug it into the Mako's side, and quite suddenly they were flipping into the air together, carried by momentum, rolling over, and crashing down...

...with the Mako's nose buried in the creature's ribs. The Brute moaned forlornly, and Vresh saw the tank's turret swing around – unable to face the thing's head because of the way they had fallen, the operators instead aimed at its feet, and... _bang!_

A single shot from the mass accelerator exploded in the sand, shattering the Brute's legs and hurling the Mako up into the air – it twisted, and landed right-way up, a few feet from the fallen creature.

The krogan were still watching on, stunned, as the Mako's door swung open. The turian Kamur jumped out, holding a hand cannon – a human Carnifex – and marched over to the Brute. It raised a desperate hand, claws reaching out at him, but the turian had already pressed his pistol against the Brute's eye socket, and moments later, he pulled the trigger. A glistening mixture of blood, brain and cybernetics burst out of the thing's head, scattering into the sand, and it slumped dead for good.

Kamur sighed, and looked over at the stunned krogan battalion.

"I know, I know," he sighed, finally spotting Vresh and pacing over to him. "I'm a show-off... What's the situation down here?"

"Not too bad... yet," Vresh murmured, regaining his senses. "We're holding out here, just in case survivors are limping out."

"Is that likely?" Kamur asked, drawing his rifle and taking cover beside the krogan. At the same time, he muttered into the radio, "Andersen, draw the Mako up between those tomkahs. Kan, keep the guns hot."

"I don't know..." the krogan admitted, bitterly. "But if Kyra's died on me, I'll kill her..."


	56. Operation Mirage Part 7

**A/N: Right, I have a favour to ask. There's currently a poll on my profile, which I need as many readers/reviewers of Galaxy at War as possible to vote on. I'll collect the results in a week or so's time, and they'll be used to decide a major turning point in the story later on. So, err... get voting? :P**

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><p><em><strong>Suroc Temple, Tuchanka<strong>_

_**Day 1, 0640**_

It had been a little over an hour since the discovery of the maw hammer, and Kyra's three krogan companions were quiet for the first time that day. Leaning against one of the four pillars around the hammer platform, she could see Yui and Vaner slumbering against two of the others, and Jarr in a heap between them, still unconscious. The group had decided to rest, sheltered from the Reapers by the threat of the maw hammer, until the team on the outside contacted them.

Kyra, however, couldn't sleep. She'd suffered insomnia since the Blitz, and...

...wait, was Jarr moving?

The chamber had gotten even darker over the last hour, if that was possible, but she could just make out the blue-armoured hulk stumbling to his feet. His movement was groggy, and he was clutching... bloody hell, was that a knife?

He staggered across to one of the pillars, where Malice Vaner was sleeping. Everything was moving rather quickly for Kyra's mind, but she could already tell this wasn't good...

"Well, _Hei_ Yui," he growled – had he got the wrong man? "Guess your clan's going extinct after all. No matter... at least you'll hold up the Reapers. Those of us who actually _matter _might still make it out alive..."

Kyra stifled a yell as he plunged the dagger down. Vaner's eyes sprung open with a yelp, and he lashed out a fist, cracking against the Suroc chief's jaw. Jarr seemed to realise his mistake, and his desperate solution was to drive the knife in again, and again, and again... He stabbed at least a dozen times into Vaner's chest, before the other krogan reached his shotgun, unloading a round into Jarr's gut.

The little glimpse of hope that provided, however, was short-lived. Jarr kicked the shotgun out of Vaner's hands, and it clattered across the platform, sliding over the edge into darkness. Kyra was fumbling for her own gun, but the _bloody _thing wasn't at her hip – before she could do anything, the Suroc chief had lunged again with the dagger, crossing Vaner's throat twice. Then, he turned, and ran.

Kyra found her pistol as he bolted, and she unloaded three rounds into his side – Jarr, however, didn't stop or come after her. He merely punched the button on the side of the maw hammer, and took off, sprinting up one of the pathways even as her shots bounced off his shields.

Yui awoke just as the maw hammer slammed down, and Kyra felt her teeth rattle from the impact as the two of them scrambled over to Vaner's side. The whole chamber was reverberating with the metallic _clang_, and unearthly screams were rising from the walls. There was a sense of renewed movement, and she got the horrible impression the Reapers were on their way – the hammer had been sounded, they didn't have anything to lose now...

"Hold still!" she cried, reaching for medi-gel as she crouched down next to Vaner. The krogan, however, pushed her hand away. His torso was riddled with stab wounds, and two great slashes had cut into his throat. His whole body was covered in the orange cocktail of blood and nervous fluid she had seen the last time Vresh was wounded, and his breathing was ragged. Like Kyra, he seemed to have his doubts about just how much medi-gel could fix.

"Go," he croaked, through his tattered throat.

"We're not leaving you," Kyra insisted, reaching for him again with the medi-gel – again, he pushed her away, and she was annoyed to find Yui just _standing _there, not helping her.

"Yes," Vaner growled, "you are. That's why Jarr did it! Wound someone; force them to hold off the Reapers while he escapes. You two need to get out too..."

Kyra was about to protest when Yui placed a firm hand on her shoulder, and pulled her to her feet.

"I need a gun," the wounded krogan continued. She was about to offer hers, but Yui beat her to it, holding out the handle of his Claymore. Vaner took it, with a critical expression. "You'll need this for Jarr," he admonished.

"No I won't," Yui snarled, fury bubbling up yet again from behind his stoic expression. "I'll beat him to death with my bare hands..."

"Then get to it," Vaner chuckled, darkly, choking up a wad of orange blood. Yui stooped down, grabbed him beneath the arm, and hauled him to his feet.

Kyra had a sense of helplessness, as she followed the two krogan to the middle of the platform. Vaner stumbled, grabbing the maw hammer to hold himself upright, as Yui stared down the opposite tunnel – at the very end, they could see Jarr turning the corner, without a backward glance.

"Good luck..." Yui nodded, sadly. Then, after some hesitation, he pulled Vaner into an awkward, armoured hug. "Brother. Give 'em hell."

"I will..." Vaner snarled, leaning back against the hammer as Yui released him, and lifting the shotgun to his shoulder. The surprisingly eloquent krogan she had seen just an hour before was gone, beneath a mask of pain and anger. "Now get after Jarr, and gut the bastard."

Still suspended in horror, Kyra found herself being pulled away from Vaner and off, towards the tunnel. They were barely half way there, however, before a yell reached their ears.

"Yui!" the other krogan roared – husks were already appearing in the corridor beyond, racing towards him, and the very foundations were shaking as _something _tore through the earth to reach the temple.

"What?"

"Go see that family of yours! While you can..."

Yui gave a little nod, and with that, they turned to run. Behind them, shotgun blasts echoed out, occasionally interspersed with the scream of a husk, or the furious roar of a dying krogan. As they flew up the tunnel, racing in the chieftain's footsteps, they didn't see the horde of Reaper forces pouring over the platform towards Vaner. They didn't see the wounded clanless knocking husks into the abyss below, or decapitating Marauders with Yui's Claymore. Nor did they see him turn, as a deathly scream rent the air, and stare death in the face.

As the thresher maw tore through the chamber behind them, however, they _did _hear the shotgun fired for the final time. _Once, twice, thrice_, defiantly between the thresher's jaws, before a krogan death-bellow echoed out of the chamber, and then... silence, save for the dull rumble of the great worm crashing through stone and steel.

"Come on!" Yui screamed in frustration, more at himself than at his companion. It was the first time she'd ever had to _sprint _to keep up with a krogan, such was his furious pace.

Kyra wasn't quite sure how long or far they ran for, only that she was getting more and more exhausted, while Yui's dogged determination only seemed to increase with every tunnel, staircase and corridor. Behind them, she could hear the thresher crunching through the temple, moving left and right, up and down – after what felt like an age, it lurched upwards, and something changed. The thing's screams became more pained, and dull _bangs _were echoing in the distance. _Mass accelerators? _Dull realisation hit her – the tomkahs were firing on the thresher as it broke the surface. With a great shriek, and a loud crunch against the stonework, the thing smashed downwards, and Kyra _prayed _it was dead.

Just as she considered that thought, Yui let out a roar, half-excited, half-panicked. Looking up, she found herself running into the same chamber she had been storming that morning – the floor of the mausoleum was marred by a great hole in the centre, plunging down into the darkness beneath, but enough of it remained for them to reach the main entrance without falling to their deaths.

As they approached said entrance, Kyra caught sight of a blue-armoured heel retreating around the corner. Rage began to build up in her usually steady nerves, and she wondered if Yui had seen it too...

"Gun!" he yelled – evidently, he _had _seen it. She grabbed the pistol from her hip, hurled it forwards, and watched as the krogan plucked it out of the air, before somehow _speeding up_. He shot through the entranceway like a bullet...

Speaking of which, as she rounded the corner behind him, she saw him take aim. Jarr was at the top of the steps as Yui pulled the trigger, just once. _Bang_.

The shot punctured the chieftain's shields, and his knee exploded in a bloody haze. With a yell, he tumbled over the precipice, and began to fall...

Watching on from the top of the stairs, Kyra and Yui saw him bounce off every other step, bumping and crashing and screaming until he finally rolled to a stop, a hundred steps below, at the foot of the temple.


	57. Operation Mirage Part 8

_**Suroc Temple, Tuchanka**_

_**Day 1, 0710**_

The sight of Suroc Jarr crumpling to the floor at his feet was something of a surprise to Vresh...

One moment he had been stood talking with Meer, Dax and Kamur, casting astonished glances at the dead thresher half-visible through the temple ruins. The next, the four of them had heard a roar from the top of the steps, and turned to see the blue-armoured krogan tumbling down them, watched by two far-off figures at the peak.

"Help..." Jarr croaked, as he finally stopped, a few feet away from them. Vresh was about to move over and oblige, albeit reluctantly, until he looked up and realised who the shooters were...

Hei Yui was jogging down the steps two at a time, and in his wake was Kyra – the sight of her forced a sigh of relief from his lungs, and he had an urge to run and bearhug his old friend, an urge only suppressed by the hateful glare on both their faces as they reached Jarr.

He and Kamur were both trusting their shipmates on this one – as was Dax, on closer inspection. Meer, however, drew his rifle, if only for the sake of security. The approaching Yui was holding out a battered pistol, but was aiming not for the gun-toting Meer, but for the fallen Jarr.

"Help!" the chieftain repeated, urgently, as he picked himself up onto all fours. "Meer, he-"

"SHUT UP!" Yui roared, and the pure fury in his bellow took Vresh by surprise, doubly so as his squadmate kicked the sprawling Jarr around the jaw, knocking him back to the ground.

"What the hell are you doing?" Meer interjected, tensing up and gripping his rifle, as if undergoing a tough mental debate.

"This _bastard _betrayed us!" the other krogan spat, still as furious as ever. Kyra, too, looked far angrier than Vresh had ever seen her...

"I didn't-"

"He killed Vaner! Stabbed him in the dark and ran!"

In hindsight, Vresh would realise that a verbal crossroads presented itself to Jarr in those few moments. If he'd just denied it, Meer might have been forced to take his word – he was his chieftain, after all... What he said instead, however, condemned him.

"He was only a bloody clanless!" Jarr spat. "We needed a distraction, and it worked!"

"_We?_" Yui hissed, very quietly, for a krogan. "This isn't _we_. And you__didn't _need_ it, you just wanted it because you're a coward!"

"What did you say?" the chieftain roared back. It was the wrong time to try and be threatening, however – all he got for his trouble was another heavy kick from Yui's steel leg, this time cracking into his eye.

"I said you're a coward... And a clanless saved your pathetic hide. That was his only mistake in life..."

"Are you going to fix it, then?"

Jarr had been scowling sarcastically, but to his apparent panic, Yui was deadly serious. He threw the pistol aside, hauled the chieftain to his feet, and took a step back, before spitting at Jarr's feet. Everyone watching tensed up at the sight of that – it was a challenge, even the non-krogan could work that out.

"You're challenging me?" Jarr growled, with some amusement creeping over his bloodied visage. "A pathetic relic of a dead clan, versus the chief of Clan Suroc. Where's your krannt, _whelp?_"

Vresh, Kyra and Kamur all took steps forward, but Yui waved them away.

"No krannt," he snarled. "But feel free to call on yours..."

"_If you insist_," the other krogan hissed. "All of you Surocs, to me!"

Nobody moved.

Jarr turned around incredulously. His amazement turned to a fierce glare as he saw what the others could already see – Suroc Meer, holding up a hand to halt the other warriors.

"Meer!" he snapped. "Get up here!"

"No."

"What do you mean _no?_"

"I mean, _no,_" Meer began, patiently, but with a tone of ice-cold condemnation. "You betrayed our allies, you desecrated the graves of our warriors, you _ran away_ like a frightened child, and worst of all, you expect _me _to fix it for you!"

The chieftain didn't reply. He just stared dumbly at his lieutenant, as if he was actually _surprised _by the refusal. No-one else was...

Finally, he turned around, and scowled at Yui. The two krogan took a step forward, and with a furious bellow, came together, fists flying. Jarr landed the first blow, against the other krogan's jaw, but it seemed to the onlookers – now forming a circle around the two fighting krogan – that Yui had _let him_, because he struck back with a vicious series of punches across the chieftain's face.

As the punches slowed, Jarr attempted to kick back, but Yui grabbed his leg, holding it in midair and taking the chance to grab the chieftain's dagger from its scabbard, on his shoulder. If Jarr had been contemplating using it, that option was now out – Yui tossed it over the heads of the observers, and lashed out with a vicious jab between Jarr's eyes, simultaneously yanking his leg. Overbalanced, the chieftain toppled to the floor.

Even then, Yui didn't let up – he cracked three vicious heel kicks against his opponent's brow, and from the sickly _crunch_ on the third, Vresh suspected the chieftain's brow plate had actually _broken_. Yui backed off, letting Jarr stagger to his feet before delivering a brutal hook to his stomach – as he doubled over, Yui pummelled the back of his neck, knocking him face first into the dirt.

By the time Jarr got to his feet after _that_, the onlookers knew it was just a matter of time. Sure enough, Yui crumpled his already-shot knee with a kick, grabbed him by the jaw, and levered him face-first into the floor yet again, with an ugly choking sound as he swallowed sand.

"I'm done," Yui announced. Sure enough – and to everyone's surprise – he simply walked away, leaving Jarr, battered but alive, in the dust.

"That's it?" the chieftain snarled, trying to sound superior despite his broken body. "You're just giving up?"

"No..." the other krogan replied, with a savage smile. "I'm leaving you to him."

He nodded to Meer, and all eyes turned to Jarr's second. His glare had been growing more and more resolute with every passing moment of the fight, and was now set in a determined scowl. He raised a single balled fist, and to Vresh's astonishment, it began to glow with blue light...

"You... you're not..." Jarr coughed.

"Not what?" Meer sighed. "A battlemaster? No... of course not. A _battlemaster _would have been a threat, wouldn't it Jarr? But a patient old tactician? An obliging helper? You'd let _him_ whisper in your ear. You'd let _him _live. Hell, you'd let obedient little Meer fix your messes – maybe he'd even get a chance to make things better while you were so intent on screwing them up... Maybe that's why he put up with you for all this time..."

"No!" the chieftain choked, through a mouthful of blood. Meer strode over to him, his right hand still glistening with biotics as he dragged Jarr to his feet with his left.

"I'm sorry," the lieutenant muttered, sadly. "I really am. I'm sorry it had to come to this, Jarr... But you forced my hand."

Without another word, he drove that hand deep into Jarr's skull. A loud, ringing _thump _resounded through the crowd's ears, and a flash of biotics enveloped the chieftain's head as Meer ripped his fist back out, covered in blood and flecks of bone. Still looking sadly at his former friend, the lieutenant threw him to the ground, in a lifeless heap.


	58. Operation Mirage Debrief

**A/N: Right, this is a very short chapter, mostly because there wasn't a lot to say after the last one. The next chapter, however, which I'm uploading later today, is one of my personal favourites and the longest I've written so far. So, hopefully that'll make up for it.**

**PS. Thanks for all the poll votes, everyone, the results so far are rather interesting...**

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><p><em><strong>SSV Cambrai, Krogan DMZ<strong>_

_**Day 1, 0800**_

"Well, this has been an odd morning," Colonel Hunter sighed.

Kyra couldn't help agreeing. A little over four hours ago, she had left this same briefing room feeling tired, but hopeful, and rather anxious for the fight. Now, she felt exhausted and harrowed, her skin was itching and reddened from the sandstorm, and her ribs were aching – upon returning to the Cambrai, Vresh had finally given in to relief, and had pulled her into a massive, bone-shattering bearhug.

As it happened, there were only four people in the briefing room - the colonel, Kyra, Vresh, and Urdnot Dax, for reasons as yet unexplained. Vaner was conspicuously absent, while Kamur, Andersen, Kan'Sura and Yui were all still on Tuchanka, again for reasons unknown, and were connected to the briefing room via the Mako's radio.

"In practical terms, this was a success," the colonel said, reluctantly – Kyra suspected that he, like her, didn't want to admit any good had come from such a destructive battle. "No mission is ever going to go perfectly. We came out here expecting casualties, and we got them. But the mission _was _a success," he repeated. "We killed a whole building full of Reaper troops, not to mention a _thresher maw_..."

"Even better," Dax muttered, "Suroc Meer has taken leadership of his clan, and he's pledged their support to Urdnot efforts on the galactic stage. Once they've had time to bury their dead, they'll be shipping out to turian space."

"What about you?" Vresh asked. Dax shared a knowing look with the colonel, before replying.

"I'm coming with you. We can't send out a deployment of _one _soldier, but every other Urdnot warrior's off-planet already. The only way I can get to the fight is with you guys..."

"Good to have you on board," the other krogan grinned. Kyra grinned too - true, she hadn't spent enough time with the Urdnot scout over the course of the mission to know him well, but Vresh had taken a liking to him, and that was good enough for her.

"That's that, then," the colonel sighed. "Mission complete, enemies dead, greater good achieved..."

There was a stilted pause. Kyra – and everyone else in the room – knew there _was _one more thing to say, but no-one wanted to say it.

"And Vaner?" Kyra said, finally.

"What can we say?" Dax shrugged. "He died bravely, like a true krogan. We offered to induct him into Clan Urdnot – you know, posthumously – but Yui said that's the last thing he would have wanted."

"He was proud of being clanless," she nodded. "One of the last things he said to us was that it wasn't something to be ashamed of..."

Dax nodded comprehendingly, and fell silent once more.

"One of the crew proposed a memorial," Hunter murmured, slowly. "It was intended for the men who died on Benning, but when it's commissioned, we'll make sure his name goes down. No-one should be forgotten. If we only leave behind one record of this war, it should be the men who gave their lives for it..."

Yet again, silence reigned, and everyone looked around sheepishly at the colonel's fatalistic words. For a moment, Kyra imagined she could hear the same awkward silence in the Mako, a thousand miles below, but that was probably just interference...

"Everyone... dismissed."


	59. Downtime 3

**A/N: Well, here it is... The longest chapter of the story so far. Enjoy...**

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><p><em><strong>Hei Territory, Tuchanka<strong>_

_**Day 1, 0930**_

"This is the place."

"You're sure?"

"I can feel it in my bones..."

"Alright. Andersen, stop the truck!"

The Mako came to a juddering halt, and Yui moved instantly to the exit hatch. Quite to his surprise, he found the turian Kamur following him.

"You don't need to come with me," he scowled. "I'm not going to break down in tears..."

"I'm curious," the turian shrugged. "I want to see for myself."

Reluctantly, Yui nodded, opened up the Mako's door, and stepped out into the quiet, lonely expanse. The sandstorm that had been sweeping over Suroc territory was far off in the distance, as were the rolling, sandy dunes. Hei territory lay instead on heat-blistered salt flats, which crunched slightly underfoot and covered his boots in a thin veil of brine, mixed with sulphur from Tuchanka's acid rain. To the right, a barren ridge concealed the gorge beyond, which served as one edge of the village's border. In all other directions, the flats panned out into wilderness.

Between them and the ridge, struts of rusted iron and weathered stone rose out of the ground like old bones. He was certain the turian would just see ruins, but he was seeing a whole cast of faces playing out memories, darting between the buildings he could still see so clearly...

"This was your home?" Kamur murmured, quietly.

"Still is," Yui grunted, pointing over to the ridge. "My hut's up there."

They stood in silence for another few moments, as Yui felt the cool wind whipping over him. Thanks to the salt flats, the air here had a smell no krogan could compare to without going off-world – it was like a sea breeze, on a more fertile planet. Finally, the turian broke the silence again, with the inevitable question:

"What happened here?"

"We pissed off another clan," he replied. Then, with a dark chuckle, he added, "Tuchankan politics."

"Who? And, how?"

One part of Yui's brain wanted to scold the turian for being so damn curious, but the majority was grateful – it was good to tell people. It gave him a sense of catharsis, and it was good to know that at least one other person knew what had happened here – a record, he supposed, so that history could not be allowed to forget.

"Clan Urdnot."

The turian stared at him, going curiously boggle-eyed.

"But..." he stammered, "We just helped Urdnot! Why wouldn't you mention this?"

"Why _would _I?" Yui countered. "I don't have a grudge against Urdnot. I _did_, at the time, but that was centuries ago, before Wrex took control – hell, he was in exile at the time. Urdnot was a different beast before him..."

"Oh?"

"Well, Wrex's Urdnot is the most progressive on Tuchanka. They've literally _dragged _the other clans into the future, whether they like it or not. But before him? The men who succeeded Wrex's father after the Rebellions were all looking for a fight. It didn't matter _who_, it didn't matter _why_, as long as they were fighting. Urdnot was like a sleeping varren – poke them, and they'd rip your hand off."

"And your clan poked them?"

"Aye... my father did, against my advice..."

"Your father?"

"He was the clan chief. A few centuries ago – I was about... fifty, at the time – he started raiding an Urdnot outpost just within their borders, an aquifer pump. Pathetic, really. _That's_ what krogan politics do – they cause a tribal genocide over fresh water..."

"Urdnot _wiped you out_ because you were stealing the water?" Kamur echoed, incredulously.

"Like I said, it's pathetic," Yui nodded. "But it wasn't _just _about the water. We were an easy target, and that meant we had the potential to be a good example – Weyrloc, Suroc, Gatatog, they were all on the borders... By crushing _us_, Urdnot sent a warning to the lot of them..."

"So, what actually happened?"

Yui paused slightly, closing his eyes and letting the memories flow for a moment, before speaking.

"I watched it all from up there, on the ridge," he began, pointing over there once more. "My hut was up there then, too – away from the clan, on the periphery."

"Why?"

"I was the chief's son. Chieftain's sons generally aren't good for their fathers' health – look at Jarr, or even Wrex. They both killed their fathers, albeit it for different reasons. Krogan males live so long, their sons aren't too patient when it comes to inheritance... So my father made me a scout, let me serve, but he kept me at arm's length once I was out of childhood."

"Right. That... makes sense, I guess. Some animals do the same on Palaven – dominant males kick their sons out, or die at their hands... claws... sometimes teeth."

Yui ignored the comparison of his people to animals – there was some truth in it, after all - and continued.

"A couple of days after one of my father's raids, the Urdnot soldiers came in the night, with bombs and burners. They moved in from the south, behind where we're standing now, and swept up the centre of the village. All the houses were lining that main path, so they just walked up all the way to chieftain's hut, burning everything to right and left... Men, women, children..."

"They burned women and children?" Kamur interrupted, aghast.

"Not on purpose, I don't think. Urdnot's women and children all live separately, at the female camp. I don't think they realised _our _clan was too small to have a female camp – women and children just lived in an enclave in the centre of the village. When they realised their mistake, they started mercy killings – they moved back through the burning buildings and shot anyone who was still alive. Put them out of their misery, I suppose..."

"I suppose... What did you do during all this?"

"I sat on the ridge and watched."

"You didn't fight?"

"No. Not then. There was no point – besides which, I _told _my father not to anger Urdnot. I didn't want to join him in taking their punishment. I dug in up here with a rifle, in case anyone came close, but I didn't draw attention to myself."

"And they didn't fight you?"

"They didn't _find _me. My hut was obscured behind the ridge, and I was hidden in the night... They bombed my mother in her home, and they shot my father with his lieutenants, but they didn't get me..."

"What did you do after that?"

"I waited. Buried my father, and any of the others who hadn't been turned to ash. After three days, a group of Urdnot scouts came marching into the village – salvagers, I suppose – and I came up with a plan. I stalked them during the day, watching them from the ridge, out of sight. They were camped up in the chieftain's hut – it was the only building still standing – and they were sifting through the ashes for anything they could use. I realised wherever I went, I'd need money, and the only way to get it was from selling salvage. Why not get some revenge at the same time?"

"You killed the scouts?"

"I _hunted _them. Crept down in the night and laid a trap. A landmine, on the doorstep of my father's hut. Two of them stepped out at dawn and _boom_ – gone in the blink of an eye. The other three didn't even realise they were under attack, they just rushed out into the daylight, and I shot them from the ridge."

"And then?" the turian persisted. He really did want to know all the gory details, didn't he?

"Well, I knew Urdnot would come looking for them eventually, so I couldn't stay... I took everything I could carry that would be worth something – credits, provisions, weapons. I left the armour, and burned it with the bodies, in the chieftain's hut. After that, I set off across the wilds. I got it into my head that I needed to get off-world – apart from Urdnot, the only other people I knew who had starships were the Blood Pack, so I staggered over the plains to Weyrloc territory... Took me a week or two, weighed down by all the salvaged gear, and the scouts' food rations ran out after the first week..."

"What did you do then?" Kamur interrupted.

"Killed a varren and ate that," Yui grunted, dismissively, before continuing with his monologue. "Eventually, I stumbled into one of the Weyrloc camps. Clan Weyrloc isn't exactly friendly, but the Blood Pack _are_ mercenaries – they like credits as much as they like fighting... I bartered with them, traded all the gear I'd stolen from the Urdnot scouts in exchange for a ride on one of their ships. They kept to their word, which surprised me, frankly, and a few days later I was stepping off onto Omega. It all went uphill from there. Joined up with some mercenaries... then some pirates... then got a ship of my own. Joined a Spectre for a while, that was an ugly business... Met an asari, had two daughters... Killed the asari, kept the daughters..."

Only as he trailed off did Yui realise they had been slowly walking towards the ridge, where his little hut still stood. It was only fifty yards or so away now, and he caught side of a pale blue-skinned figure flitting past the window. As he did, he fell oddly silent.

"That's... about all there is to say," he murmured, absentmindedly. "Now, turian... I'd rather be alone right now."

"Of course," Kamur nodded. Without another word or a backwards glance, he departed, marching back towards the Mako, which was still parked at the far end of the village.

Yui, however, didn't watch Kamur retreat. His eyes were fixed firmly ahead, as he strode up to the house, heart lightening slightly with each step.

"Dera?" he boomed, at the top of his voice. "Merix?"

There was a little squeak from beyond the closed door of the hut, and moments later it was flung open to reveal the latter's pale-blue face.

She stared at him with a stunned smile as he limped up the path – his damn leg was playing up again, the cybernetics clogged by brine. Finally, she managed to speak, calling, "What the _hell _are you doing here?"

"Is that any way to greet your father?" he growled, happily.

"I'll... go and wake Dera," she stammered, as he reached her. "She's just sleeping..."

"Leave her," Yui interjected. "She needs her rest."

As he spoke, he smiled sadly at his eldest daughter. They both knew what he was thinking – Dera hadn't been the same since her _accident _all those years ago, and the krogan had never quite forgiven himself for it...

"Come on in, Dad," Merix murmured. As he stepped into the small hut, breathing in the familiar, homely air, she shut the door and turned to him, with a questioning expression. "Why are you here? You're not wounded, are you?"

"Not any more than usual," he grinned, stamping his cybernetic leg against the floor. She winced – Merix had never liked looking at the prosthetic, grafted onto the stump where his real leg should have been. "We were here on business. A mission."

"Urdnot territory?" she guessed.

"Suroc."

As Merix flitted past the window anxiously, Yui was sure she had spotted the Mako in the distance, and was fretting about how soon he would have to leave...

"Sit down, girl," the big krogan sighed, collapsing into one of her little asari-sized chairs and feeling it groan under his weight. He wasn't going anywhere. "Have I got some stories to tell you..."


	60. Downtime 4

_**SSV Cambrai, Mass Relay Stream**_

_**Day 8, 1320**_

"Argh!"

"Well, if you keep wriggling about, it's _going _to hurt!"

Murphy scowled at the asari, as she leant over and tried to clean his wounds once more. The acid-green antiseptic stung like hell as she swept it over his bare chest, and tough as the marine captain was, he still had to wince.

"Baby..." Vanyali teased, from the opposite bed. She was in the process of having her sling removed by the other, human doctor – her arm and ribs had healed since Benning, and she would be back in service within a fortnight. Lucky.

It had been a week since the Cambrai's operation on Tuchanka, and Murphy was growing more and more bored by the day. Worse, he knew it would be several weeks before the two over-protective doctors let him out to fight – as Gina had put it, _"I spent twelve hours keeping you from dying. I don't want you going out there and finishing the job just yet..."_

He was distracted from that thought by another painful pang, as Ria jabbed at his highest wound, the one over his lung. He winced and twisted around once more, and she stared meaningfully at him, with piercing blue eyes.

"What?" he retorted. "It bloody hurts! Can't you dilute it or something?"

"It _is_ diluted," the asari sighed. "If it wasn't, it'd probably kill you."

The captain's eyes bulged at that, as Ria gave him her sweetest of smiles, and finished up her work, tossing the antiseptic wipe into a waste bin on the far side of the med bay.

"Do me a favour," Murphy muttered, sitting up in his bed. "_Never_ become a murderer. You'd be bloody good at it..."

"When a doctor does go wrong he is the first of criminals," Gina recited, from the far side of the med bay. Vanyali and Ria looked at her in confusion, but the captain began to sift around in his memory...

"He has nerve and he has knowledge," he echoed. "Conan Doyle – the great Sherlock Holmes! Classic..."

"What's that?" the asari doctor asked, tilting her head slightly in curiosity.

"A book," the other doctor explained, then corrected herself, "well, a collection of books, from Earth. Detective stories. They're something of a must-read in human literature – everyone's heard of Sherlock Holmes. Honestly, I thought they'd have translated copies of them on the Citadel by now..."

Ria nodded in understanding, but she nonetheless turned to Murphy with an incredulous expression.

"_You_ read books?" she said, in mock surprise.

"What? I'm not _just _a dashingly handsome marine..."

"Ha! _That's _the best line you can come up with?"

"I don't need a chat-up line, not when you're wearing _that_," he laughed, jokingly, as he twisted his fingers into a photo-frame around her tight-fitting jumpsuit.

"You joke, human, but I've seen you wearing a _lot _less on the operating table..."

As Ria stuck her tongue out at him, Vanyali spluttered with laughter, and Gina blushed, suppressing her own thinly-veiled amusement. The captain groaned, and slumped against the bed, his eyes tight shut.

He only opened them again as he heard the med bay door open with a high-pressure _whoosh_. Vanyali was limping out, but walking in the other direction was Colonel Hunter, in full armour, that familiar set of black Hahne-Kedar plate.

"Colonel," he muttered, from the bed.

"No need for formalities, Zachary," Hunter sighed, with a slight smile. "Doctor? And, err... doctor? Can you leave us for a moment? Tactical discussion..."

With some reluctance, Gina and Ria both swept out of the med bay, as the colonel moved to the end of Murphy's bed.

"So, when's the operation?" the captain frowned, as soon as the two doctors were gone.

"Really? That's your greeting? I could be here on a social call!"

"You're wearing full combat armour, sir."

"Alright, alright, I-"

"I can't say I agree with you going into battle, though..."

Hunter stared at him incredulously, as if seriously wondering whether his XO had psychic powers.

"How did you-" he began.

"Please..." Murphy interrupted, exasperatedly. "You're telling me you _always _carry that Saber on your back? Or the Crusader on your hip?"

The colonel looked at the rifle over his shoulder, and then down to his waist, where the shotgun rested. He looked back at Captain Murphy once more, and sighed.

"Alright, yes, I'm going in with one of the ground teams."

"_Why?_"

"_Why not? _I'm an N7! I'm trained to fight, not sit behind a desk..."

"And what happens if you die?"

"Then you take over."

"I'm _serious_, Logan. The Reapers are dangerous – they're not some batarian gang, like the old days."

"Well, that's alright then," the colonel muttered, sarcastically. "We're not fighting the Reapers. We're fighting Cerberus."

"What?" the captain replied, sitting up a little straighter in his bed. "Why?"

"Because Hackett wants to keep the pressure on them," Hunter explained. "Cerberus targets are too small for a fleet assault to be efficient – better to send in a skilled strike team, like us. Besides which, he thinks it's good for morale. Reaper troops sap the fight out of you after a while... By rotating us between the two, the admiral wants to lessen that effect."

"It can't hurt," Murphy admitted. "I reckon the men'd like a chance at revenge, for Benning..."

"Exactly. Now, I have to ask... can you get out of bed?"

"To do what?"

"Lead, co-ordinate, organise – do my job for me while I'm on the ground... The doctor said you were well enough to be on your feet."

"On my feet it is, then."

"That's what I like to hear. CIC, twenty minutes. I'll gather the troops."


	61. Operation Torch Briefing

**A/N: Right, a few things to address, here. First, this mission is going to be a slightly short one (although expect fireworks), as I want to move the plot forward a bit.**

**Secondly, with regards to the suggestion of a character sheet: it's being worked on. As I've said to at least one of the people who voted for such a thing, I happen to_ have _a whole Word document which I use for reference when writing. It has the names, classes, races, weapons, armour colours and brief bios of every character introduced so far. At present, I'm debating between a brief set of bios linked to on my profile, or a companion story in the style of dossiers, with a short one (one-two hundred words) for each character.**

**Thirdly - I honestly only just noticed this story is over 200 reviews. Thanks so much for the support, everyone!**

* * *

><p><em><strong>SSV Cambrai, Hades Nexus<strong>_

_**Day 1, 1335**_

"Alright, is everybody here?"

Looking out over the cluster of troops gathered around the war room, Colonel Hunter guessed that everyone _was _there, and got underway. He wasn't sure whether to be accepting of or worried about the sense of excitement in his gut. The prospect of going back into battle was actually a _thrill_.

"Our target for today is Asteria," he began, drawing up a shimmering hologram of a desert planet. "The intel from Noveria mapped a Cerberus facility on the planet – a laboratory, as best we can tell. Two days ago, satellite surveillance spotted a massed formation of shuttles _leaving _the facility. Whatever their reasons for evacuating, the complex is still intact – that gives us an opportunity to move in and mine the archives for more information."

"What's the environment like, sir?" Andersen piped up, from the back.

"Asteria has been colonised around the poles – the rest of the planet's just too hot, up to 65 degrees near the equator. What few colonies _do _exist are a mixture of asari and human, mostly agrarian ventures."

"And the lab?"

"Located in the northern pole. The whole complex is buried in an artificial trench, about twelve stories deep according to the plans recovered from Noveria."

"What are our objectives?" the turian Kamur added.

"There are three. As such, we're splitting into three teams. Team Alpha will consist of D'Taran and T'Rel" – he looked at the two asari commandoes – "and will attack first. Your job is to infiltrate the security station on Level 1, and neutralise any hostiles. From there, you can monitor whatever's left of the enemy forces, and disable any defences in the rest of the facility."

"Yes sir," the two asari nodded.

"Teams Bravo and Charlie will move in behind you. Bravo will strike the comms terminal on Level 9, Charlie will hit the main laboratory on Level 11. Both teams will take one hacker, and gather information from the terminals at their respective sites. Bravo will consist of myself" – that caused a few stirrings amongst the gathered N7s – "Kan'Sura, Thorne and Araya."

"Aye aye, sir," Araya called, cheerily, although she was the only one. Kan'Sura and Thorne just gave him brief nods of assent.

"Charlie will be made up of Kamur, Andersen, Mac'Tir and Saffiya."

Again, the four operatives gave him quick nods, still staring at the hologram on the table, which was now displaying a three-dimensional model of the Cerberus base.

"Shuttles roll out in ten minutes. Grab your gear and get on board – Alpha and Bravo to shuttle one, Charlie to two. Dismissed."

With that, the colonel stepped away from the head of the table, and waited for the other N7s to file out, before moving through to the CIC. As he did, he found Murphy waiting for him. The captain tried to look focused and controlled, but it was clear to all that he had only just staggered out of the med bay – his shirt had been pulled on hastily, still crumpled and creased, his short hair was messy, and most obviously, an IV line still protruded from his wrist.

"Ready to go?" the captain muttered, rubbing his hands together.

"Aye..." Hunter murmured back, checking his rifle yet again. "With any luck, we'll be in and out in thirty minutes, just like Noveria."

Murphy nodded silently, and the colonel knew he was suppressing the urge to add _"NOT like Benning"_. A slightly awkward silence reigned, as both men searching for something to say.

Finally, Logan plucked something out of the air, putting a broad grin on his face and shouldering his rifle. "Look after my ship, Zachary – that's an order."

The captain grinned back, and saluted. With that, the colonel swept towards the elevator, heading for the hangar, and the waiting shuttles...


	62. Operation Torch Part 1

_**Cerberus Facility Approach, Asteria**_

_**Day 1, 1400**_

"All operatives," Hunter muttered, into the radio. "We're two minutes out from the security station. Fit your breathers."

In the seat opposite him, Aeryn T'Rel pulled the triangular breathing mask on, and took a deep draught of filtered oxygen as the edges of the mask sealed themselves around her mouth. Everyone on the mission had been ordered to bring a mask or helmet with a ventilator, to deal with Asteria's carbon dioxide-rich air. The atmosphere wasn't _too _bad – the colonial authorities only recommended ventilators for children and the elderly – but as a soldier, the slightest bit of disorientation from the gas could cause a lethal mistake. It was much easier to use a breather, and it carried the added bonus of protecting against a gas attack, if Cerberus had decided to leave traps.

"Squad leaders," the colonel continued, "check your CO2 monitors and monoxide detectors, just in case."

To Aeryn's left, her fellow commando, Maelar D'Taran, was doing just that, examining several translucent displays on her omni-tool.

"Thirty seconds!" came the call from the cockpit. The shuttle dropped, and the asari could feel herself plunging downwards with it. Finally, after thirty seconds exactly – these human pilots were rather punctual – they levelled out, and juddered to a halt. The door hissed open of its own accord, inviting them to the outside world.

"Alpha, you're out here," Hunter announced. Silently, the two asari stood up, moved to the door, and took a look at their entry route.

The uppermost level of the complex was opposite them, shifting up and down as the shuttle bobbed. A series of flat windows, running from ceiling to floor and tinted dark grey from this side, were all that stood between them and the labs.

Without waiting for a command, Aeryn hefted her rifle – a turian-built Phaeston – and took three quick shots. To her surprise, the window _didn't _shatter into a million pieces. Instead, each bullet wound produced a little white blossom, a crack in the window surrounded by glass dust, but nothing more.

"Bulletproof," she scowled.

"Ooh, try this!" Araya piped up, reaching for her shotgun, one of those brutal krogan things. She was stopped, however, by Thorne, sat next to her.

"Don't bother," the biotic muttered, looking to the two asari. "Bullet-proof doesn't mean biotic-proof..."

"Right," Aeryn nodded. She turned around, focusing her biotics, but Maelar had already beaten her to it – as she watched on, her fellow commando sent a rippling wave of force at the window, and they watched it buckle, before it exploded into miniscule shards.

"After you..."

The two of them leapt off the shuttle at the same time, ducking through the remnants of broken glass to land on the steel floor beyond. Before their feet even touched the ground, Aeryn could hear the shuttle lurching away, deeper into the facility.

"This is Charlie," the turian, Kamur, murmured through the radio. "We're outside the labs, waiting for the all-clear on the security systems."

"Understood, Charlie," the colonel replied. "We're approaching our target zone now. Alpha, it's all on you."

"Copy that," Maelar nodded, shortly. Then, turning to her companion, she continued, "Aeryn, we need to move..."

"I've got your six."

They proceeded without another word. In Aeryn's experience, asari commandoes were usually far less talkative than their human and turian counterparts – humans were constantly checking on their squadmates to make sure they were still in the fight, while turians spent most of their time barking orders. Asari commandoes knew what they had to do, and knew that each individual could do it best if left to their own devices. They told each other only the bare essentials – where the objective was, and where the enemy was.

There was no sign of the latter, but the objective was in sight, as they moved through the security station. The lights in the room had mostly been blown out, and the main desk was abandoned – one of the two chairs behind it had been tipped onto its side – but the holographic displays were still glowing orange in the darkness, and appeared to be working.

"Cover me," Maelar whispered – Aeryn wasn't quite sure _why _she was whispering – as she dropped into the upright seat and began to pore over the controls.

Obligingly, Aeryn plucked her shotgun from the small of her back, and began to cast around in the shadows with it, probing the darkness with the little flashlight clipped onto the muzzle. Behind her back, she could hear the gentle hum of the computers, and the _swish _as Maelar flicked through menus.

"Alpha, what's the situation up there?" the colonel interjected again, further proving Aeryn's point about human commandoes being talkative. "Bravo and Charlie are both waiting to breach, we can't run blind into turrets..."

"Have a little patience," the commando at the desk snapped. "It's not like you're under fire."

There was a stagnant silence, another bout of electronic _swishing_, and then Maelar spoke up once again:

"No turrets around the communications relay, just local encryption on the terminals. I can't hack it from here."

"Leave that to me," the quarian, Kan'Sura interjected.

"Alright, alright... Bravo, you're clear to breach."

Somewhere in the background, Aeryn heard the crunch of breaking glass, and guessed that Thorne or Araya had smashed through the window with biotics, just as the two asari had done.

"This is Charlie," Kamur muttered. "What's the status on the labs?"

"Two automated turrets..." Maelar began.

"And more encryption?" guessed another voice – the engineer, Andersen.

"Can you break it?"

"What do you think they pay me for?"

"Must be that, because you can't shoot for shit," the turian chuckled. "Alpha, take down those turrets and we'll get inside."

"They're already down," Maelar murmured. "Charlie, clear to breach."

"Roger. Saffiya, get us in!"

Once more, the sound of twinkling glass filtered up from the lower levels, the noise of Charlie storming into the labs filled the tail-end of the transmission, and then it was all silent once more. Maelar closed the display in front of her, and swivelled around in the chair to face Aeryn once more.

"Done," she sighed. "Now we just have to wait..."

"Right," Aeryn nodded.

Then, she caught sight of the tiniest of movements in the shadow.

"What the _hell _is that?"


	63. Operation Torch Part 2

_**Cerberus Facility Level 11, Asteria**_

_**Day 1, 1410**_

"Andersen, find the nearest terminal. Saffiya, Mac'Tir, spread out and watch the corners..."

As he clutched his pistol and moved onwards through the laboratory, Andersen couldn't help noticing how different this mission was to their first, on Noveria. It had only been a few weeks since Operation Chariot, but they'd already come a long way, and he could _feel _the difference.

Most obviously, the boisterous Tyco had been replaced by the much calmer Mac'Tir, but it was more than that – there was a sense of tension amongst the operatives. That gung-ho bravado they had originally employed was gone, replaced by an underlying caution and apprehension. The deaths on Benning, the betrayal on the Citadel, the simple fact that they actually _knew _each other now – they all made the fear of losses a bit greater...

The laboratories themselves added an extra layer of nervous – put simply, they were freaky... Observation rooms with blood-smeared walls, strange artifacts left lying on the desks, and servers lining several of the walls, occasionally bleeping, making _just _enough noise to be disturbing, in the silence.

"I'll set up a hack module over here," he muttered, nodding towards the nearest bank of servers. It was tucked into a corner between a staircase to the level above, a desk of artifacts, and a row of observation chambers, and as he slapped the tool against the side of the server, he was already weighing up his defensive options – there was almost no cover, but that went for the entirety of the labs.

"Another Omega program?" Kamur murmured, curiously, as he approached.

"Nah, this one's from Illium."

"Still illegal, though, isn't it?"

"Oh, hell yes..."

The turian rolled his eyes, as the little holographic disk at the centre of Andersen's program blossomed, and a series of rotating discs began to whirl around it.

"How long?" Saffiya inquired, pacing over to them.

"I don't know," he guessed. "There's a lot of data – these labs run over the whole level, and I bet the servers do too. It's uploading straight to the Cambrai, but it'll take a while..."

"No sign of hostiles," Mac'Tir announced, as he joined them by the servers. "I don't like the look of those artifacts, though. If they start whispering, we're _definitely _in trouble."

"Then don't touch them," Kamur sighed. "And keep your distance. They're small – half an hour isn't long enough for indoctrination to take hold, if they're even _capable _of that."

"Something's puzzling me," the asari interjected, suddenly. "Why would Cerberus abandon this place intact? Surely they'd destroy the data, or at least sabotage it."

"No viruses," Andersen mumbled, biting his tongue as he checked the program. "And no deletions."

"No damage, either," murmured the turian, at his side, as he looked around the room with a hawk-like stare. "No bullet holes, no bodies, no broken glass... Why would they just up and leave like this?"

There was a hesitant silence, and then...

"This is Alpha!" screamed a voice in the radio – Andersen recognised the elder commando, D'Taran. "We're under attack! They're everywhere!"

Charlie looked around at each other in stunned silence – before they could reply, however, the colonel did it for them.

"Alpha, repeat," Hunter called. "Who's attacking?"

"Husks! We've got husks coming from all directions!"

"Damn it!" he bellowed. "Can we not have _one _mission go to plan?" He paused, and then began to hail the ship. "Cambrai, this is ground team. Murphy, you hear me?"

"We hear you, colonel," Murphy replied, through a mess of noise and static. "What's happening down there?"

"Change in the mission parameters... We've got hostiles down here, but they're Reapers, not Cerberus..."

"Copy that," the captain replied, and then, he fell silent.

The four members of Charlie team were all casting around in the darkness – if there were husks on the top level, there would be more down here at _some _point. Kamur, however, seemed to be deep in thought, and as Andersen watched on, he began to speak.

"Saffiya, Mac'Tir..." the turian murmured. "Take the shuttle, and head up to the security desk. Alpha won't hold on their own – pull them out."

"What about you two?" Saffiya asked, as the same question crossed Andersen's mind.

"They're not here yet," Kamur grunted, "and we need to finish that upload. Once you've got Alpha, swing by to pick us up..."

"Got it," the asari nodded. She turned and run, followed by the drell, back towards the broken window they had entered through. The shuttle was still hovering outside – the two of them leapt into it, shouted a quick command to the pilot, and were gone, racing up towards the top of the facility.

"It might take them a while to get down here from the first floor," Andersen muttered, clutching at straws as he and Kamur grabbed their weapons.

"Contacts, one floor up," his friend replied, checking a radar display on his omni-tool. "I give it a minute or two before they reach us. How long on the upload?"

"A while. Twenty minutes at least – we'd better dig in..."

As he spoke, he was producing a shimmering combat drone from his omni-tool, which floated over to the other end of the corridor, and hovered around the corner, waiting for enemies to reach them. At the same time, Kamur tossed a little ceramic disc – one of his proximity mines – to the far wall, and began to peer through his rifle's sights with the usual hawk-eyed glare.

"Here," the engineer volunteered, passing a trio of little metal objects to his companion. "Take some of these."

"Grenades? Since when did engineers carry grenades?"

"Since Tyco asked me to mod them for him. They're sticky grenades, fitted with cryo tech. Snap-freeze and kill anything in a six foot radius."

"Fuse time?" Kamur pondered, grabbing three of the grenades and clipping them to the belt across his chest. Unearthly growls and shrieks were already filtering in from the corridor beyond...

"Ten seconds from pressing the trigger, three from sticking to a surface – wall, floor... flesh."

Their conversation ended abruptly, as a deafening _bang _filled the air. The first two husks of a group of five had torn around the corner, only to be ripped asunder by Kamur's proximity mine. A third was jolted by the combat drone, and the turian finished the last two off with a spray of rifle fire.

"More incoming," he murmured, through the few moments of silence that followed. "Fire at will."


	64. Operation Torch Part 3

_**Cerberus Facility Level 1, Asteria**_

_**Day 1, 1420**_

"Go, go, go!"

With that bellow, Mac'Tir leapt off the shuttle ahead of Saffiya – as she joined him, softening her landing with a gentle stream of biotics, she found a rather troubling scene awaiting the two of them...

The security station, unlike the laboratory they had just left, was riddled with signs of battle. Instinct and observation, however, told her they were fresh wounds, not evidence of an initial struggle. The walls were littered with high-calibre bullet holes and buckshot – assault rifles and shotguns were being used, then – and one of the walls further in had been blackened, possibly by a grenade.

"Eyes open, siha," Mac'Tir murmured. "I don't like this..."

"T'Rel, D'Taran," Saffiya hissed, into the radio. "Where are you?"

"Next room," came a nervous whisper – Aeryn. "They're right outsi- goddess, they've spotted us again!"

The air broke into a cacophony of gunshots and biotic rumbles – a husk came flying around the corner, propelled by biotics, smashing into the wall opposite them and sliding to the floor in a battered heap.

Mac'Tir grabbed his sword from his waist, and sprinted off in the direction of the fight, holding the blade in one hand while toting a sub-machinegun in the other. Saffiya followed as quickly as she could, lagging slightly behind the agile drell, and rounded the corner to see him tearing into a trio of husks – he slammed one into the wall with biotics, decapitated another with a swing of his sword, then finished off the third with a casual _crack crack_ of SMG fire.

Beyond the drell, she could see the two asari commandoes – Aeryn and Maelar were back to back, fending off waves of husks with biotics and rifle fire. Aeryn was swinging a polished turian rifle, a Phaeston, while Maelar gripped a Viper sniper in one hand, handling the recoil with her right arm, even as she sent shockwaves at the husks with her left.

"Are you two alright?" Saffiya called, hurling herself into the battle with a storm of biotics – she watched two husks in front of her dissolve into glittering blue fragments under her assault, and edged towards the two commandoes.

"We're fine," Maelar grunted.

"Well, we are _now_," Aeryn corrected. As the asari spoke, she snapped an approaching husk's leg with a stomp of her boot, then cracked a second kick against its jaw, knocking it the floor.

"We've got a shuttle waiting outside," Mac'Tir shouted, over the noise of screaming husks – his sword was lodged in one's skull, and he was spraying shots around himself as he tried to yank it back out. "Fall back the way you came!"

The two commandoes nodded, cleared the path with roaring waves of biotics, and sprinted over to the other two's location. Quite suddenly, the four of them were shoulder-to-shoulder, backing up along the corridor. The space in front of them was thick with dancing shots and glistening biotics, not to mention dead husks - it felt like there were dozens of them trying to storm inside...

"How much further?" Aeryn cried, over the din of Saffiya's latest shockwave.

"Cover me!" Maelar replied shortly, spinning around to check. "I can see the shuttle... ah..."

None of the three other fighters realised what was amiss, until Saffiya stepped backwards and almost tripped over D'Taran, who had buckled to her knees.

"What the he-" Mac'Tir began, but as he turned around, he found out just _what the hell_.

A horrific form was standing in their way, with a menacing glare. Even the husks in the corridor seemed to think twice about charging in – all four commandoes had turned to watch this new threat, and the husks weren't seizing the chance to strike their exposed backs.

The most chilling thing, Saffiya decided, was that fringe atop the creature's skull. Without that, it would have been a monster. _With it_, however, it was an asari... Yes, it was lithe and skeletal, and the pale blue skin had been warped to a blotchy grey, but it was unmistakeable, just as the husks were to the human commandoes.

Her thoughts were interrupted as the monster opened its jaws – they snapped wide, and a truly terrifying shriek began to issue out from between them. The soulless black eyes were sweeping threateningly over the commandoes, and even the husks behind them seemed to take a step back, like little scavengers getting out of a great predator's way.

Before the justicar quite knew what was happening, a skeletal hand swept out, and a white blur of biotics smashed against the wall beside her. Closest to the shot, Saffiya was ripped off her feet and thrown to the floor – at her side, Aeryn too let out a little shriek, and stumbled.

"Take them down!" Mac'Tir roared, as he moved past them, approaching the asari creature... Saffiya only realised he was pointing to the baying husks when rifle fire blared out next to her head – Aeryn was knelt beside her, spraying the corridor with fire. Rolling over onto her side, the justicar launched a vicious wave of biotics from the floor, vaporising several husks, and throwing a good half-dozen others to the floor.

Behind them, Mac'Tir was still facing down the monster, alone - Maelar was trying to get to her feet and help, but her face gave off a sense of pathological fear. The little part of Saffiya's brain that had branded the commando weak was quickly stifled – whatever was going on in Maelar's head, it was beyond her control, like a crippling phobia...

The drell swept forward, marking the Reaper creature's torso with half a dozen bullet wounds before rushing in, aiming a high kick at it – quite suddenly, and surprisingly quickly, a withered hand swept down, and claw-like fingers closed around the assassin's throat. With a little choking sound, Mac'Tir was lifted clean off his feet before his companions' horrified eyes.

"Help him!" Aeryn yelled, still spraying rounds at the encroaching husks. "I've got these!"

Acting on pure instinct, Saffiya rolled over to face the creature. It was raising Mac'Tir still higher, and reaching back with its other hand, tensing the claws as if about to stab up at him. With all the energy she could muster, she sent a biotic cannonball racing at it – the projectile slammed into the creature's side, but to the justicar's great surprise, it didn't cause the thing to fly through the air or even stumble. It had the most miniscule of effects...

That, however, was enough. Whether it was the biotics, or the shock of any attack at all, the monster's grip loosened just enough for Mac'Tir to twist around. He kicked the creature hard in the stomach, then went for his sword, sweeping it up and over and cutting the thing's hand off in a single, slick movement.

There was no blood – the stump of an arm left behind was just dead flesh and cybernetics – but the creature let out a hideous, _painful _shriek, as the drell dropped to the floor, crouching poised with his sword in his hand. Saffiya had been about to send another biotic blast at the asari-husk, but Mac'Tir beat her to it – he slammed a biotic shockwave straight in the thing's face, causing it to stumble, and drop onto one knee. As it did, he cartwheeled over, kicking it around the jaw – the gaunt skull snapped back in another pained scream, exposing its throat for just a second...

As it did, the drell swung out viciously with both hands, and his blade cleaved right through the monster's neck. For a moment, Saffiya had a startling image of a human story, a legend which depicted a knight slaying a dragon. Then, she was back to reality, watching her friend kick the severed head away and push the body to the floor, even as it curled on itself and began to crackle with biotic light. The corpse was actually _dissolving_, letting out a shriek as if it were still alive, but visibly crumbling to ash as Mac'Tir rushed over to them, eyes moving back to the wave of approaching husks.

"They're still coming?" he gawped, acting rather casually for someone who'd just slain an eight-foot monster.

"Less than before," Aeryn muttered back, popping the heads of two husks as they rounded the corner. "We should move, now!"

With the asari creature dead, Maelar's eyes were focusing again, and she staggered to her feet with a little assistance from Mac'Tir. She offered no explanation, just moved straight back to the battle line, picking off a couple of husks with the Viper in her arms.

"Alright," Mac'Tir grunted, apparently ignoring the commando's sudden recovery. "On three, we hit them with shockwaves. One... two... three!"

In almost perfect harmony, the four biotics all lunged forward, sending great, rippling cascades of force at the mob of husks. Saffiya saw her own blast mingling with the other three, and by the time they reached the end of the corridor, they had merged into a single, swirling blue storm. The front rank of husks was shredded, reduced to ash and dancing blue light. Those behind were hurled into the air, or into the far wall.

Without looking back to watched the results of their attack, the commandoes swept around, and began to run. A few husks were hissing and snarling behind them, but the devastating storm they had wrought kept the things at bay for long enough – they were already at the shuttle before Saffiya heard footfalls on their tail, and as she turned to look, the nearest was still a good ten feet away. She vaporised it with a burst of biotics, then sprang neatly into the shuttle behind her squadmates, as the door slid shut.

"This is Charlie," Mac'Tir was muttering, into the radio. "Err... half of Charlie. We've got Alpha, and we're back in the shuttle. Bravo and Charlie Leaders, what's your situation?"

"Bravo's alright," the colonel assured him. "We took down the first wave, no sign of a second yet. Charlie, what about you?"

"We're getting swarmed!" came Kamur's yell, rather suddenly. "Andersen and me are holding until the upload's done, but the husks are everywhere!"

"Understood," Hunter sighed. "Alpha, Charlie, I don't like sending you back in, but they need help."

Sure enough, the shuttle's pilot swung around without another word, and Saffiya could feel the craft swooping lower and lower, racing back the way it had come. After a slight pause, the shuttle's occupants heard the colonel speaking into the radio once more.

"Cambrai," he began, "it's getting bad down here, but we can wait long enough to complete the objective."

"Negative," argued the responding voice – the captain, Murphy. "We need to get you out of there, now."

"Damn it, Zachary, we're _fine_. We can hold out!"

"I don't give a rat's ass if you can hold out! _We _can't!"

"What?"

"There's a Reaper dropping on the colony, and it's knocking the crap out of us! Thruster one's a ball of fire, there's a breach in the port cargo hold..."

"Cambrai, say again," the colonel murmured, nervously. "A Reaper?"

"Yes, damn it, a Reaper! Finish up down there, and get your asses back to the ship so we can leave!"

The Cambrai cut out, fading to static, and Hunter let out a low, reluctant sigh.

"You heard the man," he muttered, finally. "All units – let's get the hell out of here..."


	65. Operation Torch Part 4

_**Cerberus Facility Level 9, Asteria**_

_**Day 1, 1435**_

"You heard the man. All units – let's get the hell out of here..."

As he looked around, Colonel Hunter was trying hard not to panic. A _Reaper._ A bloody _Reaper._ That wasn't good... They knew how to fight husks, a lot of the N7s had prior experience, but they didn't know how to deal with a Reaper. Moreover, he doubted they _could _deal with a Reaper, not with a ground team and a single frigate.

"Bravo, report! Where are you?" he yelled. His team was out of sight, hidden throughout the darkened rooms of the comms relay. The husks weren't coming yet, but they would be soon...

"By the comms relay," the quarian, Kan muttered. "Two minutes left on the upload, colonel, we should stay and finish it off."

Hunter hesitated for a moment. Did they have time?

"Alright," he nodded, finally. It was only two minutes... "But you need some cover, I don't want to deal with a ruptured exosuit."

"I've got him," came Thorne's deep rumble. "Biotic field should hold them off for a couple of minutes."

"Got it. Araya, fall back to my position, we'll hold the shuttle."

"Aye aye!"

A few moments later, the vanguard came barrelling into the room, krogan shotgun still clutched in her comparatively tiny arms. As she reached his side, ghastly moans and shrieks were already issuing up from the floor below.

"Incoming," he grunted, surveying the room once more.

The comms relay sat in an enclosed room to the left, and the colonel could already see Thorne's biotics covering the entrance. Apart from that, the whole area was an open, steel floor, punctuated only by a staircase to the level below. As he watched, Hunter could already see the top of a blue-grey skull coming up the stairs.

"Fire at will!" the colonel yelled, pressing his Saber rifle into the crook of his shoulder, and opening fire.

It was a precise weapon – the first husk head that came into view was shattered by a single bullet, causing the rest of the mob to hiss and scream as that casualty tumbled back down the stairs. Quite suddenly, the rest were flooding upwards, a dozen of them at least.

He picked off three before they rounded the corner, and watched as Araya blasted the pack with her shotgun, flinging those curious krogan darts into the midst of the husks. One embedded itself in a skeletal leg, crippling the leg's owner, while another punched clean through an approaching husk's skull. The rest, however, fell harmlessly past the enemy, and Hunter was beginning to wonder whether Araya could actually _ever _shoot straight...

"Kan, how long left?" he shouted, as a trio of husks bolted towards the little room enclosing the comms relay.

"A minute or so- damn it! There's another firewall," the quarian replied, heatedly – the three husks were battering against Thorne's shield, and the biotic grunted with every hit.

As soon as the husks racing towards him were dispatched – a surprisingly short time, with the Saber, and Araya's biotics – Logan turned to those hammering on the shield, and dispatched _them _in short order, too...

"How long left?" the colonel repeated.

"Another few minutes, at least!"

"Alright. We can do this all day..."

They really could. The husks dropped to a single bullet in the skull, and the last wave hadn't even got close enough to swing a punch. This was too easy...

The colonel's thoughts came back to bite him in the ass, as half a dozen scarlet shots crashed against his shields.

"Cannibals!" he heard someone yell, as a cluster of dead batarian faces clambered up the stairs atop swollen bodies. A grenade from the colonel's belt dispatched them rather easily, but more were pouring in from the door on the far side of the room, and they tossed a grenade of their own into the side chamber where Kan'Sura and Thorne were holding out...

It exploded with a vicious _bang _and a flash of red light. To Hunter's surprise, Thorne _growled _at the attack, and a moment later his shield exploded into a wall of biotic force, as he darted out of the room, hurling glowing blue projectiles at his assailants.

"Damn... batarians!" he screamed, furiously. As he watched the biotic pull out an _axe_, of all things, and hack into a Cannibal's neck, the colonel was trying to recall Thorne's dossier, and just what had brought on such rage...

"Thorne!" the quarian piped up. "Where the hell are yo-_argh!_"

Time slowed down at that – in Colonel Hunter's experience, it always did. Every cry of "man down", every bullet to a comrade at your side, every hint of a casualty caused a soldier's brain to work that little bit faster, and slowed everything else down by comparison.

Then, as ever, came the next stage, the furious reprisal. Thorne vaporised the nearest Cannibal, then lunged aside into the relay chamber, to check on Kan'Sura. As he did, Logan and Araya began to fire with renewed vigour, pumping shot after shot into the batarian husks until every one of the bloated forms was lying dead on the ground.

"Kan?" the colonel shouted. "Thorne, is he alright?"

The quarian mumbled something unintelligible into the radio, but it was the biotic who gave him his answer.

"He's been shot through the thigh. Suit's ruptured," Thorne said – it sounded, from his tone of voice, as if he was grimacing. "He'll be swimming in antibiotics, but it looks messy..."

"Get him out of there, we'll cover you!"

"Alright... Upload's finished, anyway. Any more hostiles?"

"None so far," Hunter muttered, but as he did, more screeches and growls were filtering through from the adjoining corridors. "Sounds like they're on their way, though..."

A few moments later, Thorne appeared in the doorway, with the semi-conscious quarian slung unceremoniously over his shoulder, and a rather smaller biotic force field issuing from his free hand. He backed up towards the window where his two squadmates were waiting, but each step seemed – to the colonel, at least – to be a bit more _forced_. Was he tiring? As he drew closer, another group of Cannibals poured through the far door – Hunter picked off two with his rifle, and watched as Araya _somehow _nailed another with a burst of shotgun fire, at this distance.

"Take him," Thorne grunted, as he reached them. He shrugged Kan'Sura off his shoulder, and the colonel caught the quarian deftly, slinging him over his back. The biotic, meanwhile, had swollen his biotic field with both hands, covering all four of them in a swirling, glistening mass of cobalt blue. The Cannibals' shots crackled and faded as they collided with the field, and in the thirty seconds it took for Bravo to back up across the room, not a single one reached them.

Finally, Hunter felt the _crunch _of broken glass beneath his feet, and realised they were at the window. He turned and – rather conscious of the babbling casualty on his back – hopped into the shuttle first, swiftly followed by Araya. Thorne looked back to check they were already inside, and followed as quickly as he could, maintaining his force field right up until the moment the door slid shut.

"Bloody hell," he scowled, stumbling into the nearest seat and letting out a deep sigh. He was sweating slightly, and looked exhausted, although he didn't admit it.

"You did good, Thorne," the colonel sighed, slipping the now-unconscious Kan'Sura into the seat beside him. "You too, Araya."

The shuttle lurched away with its four occupants safely inside, and the colonel instinctively moved over to the comms panel, opening it up and beginning to busy himself with command once more.

"Alpha, Charlie, we're out. What's your status?"

"Just reached the labs, colonel," replied the calm-sounding drell, Mac'Tir. "We're pulling them out now."


	66. Operation Torch Part 5

_**Cerberus Facility Level 11, Asteria**_

_**Day 1, 1450**_

"Andersen, Kamur, we're getting out of here!"

The turian heard the drell's cry almost instantly, but he didn't reply – at that moment, he had more pressing concerns. Husks were pushing up the corridor, and no matter how many bullets he sprayed at them, there always seemed to be more coming...

Andersen was dug in beside the server bank – the hack module beside his head was still only showing fifty percent, as he picked off husks with his pistol, and directed his glowing combat drone around the tiny battlefield.

"We need to go," Kamur muttered, finally.

"What about the upload?"

"Leave it, we'll be dead by the time it finishes..."

There was a slight pause, and Andersen seemed to hesitate. Then, reluctantly, he reached up to the still-glowing program, and began to tap away at his omni-tool once more.

"Give me a minute..." he murmured, biting his tongue.

"What are you doing?" the turian replied, a touch more frantically. "We need to _go!_"

"Flashing the drive! If we don't get the data, then neither do they!"

A moment later, Kamur's unspoken question – _"What do you mean 'flashing' it?" _– was answered. The orange hack module went crimson for a second, then exploded in a bright white light. Sparks danced along the surface of the servers, and the little blue lights set into each one dimmed, flickered and died. With that, it seemed, Andersen was ready to go – he clutched his pistol in one hand, and sprinted out of cover to the turian's position, slightly further back down the corridor.

"Kamur? Andersen?" came another shout – this time it was Saffiya, the turian realised. Good, that meant they were both still alive...

"We're here!" he roared back. "Hold the shuttle, we're on our way!"

He took the silence for an affirmative, and then shared a tense, silent look with Andersen. Without a word, they devised their plan.

Seconds later, the two of them popped their heads out of cover, and lobbed every grenade they had left at the mob of husks approaching them – Kamur had two, while Andersen had one, and added incineration tech to the mix with a blast from his omni-tool.

The streak of flame hit first – four or five husks at the front were swallowed by a vicious wave of plasma – but seconds later, the cryo grenades followed. The result was a wall of blinding white, and the corridor became thick with what felt like dry ice. When the air finally cleared, it revealed at least a dozen husks, all frozen solid like translucent, silver-white statues. One of them toppled forwards, shattering on the floor, and two more were _pushed _to the ground and broken by the husks behind them, all clamouring to reach the two N7s.

Kamur and Andersen, however, were already several feet back, employing what the turian would later consider was a standard "turian retreat" – hit them with as muchforce as possible, as _quickly _as possible, and then retreat without ever showing your back. The two of them were backing up, step by step, peppering the husks with rifle and pistol rounds with every passing moment.

Finally, as they reached the chamber they had first set foot in, they found more guns joining the chorus – a couple of biotic missiles shot overhead from Saffiya, and Mac'Tir darted to their side with a biotic charge.

With a sudden crack, a vent on the wall to their left was smashed open, and another group of husks swarmed through, bolting towards them. As the others held off the main mob, Kamur and Mac'Tir ducked towards these newcomers – the drell quickly decapitated two with his sword, and rounded on a third, as Kamur engaged two of his own. He ducked a wild grab from the first, snapped its neck, then hurled the second to the floor before putting a bullet between its eyes.

"Get to the shuttle!" Saffiya yelled, sharply – she was firing off biotic shots left and right, but was still struggling to keep the husks at bay.

Reluctantly, Kamur turned and sprinted towards the shuttle – the "never show your back" rule was rather defunct when you were running out of ammo. Andersen and Saffiya were already clambering inside, and the two asari commandoes, D'Taran and T'Rel, were providing cover from inside the door. The turian hopped up into the craft, span around, and emptied his last thermal clip into the front ranks of the approaching husks. Just as his gun gave a little empty _click_ and stopped firing, Mac'Tir reached the shuttle, hopped deftly inside, and the door slammed shut behind him.

"Colonel Hunter, this is Andersen," the young engineer was muttering, into the radio. "Alpha and Charlie are out, no casualties."

"Good..." the colonel replied. "How many husks are left down there?"

"Lots... hundreds, if the whole facility's full of them."

"I see... Then you know what we've got to do..."

"Aye aye, sir. Give me sixty seconds, then signal the Cambrai."

The three asari and Mac'Tir were all looking at the young Alliance engineer with curiosity, but Kamur knew what he was talking about. As he closed the comms panel, Andersen grabbed one of the flares hooked on the wall next to it, and stepped towards the door.

"Pilot, take us for another pass," he called. Then, he turned to the shuttle's other occupants. "Breathers on" – Mac'Tir sighed, and clamped his oxygen mask back over his jaw – "and Kamur, come over here. Pass me your rifle for a moment..."

Begrudgingly, the turian joined Andersen at the door as it hissed open, and passed him his now-empty Phaeston. The engineer worked quickly and deftly, sliding the tail end of the flare into the rifle's barrel, checking the sights, and then priming the beacon on the tip of it.

"Thirty second fuse," Andersen grunted, handing his rifle back to him. "Take the shot."

With a slight sense of trepidation, Kamur stepped up to the threshold, carefully maintaining his balance, and hefted the rifle up to his shoulder. He hadn't bothered with the sights inside the base – the fighting was too close-range for scoped firing – but now he was fixing them over what, as far as he could tell, was the middle of the base. The flare was bleeping distractingly, and the shuttle was lurching – these human craft were extraordinarily clumsy, like their tanks – but he centred the shot as best he could, aimed up slightly to account for sweet lady gravity, and squeezed the trigger.

The moment the flare shot out into the open air, Kamur took a step back from the edge – the bottom of the trench below was _very _far down. Nonetheless, he watched proudly as the scarlet beacon dove straight into the middle of the base's exterior, sticking fast to one of the windows and beginning to billow smoke.

"Cambrai, the flare's in place," his friend grinned, opening up the comms once more. "Danger close range... about half a mile."

"Target confirmed," replied Captain Murphy's voice. "You'll be out of the blast radius by the time we hit. Gunnery! Bring the mass accelerator online, prep to fire!"

"_Mass accelerator?_" Maelar gawped, from her seat. "On the surface?"

"On Earth, we call it 'fireworks'," Andersen chuckled, grabbing the handrail at the side of the door – Kamur wished he'd spotted that earlier – and hanging with his upper body fully out of the shuttle. "Sit back and enjoy!"

Kamur sighed, and rolled his eyes – his friend truly was a pyromaniac, he'd decided. His thoughts, however, were interrupted by a low rumble above them – for a moment he worried, recalling Murphy's reports of Reapers, until he saw the distinctive, hawk-like steel frame descending out of the clouds. The smoking thruster, on the tip of the left wing, was rather clear to see...

The Cambrai swept overhead, causing the shuttle to bob slightly in the downdraft, and then, quite suddenly, she opened fire. A single, white-hot round was fired from the mass accelerator at close to the speed of sound, deafening everyone in the shuttle and slamming into the trench with a subsequent, cataclysmic _bang_.

The turian knew, as most serving turians did, that a ship's main gun, even that of a small frigate, had roughly the same destructive power as a tactical nuke. It still took him by surprise, however, when the entire trench complex exploded. A fierce red fireball tore through stone and steel alike, creating an inferno, a maelstrom of swirling fire, and thick plumes of black smoke began to issue upwards from the base.

"Gunnery, confirm..." they heard the captain murmur, over the radio. After a slight pause, he continued, "Copy that. Target destroyed... Alpha, Charlie, we're coming around to pick up the shuttle. Get your arses back onboard before the Reapers come to investigate..."


	67. Operation Torch Debrief

**A/N: Right, guys, I have a request. The next operation coming up is quite a big one, and we're going to need...**

**A pilot.**

**Oh, and a co-pilot...**

**And possibly a mascot... no, actually, forget that one.**

**The point _IS, _the Cambrai's pilot and co-pilot have yet to actually be introduced in the story, and I figured it might be nice to have them be OCs from the reviewers/readers. So, if you have any ideas, please PM them to me before... Tuesday?, and the ones I judge to be best suited will come into the story then. For now, though, enjoy!**

* * *

><p><em><strong>SSV Cambrai, Hades Nexus<strong>_

_**Day 1, 1530**_

Eluding the Reapers had been a fairly easy matter, once the ground team was back on board. The stealth systems kept them hidden, for the most part, and at any rate, the Reapers were more interested in the colonies than one fleeing frigate. Now, they were racing towards the system's mass relay, intent on finding a destination and getting out before the stealth systems failed...

In the war room, however, Colonel Hunter found it rather hard to muster up any enthusiasm. The operatives were all gathered round, with the exception of Kan'Sura, who was in the medical bay, and Thorne, who had taken him there. They were joined by Captain Murphy, and the yeoman.

"Mission successful," he sighed, unconvincingly, as he flicked through the data the quarian had managed to upload. "We retrieved some operations data, and the base was destroyed. No fatalities. Job done."

The colonel looked up at the cluster of concerned, confused, and even irritated faces around him. He knew his poor mood was obvious from the way they were all staring, but quite frankly, he didn't care.

"Dismissed..." he muttered, and the N7s began to file out, save for a few. Murphy stayed, as did the yeoman and, to his surprise, Kamur and Andersen.

There was an ugly pause, as he slouched over the table, trying hard to ignore the four pairs of eyes burrowing into his skull.

"What the hell's wrong with you?" Murphy admonished, finally.

"What do you mean?" the colonel snapped back.

"_This! _You think this is inspiring? The great leader, sulking like a little child? What's gotten into you?"

For a moment, the colonel's options began to flick through his mind. He half-considered pulling rank, or telling his friend to mind his own business in slightly less polite terms. Eventually, however, he settled on good old-fashioned venting.

"Why do things never _once _go right for us?" he scowled. "What the hell's the point if every operation goes to ruin?"

"I'm not following, sir," Murphy frowned. "We haven't screwed one up yet."

"No," he ranted, going a little bit wild-eyed. "But we've _been _screwed. Hack a computer on Noveria? Our hacker gets shot" – Andersen rubbed his stomach, wincing slightly at the memory – "Run a diversion on Benning? We get hit with an airstrike, and seven marines die. Stop on the Citadel for _shore leave? _We get betrayed by three of our own men, and our XO almost dies."

"Sir-"

"Explore a quiet temple on Tuchanka?" Hunter continued, cutting Murphy off. "Our supposed ally _kills _one of our men, and a _thresher maw_ destroys the building. And finally, investigate an EMPTY base on Asteria? The Reapers drop down on our heads, and we have to run away while a dozen colonies burn-"

"Colonel!" Kamur boomed, with a hint of drill sergeant in his sub-harmonic voice. "Shut up!"

Logan was rather taken aback by that, to say the least.

"You're looking at this all wrong," the turian growled.

"Oh? Do explain..." the colonel replied, scathingly.

"From the turian point of view, we've had nothing but success. Everyone we lost knew what they were up against. And spirits, look at the missions! Noveria – we broke open an archive of Cerberus' _top secret _facilities and operations. Benning – we destroyed a platoon-strength Cerberus force, over fifty men, with only _seven _casualties! The Citadel – we foiled an assassination attempt! Tuchanka – we got a whole krogan clan on our side, and killed a _thresher maw!_ Asteria – we escaped a Reaper assault, and _nuked _a base containing hundreds of husks!"

The turian was heaving slightly by the time he finished, and looked fiercely determined in his argument.

"Logan," Murphy murmured, with a more conciliatory tone. "Maybe you should get some rest."

"I... alright..." the colonel sighed, reluctantly. "But first, where are we heading? We need repairs on that thruster, and the cargo hold."

"There aren't many Alliance shipyards left outside occupied territory," the captain muttered, deep in thought. "And they'll be crowded. We could head for the Citadel, but getting the parts for an Alliance frigate? That'd be difficult."

"Captain..." Kamur interjected, again. "The Normandy-class was co-developed with the Turian Hierarchy. A turian shipyard should have the parts."

"You've got somewhere in mind?"

"I... maybe. Aephus."


	68. Shore Leave Aephus 1

_****_**A/N: Right, it's been less than a day, but we have our pilot and co-pilot. Apologies to those whose selections weren't selected, but I might bring them in in the future, either as cameos on other ships, or as the Cambrai's shuttle pilots. For now... enjoy!**

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><p><em><strong>Typhon Shipyard, Aephus<strong>_

_**Day 1, 1800**_

"Coming in to port," the yeoman announced, over the radio. "Security checks will take about an hour, after that, all hands are free to disembark."

"Please do," Ria sighed. "Maybe then we'll get some quiet in here..."

It had been a point of amazement to the asari doctor that the Cambrai's med bay, a place of healing and tranquility, was located right next-door to the mess hall, which as far as she could tell was mostly a place of drinking and being as loud as one could possibly bloody be... The hall was empty now, however – everyone was waiting in the hangar bay, grabbing their things and getting ready to go ashore.

"_Nowhere's _quiet on this ship," came a grumbled agreement.

The biotic, Thorne, was standing against far wall as he grumbled. He had singularly refused to be confined to bed for something as trivial as a calorie replacement, and neither Ria nor Gina had been inclined to argue – a calorie replacement, after all, basically just involved eating as much as possible without making yourself sick. It was usually done with nutrient drips, or at least supplement pills, but Thorne had a more... carnivorous taste. True, he had agreed to swallow a couple of the supplements, but he was now balancing a plate in one hand, using a fork in the other to tear through a _third _steak. Ria was watching with mild amusement – her husband could only manage two at best, but then, he wasn't a biotic...

"How's he doing?" Thorne muttered, nodding to the bed opposite, where Kan'Sura was still lying, unconscious.

"Feverish, but stable at least... I still don't know what to do. I trained to treat all Citadel races, but that doesn't include quarians, and I've never had to treat a _wounded _quarian before. I don't even know what antibiotics to give him... turian ones, I suppose? Dextro-amino?"

"Don't give him any," the human replied, matter-of-factly. "Quarian exosuits handle it themselves. Section seals isolate the wound, and the medical system saturates the bloodstream with antibiotics. If they do their work, the fever should stop once the bacteria are dead..."

"Alright..." Ria nodded, remembering what she could of quarian biology from the last time she'd had to treat one. "I mean, that was a levo-world, human and asari colonies, so he can't _actually _get infected. It's just an allergic reaction."

"Right..."

The asari smiled weakly, then stopped, as a thought crossed her mind.

"Hang on," she murmured. "How the hell do _you _know? You're not a doctor, and you're not a quarian!"

Okay, that last one was stating the obvious a bit...

"I've spent a bit of time around the Migrant Fleet," Thorne replied, coolly. "And I had a quarian g- a quarian friend. She got wounded once, and while she was recovering she explained how all this works..."

There was an awkward silence, and Ria got the impression Thorne didn't want to talk about his "friend" at the moment. Obligingly, she changed the subject.

"What are you going to do on shore leave, then?" she asked.

"I'm not taking it."

"You... what? I've never heard of an Alliance soldier refusing shore leave... _can _you even refuse it?"

"Well, I'm not Alliance, so... yeah. They can try to throw me off the ship if they want... Besides, shore leave on a turian shipyard? Hardly exciting, is it?"

"I suppose not, but then _I'm_ choosing to spend shore leave in the med bay, so I'm not the best judge... If you're not going ashore, what _are _you going to do?"

"I don't know..." Thorne mused. "Check my weapons, train my biotics... Meditate, maybe?"

As he finished speaking, the biotic crammed the last mouthful of steak down his neck, and set the plate down on one of the medical cabinets, as the asari doctor scanned lightly over Kan'Sura's latest readings.

"How's your amp doing?" Ria replied, absent-mindedly, sending the conversation off down a different tangent.

"No amp," he muttered, with a flicker of a grin on his usually stoic features. With surprise and a hint of self-doubt – had she heard that right? – Ria turned to face him.

"I... what? You're a biotic, aren't you?"

"Yes."

"Combat strength?"

"Yes."

"And you don't have an amp?"

"No."

"And you're _quite_ sure you're human?"

"Last time I checked."

The doctor stepped back in puzzled amazement.

"You're joking with me," she decided, at last.

"Do I _look _like I'm joking?"

"You _never _look like you're joking."

"My point exactly..."

There was another pause, and Ria pretended to be looking for a file, so as to get behind Thorne. Sure enough, there were no surgical scars on the back of his neck, nor the dark, visible lump that usually gave away an amp's presence.

"There's no amp there," Thorne sighed, without looking around. Feeling slightly embarrassed, the asari moved back around to his front, and looked him in the eye once more.

"Sorry," she murmured. "Scientific curiosity."

"I'm used to it," he grunted. "Every scientist and doctor I've ever met wanted to find out how it works."

Ria bit her lip.

"But how _does _it work?"

"See what I mean?" the biotic smirked.

"I couldn't help myself, damn it!" she laughed.

"To answer your question... I don't know. A whole team of Alliance scientists couldn't work it out in the year I was with them. Best I can tell, it's a natural mutation."

"Like us asari?"

"Maybe... but humans haven't evolved to _keep _the mutation like you have. So, in summary, I'm a freak. Thank you, and goodbye."

With that, Thorne turned, and swept out of the medical bay.


	69. Shore Leave Aephus 2

_**Typhon Shipyard, Aephus**_

_**Day 1, 2000**_

"Well, this feels familiar," Zel murmured.

"Tell me about it... It's like Palaven all over again," Kamur muttered.

The two turians were leading their little cluster of N7s through the shipyard's docking area, winding between turian workers and the crews – again, all turians – of the other vessels in for repairs. Due to the war, the shipyard was also being guarded by what seemed to be a whole regiment of the colonial military, made up of... yep, more turians.

After her time on the Cambrai, it actually felt _odd _for Zel to see so many turian faces. Never mind that she had spent the twenty-one years prior surrounded only by turians, her exposure in the last few weeks meant she was used to seeing human faces, interspersed mainly with asari and krogan. Apart from herself, there were only two other turians on board – Kamur, and a proud-looking warrior, Gazix, who she had barely spoken to.

She supposed the nostalgic effect was even worse for Kamur – life in the Cabals had given her a taste of the military lifestyle, that was true, but it had also kept her isolated from this bustling display of the rank and file. Her companion, on the other hand, had been in the marines. This must have been like travelling a month or two back in time for him...

The rest of their little posse was having varying reactions to the turian crowds. Mac'Tir and Saffiya were both looking around curiously, and the biotic got the strangest impression they were looking for misdemeanours – for very different reasons, it had to be said... Andersen, on the other hand, seemed to be eyeing up the turians warily. With a sad pang, she realised that, even after serving so closely with them, he still had misgivings about turians – most humans did, after the Relay 314 Incident. The fact that turians were slightly taller than humans, with a comparative lack of facial expression and emotion, only added to the threat most humans perceived from them. It also didn't help that most turian infantrymen would balk at the idea of a human being as capable as them. Her experience on the Cambrai, however, had convinced Zel that Alliance soldiers were far more adaptable, if not quite as efficient...

Aside from the five of them, Zel had spotted several of the other N7s disappearing off into the station – the three krogan, Yui, Vresh and Dax had all disappeared in search of a bar, and her friend Rafea had gone with the two other asari commandoes, Aeryn and Maelar.

"... see them?" she heard someone whisper, through the background noise.

It was just a murmur, a fragment of a conversation, but to her surprise, Kamur stopped dead, and his hawk-like eyes flashed violent amber in the light.

"..._there_..." came a more emphatic murmur, and the rest of the group stopped behind Kamur, who was glaring around. After a few moments, his eyes settled on a pair of turians, lounging by the far wall of the corridor. Everyone else was rushing off somewhere, but as the corridor emptied, the two of them were left standing on their own, and they were definitely watching the newcomers. Both were wearing gunmetal grey armour, and bore the emerald green face paint of Aephus colony.

As Kamur stared over to them, the two turians stared back, and the one on the left began to speak deliberately noisily.

"Yeah, I heard about them," he smirked. "Shipful of soft skins and rejects..."

Kamur took an angry step forward, and the turian on the right began to stare him down.

"There's a couple of turians on board, though..." this second one replied, in a deceptively conciliatory tone.

"Reserves and a Cabal witch? Hardly what I'd call turians."

Zel's plates rippled with angry blue fire, and the two turians' smirks widened. To their apparent surprise, however, Kamur took another few paces towards them, until he was glaring right into their eyes. Behind Zel, their three non-turian companions were watching on with concern. Andersen's omni-tool was open, as if he was contemplating launching another fireball, and Mac'Tir's hand was sliding worryingly close to his sword handle...

"Move along," the first of the observers sneered, to Kamur. "Run back to the soft skins."

As the first turian growled, the second was reaching for the pistol on his belt, and waved it in front of Kamur's face as an arrogant show of authority.

Zel snapped. With a yell, she sent a rush of biotics at the pistol-wielding turian, and the weapon was flung from his hands, clattering into the wall with a resounding _clang_.

"Stupid bitch!" the other one yelled, but as he went for his own gun, Kamur lunged out, fist cracking against the aggressor's mandibles and knocking him sideways.

Rather remarkably, none of Kamur's four companions intervened as the two turian locals rushed at him. Zel was bristling with biotics, as was Saffiya behind her, and the two boys both looked like they wanted to jump in and start dishing out punches. There was a sense in the air, however, that they didn't _need _to intervene.

Sure enough, the fight was quick and brutal. The first turian, the one Zel had disarmed, lunged at Kamur. Their friend grabbed his face, levered him down to give him a swift knee in the chest, then kicked him into the wall. The second dove at him just as he turned around – Kamur parried his attacker's first punch, jabbed at his throat, then ducked aside as the other figure went for his pistol.

Whatever the assailant had been planning to _do _with that pistol, he didn't succeed. Instead, he found it being wrenched out of his grasp, he was slammed against the wall, and Kamur pressed the pistol against his brow with his left hand, simultaneously grabbing his shotgun with his right and aiming it at the other turian, the one on the ground.

A cool silence fell over the corridor – aside from Kamur's four companions, there were a number of other onlookers, watching on stunned as the apparent civilian held both soldiers at gunpoint.

Rather quickly – turian responses were always quick, Zel noted with pride – there came the sound of the pacing boots in the next corridor. A dull murmur passed through the onlookers, some of whom were considering their own weapons, and those in the doorway parted for the newcomers – three turians in military gear, all sporting Aephus face paint, fierce glares, and gleaming rifles.

"What the _hell _is going on here?" bellowed the one at the front. "Lieutenant Darix, Aephus First Division! Put the weapons down, civilian!"

"You ought to control your men," Kamur snarled back, rather bravely for someone with three rifles pointed at his head.

"Drop the guns, or I'll shoot you where you stand!" the lieutenant yelled back, angrily.

To his credit, Kamur barely flinched at the lieutenant's shouts. For a moment, he looked like he was about to drop his weapons, but instead, he span on his heel and brought the pistol round, aiming at Darix's skull.

"_Captain _Kamur Destra," he hissed, icily. "Taetrus Fifth."

That took everyone by surprise. Zel had taken Kamur for a marine, but she hadn't realised he was a _captain _– by the looks on their faces, none of their companions had, either. The turian lieutenant stared at him in shock for a moment, before returning to his previous glare. He was still grumbling at Kamur, but his anger was more focused on his two men, who were now shrinking against the wall.

"You two, back to barracks," he snapped. "I'll have a word with you later."

The two grunts shuffled out, heads slightly bowed, and the lieutenant turned once again to Kamur.

"My apologies, captain. Thanks for not shooting them."

"It crossed my mind," Kamur muttered, darkly. "You know why they attacked me?"

"I can guess," Darix sighed. "You're from the Cambrai, aren't you?"

Kamur nodded, as his four companions drew slightly closer. The lieutenant surveyed them quickly, brow rising slightly in surprise at the drell, Mac'Tir.

"I thought so... It's an information problem. All the officers here have access to your mission reports, part of the whole 'sharing' policy with the Alliance. _We_ know you do damn good work. The rank and file aren't so sure. They've still got that superiority complex left over from training. 'Turians are the best and brightest', etcetera. Without knowing what we know, they think Cambrai's a rag-tag operation which can't do anywhere near as well as a turian brigade..."

"Maybe those two soldiers will think otherwise from now on," Mac'Tir smiled, coolly.

"Right... I hope nothing's broken, I need those two on watch tonight..."


	70. Shore Leave Aephus 3

_**SSV Cambrai, Typhon Docks**_

_**Day 2, 0900**_

"Colonel, incoming message from operative Tyco."

"Patch him through, Sally."

With a shimmer of light, the sniper appeared on the corner of Hunter's desk, illuminated in the holo-projector usually reserved for Admiral Hackett's instructions.

"Good to see you, boss," he grunted. "You wanted an update?"

"Yes," the colonel replied. He hadn't heard from his tracking team since they reached Illium, more than a week ago.

"Well, the trail's not exactly hot. C-Sec doesn't have anything out here, and the STG has been focusing on the Reapers, not Cerberus."

"Hold on," Hunter backtracked, "where exactly is_ out here?_"

"Erinle."

"The salarian colony?"

"That 's the one."

There was a slight pause, before Colonel Hunter finally released the dangerous thought that had filled his mind.

"That's out in the Terminus," he muttered, slowly.

"Aye."

"_Why _are you in the Terminus Systems?"

"We were following leads!" Tyco exclaimed, as if scolded. "Besides, I've spent most of my life in the Terminus. I can handle it."

"Alright, alright, but... what leads?"

"The day after we reached Illium, we went after one of the safehouses in the Noveria files," he began. "A little apartment in Nos Astra. We surrounded it from rooftops on three sides, and Zya went through the apartment building to block off the fourth. We just shot everything that moved, killed a bunch of Cerberus operatives. They were trying to wipe their computers, but they didn't quite finish. The files that were left led us to a front corporation in the business district."

"A front?" the colonel interrupted. Well, Cerberus had to get their funding somehow...

"Yeah, a bio-tech company. We raided their offices that night."

"Any kills?"

"A couple of guards, yeah. But nobody really cares on Illium, business rivals bump each other off all the time. The point is, we found more documents there. Undeclared shipments to three other bases in the Terminus – implants, credits, and what looked suspiciously by biological weapons... More importantly, one of the freighters carrying the shipments came from the Citadel. Odds are, Palmer was on that ship – he either disembarked in the Terminus, or he's still on it."

"So, you're going after the bases," Hunter guessed.

"Right," Tyco's hologram nodded. "Arrete got us onto another Eclipse ship – that guy's good, by the way – and we're going to hit the bases one by one until we find Palmer."

"And if you don't?"

"Then we'll track down the freighter. Hopefully it won't come to that – I don't think it'd be easy to convince these Eclipse guys to help us hijack a Cerberus ship..."

Logan was just about to agree, when a white light began to blink in the corner of the desk. He tapped something into the console, and the yeoman's voice interrupted their conversation.

"What is it?" he muttered, slightly impatiently.

"Sorry, colonel, but you have to see this... Comms are lighting up, we've got messages coming in from all over. Most of them are marked urgent."

"Great..." the colonel sighed. "Tyco, we'll pick this up another time. Good luck out there."

"Aye aye, boss," the sniper nodded, before his hologram flickered and disappeared.

With a weary expression, Hunter pulled up a comms panel from the desk, and began to speak into the radio once more.

"What is it, Sally?" he repeated.

"Like I said, colonel, there are emergency transmissions coming in on at least half a dozen channels. Burst transmissions from the Citadel, from Typhon... Hails from the dock authorities, the Fifth Fleet, the human embassy..."

"Hailing us?"

"Hailing all Alliance vessels. There's a similar transmission going out to all turian vessels in the shipyard from the turian embassy... There's also a private communiqué from Admiral Hackett with your name on it."

"Put Hackett through," the colonel decided, guessing the admiral would be able to explain best.

"Aye aye, sir."

There was a slight pause, and then Hackett's hologram filled the space Tyco's had just vacated, hovering on the corner of the Hunter's desk. The admiral's face was grave, and etched with worrying lines. His eyes looked slightly... harrowed?

"Logan," he murmured – that was the _second _time he'd used the colonel's name.

"Admiral."

"We, err... we have a bit of a situation."

"I gathered. Our comm lines are filling up – the embassy, the fleet, even the turians... what's happened?"

It seemed to take Admiral Hackett rather a while to speak, but when he finally did, the words that escaped his mouth could hardly have been more shocking.

"The Citadel was attacked."


	71. Shore Leave Aephus 4

_**SSV Cambrai, Typhon Docks**_

_**Day 2, 1000**_

It had taken less than an hour to gather everyone back to the Cambrai. The colonel had ordered them not to delay, or to speak to anyone on the way back, and Zel's little posse had complied, rushing back to the ship in anxious silence amidst a sea of panicked whispers. Whatever had happened, the whole shipyard had been plunged into panic...

Now, the N7s were clustered around in their usual haunt, the hangar bay. Colonel Hunter had clambered up onto the roof of one of the shuttles, and was speaking to the amassed crowd – not just the operatives, but the entire ship's crew, engineering through to gunnery. Only two people were absent – Kan'Sura, who was still in the medical bay, and the human doctor, who was watching over him. Zel took a curious look at Hunter, who had yet to speak – there was a panicked air about the colonel, and it translated tenfold into the crowd around him.

Finally, the colonel opened his mouth, and as one, the N7s fell into silence.

"At 0700 hours this morning," he began, rather hoarsely, "Cerberus troops attacked the Citadel."

The whole hangar bay began to rumble with shocked murmurs and muffled cries of disbelief. Zel stayed silent, fixing her eyes on Hunter. His face was rather calm – apparently, he had passed beyond the angry stage, unlike everyone else in the hangar.

"All five wards were invaded," the colonel continued, "along with the Presidium. Invading forces overran C-Sec Headquarters from the inside, and proceeded to wipe out C-Sec and civilians alike across the Presidium. Casualty figures are in the thousands so far. Those of you who have family on the Citadel, comm links will be opened so you can try to make contact."

There was another noisy pause, the murmurs grew once more, and then they were stifled again, as someone – as far as Zel could see it was the human, Kyra – voiced the question on everybody's mind:

"How the _hell _did Cerberus do it?" she cried.

"It was done with assistance from the inside. Double agents gave them access to C-Sec Headquarters and the docking bays around Presidium Junction. From there, they cut C-Sec's lines of communication and moved through the wards, taking the docking bays one at a time."

"Traitors smuggle them in, then they cut off all escape," Yui grunted, from the back of the crowd. "Underhanded, but efficient."

"That's practically Cerberus' motto," scowled one of the gunnery crew. "But who'd actually _help_ them?"

"C-Sec identified several traitors in their ranks," Hunter sighed. "Humans who sympathised with Cerberus. Or, maybe they were indoctrinated... Either way, they weren't alone. The coup was planned by..." – he hesitated, and Zel could have sworn he was looking at the non-humans in the crowd – "...Councillor Udina."

"Bastard!" someone shouted, immediately, and Zel knew why the colonel had been hesitant. For the human representative to betray the Citadel like that... It wasn't good for humanity's image, that was for sure.

"Udina tried to lead the other Councillors into an ambush," the colonel explained. "Fortunately, the Normandy was returning from a mission and intervened. Commander Shepard foiled the assassination attempt, and put a bullet in Udina's skull for good measure..."

There were a few cheers at that, but they were half-hearted at best. Good though that last bit of news was, it hardly made up for the prior bombshell. The crowd had turned into a mixture of the worried – those with families on the Citadel – and the furious – everyone else.

"When are we going after them?" Urdnot Dax boomed, above the general murmur of the crowd.

"As soon as repairs are complete," Hunter called back. "The turians will be finished by tomorrow. After that, we go hunting!"

_That _did get a cheer. A deafening chorus of whoops and vengeful roars filled the hangar, and several of the N7s – the three krogan in particular – were waving their weapons in the air.

"Alright, alright!" the colonel roared, warily looking at the krogans' weapons as if worried one of them was about to go off. "Make your preparations! The bridge terminals have been converted to comm links – if you need to make a call, use them! Otherwise, stock up on ammo from the armoury, check your weapons, and do whatever the hell you have to, we move out in the morning!"


	72. Operation Silverback Briefing

**A/N: Wow... I usually forget to check the traffic states, but over the course of last night, while I was asleep, Galaxy at War: N7 passed the 30,000 hit mark, and the 5,000 visitor mark...**

**What can I say? Thanks, guys... Now, 300 reviews, anyone? :P**

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><p><em><strong>SSV Cambrai, Aephon Cluster<strong>_

_**Day 1, 1200**_

A few hours after the Cambrai departed from Aephus, she was to be found drifting through the colony's star cluster, as the crew onboard tried to find a destination they could strike at. Everyone had stocked up on mods, meds and ammo from the ship's armoury, and they were now having lunch in the mess hall, ready to go into battle at a moment's notice.

As it happened, a moment's notice was probably all they were going to get. In Logan's office, Admiral Hackett's hologram had just bloomed on the corner of the colonel's desk.

"Admiral," Hunter greeted him, with mild surprise. "What have you got for me?"

"A tip-off," Hackett muttered, uncertainly. "From Commander Shepard."

"Shepard?"

"Yes... The Commander coerced Din Korlack into giving up information on an imminent Cerberus attack, on a turian colony."

"Why the hell would the _volus ambassador _know about a Cerberus attack?"

"Shepard didn't quite explain that one... The Normandy transmitted a warning to the turian embassy, and to myself. The rest of the Council doesn't know yet, nor does the Alliance."

"Why are you telling _me_, then?"

"Because those turians will need help, and you've been spoiling for a chance to hit Cerberus for weeks..."

"Damn right. Where's the colony?"

"It's in the Aephon Cluster," Hackett murmured, and alarm bells began to ring in Hunter's mind. "The colony's called Aephus."

"Oh, you have _got _to be joking," Hunter scowled.

Hackett merely looked at him, uncomprehendingly.

"We just _left _Aephus, less than four hours ago!"

"Then get the hell back in there," the admiral replied, simply. "Help the turians, and do as much damage to Cerberus as you can. Their failure on the Citadel left them weakened – crippling the attack force on Aephus might well put them out of the picture..."

"Aye aye, sir. We'll be there within the hour."

"Good luck, colonel."

With that, the hologram flickered and died, and Logan's brain began to race. Quickly, he drew up a comms panel from his desk, and began to broadcast through the whole ship.

"All N7s, report to the hangar bay ASAP," he ordered. "Bring your gear. Bridge crew, revise course – take us back to Aephus."

That was all he needed to say. Without another word, he left his desk, rushed out into the mess hall – where quite a few of the N7s were wolfing down final morsels of food, and watched him with apparent confusion at his orders – and headed for the elevator.

The ride down to the hangar was a short one, and within five minutes, the colonel was waiting in the hangar bay. A further ten, and every N7 on the ship was amassed in front of him, pulling on the last gauntlets and boots of their armour, and checking their weapons.

"We've got a situation!" he began, feeling it was something of an understatement. "Cerberus forces are about to launch an attack on Aephus!"

A plethora of worried murmurs rose up from the assembled crew, as Hunter continued:

"We've got a heads-up, courtesy of the Normandy, but for all we know, the attack is already underway. Turians haven't asked for our help, they don't know we're offering, but they're sure as hell getting it!"

There were a few whoops and cheers at that, although the colonel couldn't help noticing the turian, Kamur, looking rather apprehensive. Probably something about turian pride, if Hunter's own buried concerns were right...

"Kamur," he called, and all eyes turned to the turian. "I want you hitting the shipyard. Pick Alpha team and get them ready."

"Understood, sir," the turian replied, businesslike as ever where missions were concerned.

"Murphy, Andersen, I want you on the ship with me. We need a few N7s onboard in case we have to launch a boarding action... or repel one. The rest of you will divide into three companies, Bravo through Delta, and launch defensive actions in the colony itself. Yui, Saffiya, Lynus, you're squad leaders. Once Alpha's assembled, you can take your pick."

"Understood," the salarian, Lynus nodded. Yui and Saffiya both stayed silent, but all three squad leaders, along with Kamur, had moved to the front of the crowd.

"We'll be arriving in the system in around fifteen minutes," the colonel concluded, "and we go in guns blazing. Make sure you're ready by then. Dismissed."


	73. Operation Silverback Part 1

**A/N: Well, time to meet our new pilots... You'll have to wait a couple of chapters for the ship-to-ship combat, though :P**

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><p><strong><em>SSV<em>**_** Cambrai, Aephus Orbit**_

_**Day 1, 1215**_

"Colonel, we've got a problem."

Hunter had already guessed _that _from the way the ship's stealth systems had been engaged. He was now to be found marching into the cockpit, in full battle armour, with an expectant look on his face.

As he did, it occurred to him that he had never set foot in the cockpit in all his time onboard, and he hadn't seen the flight crew more than three times. The pilot and co-pilot usually slept at their posts, ate in the midnight shift, and generally kept themselves to themselves. There was a rather awkward moment, then, as he paced into the cockpit and the two of them looked at him, preparing for their first proper conversation...

The pilot, sat rigid in the central chair, was a focused-looking human woman by the name of Erika Solov. She had a prominently square jaw, and blonde hair hidden neatly beneath a service beret. As the colonel entered, she was poring over the ship's controls, and appeared to be monitoring the ladar.

Off to the right, assessing the stealth systems, was her co-pilot, Akito Yurai. He was a fairly tall man of asian ethnicity, maybe Japanese? As he worked, his eyes were flitting about rapidly, and he gave the impression of intense mental activity – the colonel had read his file, and knew the co-pilot had a formidable mind.

"What's going on?" Hunter muttered.

"The attack has already begun," Solov replied, matter-of-factly.

"Damn! How many of them are there?"

"Two cruisers in low orbit over the Typhon region," Yurai murmured. "According to the colony's transmissions, they arrived about ten minutes before we did. The shipyard's overrun, fighting is still underway in the urban districts."

"Why aren't the turians responding?" was the colonel's first question.

"Typhon shipyard was assigned to repairs, not production," explained the pilot. "Most of the turian ships there were damaged already. A couple of frigates escaped, but they couldn't hold the fight on their own, and Cerberus gutted the only working cruiser in their first salvo..."

"They're holding out on the ground, though," the co-pilot interjected. "Turian marines are maintaining pockets of resistance in the shipyard, and the civilian populace is resisting in force. If we get troops on the ground, we might still be able to push Cerberus back."

"What kind of Cerberus force are we talking about?"

"A sizeable infantry force in the shipyard, roughly platoon strength, and another moving through the colony itself. They also have fighters providing close air support. The main problem, though, is those cruisers. They – what was that?"

The co-pilot was staring out of the cockpit, towards the green surface of Aephus, squinting intently. Colonel Hunter, however, couldn't see anything, and Solov was looking confused – evidently _she _couldn't see anything either.

"What was what?" she questioned, finally.

"Trouble..." Akito scowled. "Got anything on ladar?"

"Yeah. The cruisers."

"Anything else?"

"No..."

"Then why can I see a frigate down there? Check the instruments..."

"Still nothing," Erika sighed, resignedly. "You're probably seeing things."

"No..." Hunter muttered, moving to the window. "I see it too."

Sure enough, a black, hawk-like shape was disappearing into the atmosphere, being swallowed by the rolling clouds over Aephus. And yet the ladar showed nothing, just the two big, red markers that displayed the bombarding cruisers.

"So, there's a ghost ship," the pilot scowled. "Explain _that _one to me."

"I don't... maybe... Oh, god..."

"What?"

"Cerberus developed the Normandy," the co-pilot mused. "The SR2, I mean, not the Cambrai's series. And, if they have stealth systems..."

"Then the ladar's blind," his colleague replied, startled. "Damn!"

"Get after it," Akito instructed, taking charge despite the colonel's presence. "I'll pull up the Alliance report on the SR2, see what we're up against. Colonel, I recommend we deploy shuttles from orbit, and they use their stealth systems to reach the target zones while the Cambrai pursues that frigate."

"Agreed," Hunter nodded, before opening up a comm panel on the other side of the cockpit. "All teams to shuttles! Alpha and Delta to shuttle one, Bravo and Charlie to two!"

"Copy that, colonel," came the reply – Kamur, the turian.

"Kamur, drop your team on the shipyard. Your objective is to link up with remnants of the marine garrison and push the enemy back. Saffiya, Yui, the second shuttle will take your teams down to the colony – resist Cerberus forces in any way you can. The first shuttle will drop Lynus and his men wherever they're needed once Kamur's team is on the ground."

"Understood," muttered the salarian commander.

"Andersen, head down to engineering and keep an eye on things there. Murphy, report to the CIC. All gunnery and flight crew, take emergency positions and prepare for sub-orbital flight."

Finally, he turned to his two companions in the cockpit, the pilot and the co-pilot.

"Take us in," he nodded. "Blow that frigate out of the sky."


	74. Operation Silverback Part 2

_****_**A/N: Time for a little conflict to start, brewing, I think...**

**Also, I thought this was worthy of a mention: two of the OCs featured in this story have now got fics of their own! Considering I took their characters for my own story, I reckon it's only fair that I give the authors a bit of recognition. ConvictionSC's story "Second in command" deals with an admittedly AU iteration of the vanguard Colburn, while Ruven aka Lee's "Krogans, Beers, and Pirates" chronicles the backstory of the krogan Hei Yui. I'm sure they'd appreciate some readers, not to mention reviews!**

**Now, enjoy!**

* * *

><p><em><strong>Typhon Shipyard, Aephus<strong>_

_**Day 1, 1225**_

"Move, move, move!"

Kamur was yelling as his three-man team leapt off the shuttle, and at his flank, Zelva'Aris Manado was seeing a whole other side to her companion. Back on the ship, he had been casual, funny, and more than a little cocky. On their last trip to the shipyard, when he'd damn near killed those two privates, he had hinted at a more serious, deadly side, and she was seeing it clearly at the moment. The sharp lines of his face, which in peace were cool and rather handsome – not that he was her type – were now harsh and fearsome in war.

Their team consisted of just three N7s. Kamur took the lead, bracing his prized Phaeston in his arms. Behind him were Zel, clutching her Viper sniper rifle and priming her biotics, and Gazix, another turian soldier, who was shouldering a Mattock rifle. It was only a small team compared to those hitting the colony, but the three turians had agreed it was for the best – the turian marines on the shipyard would probably respond best to turian aid, especially if the Alliance wasn't supposed to know about the raid yet...

"No sign of hostiles," Gazix muttered, as the shuttle lurched away behind them. "No friendlies, either..."

At that moment, however, Gazix was proved wrong by a pair of Cerberus troopers sprinting around the corner. The three turians all raised their guns, but before any of them could fire a shot, the rear-most trooper's back exploded with bloody spray, and he slumped to the ground. Moments later, the other trooper wheeled around, drew his gun, and toppled backwards as another round crashed into his head.

"Move up!" bellowed a voice from around the corner. Heavy footfalls resounded off the steel floor, and the troopers' killers were revealed...

The turian squad was in a bad way. Of the half-dozen infantrymen, most were carrying blood wounds, and the majority were carrying, not turian Phaestons, but Cerberus Mattocks, presumably stolen from the dead troopers when their own guns ran out of ammo. A few of those rifles were instinctively aimed at the three newcomers, but the squad's leader – the only one who seemed to be in any sort of fighting shape – quickly ordered them to stand down.

Beneath the mask of surprise and the now-smudged face paint, Zel quickly realised who the leader was – Lieutenant Darix...

"Spirits..." he murmured, taking a step closer. He was peering at Kamur, mostly, and looked _extremely _thankful, even before they made an offer of assistance.

"Lieutenant," Kamur nodded – and Zel couldn't help noticing his every syllable was followed by the squad. That was curious. True, he outranked them, but that kind of attention wasn't merely attributed to rank...

"It's good to see you, hastatim," Darix sighed. Quite suddenly, the cogs clicked into place, and Zel took a nervous step back.

_Hastatim_. To a non-turian, it would have meant nothing. Some humans with a grounding in history might have tried to trace the Latin in it – the language was curiously similar to their own – but wouldn't have found the translation. It was a very turian concept, after all. Because turians earned their citizenship through military service, most civilians had access to military-grade training, and, in many cases, military-grade munitions. In civil conflicts, that made the populus as dangerous as the opposing army, and if they _sided _with the opposing army, the Hierarchy was in trouble...

The turian solution was, in any such conflict, to set up 'safe camps' outside the scope of the fighting. The hastatim then went door-to-door in urban areas around the combat zone, ordering civilians to lay down their weapons and move to the protection of the safe camps. In some wars, most did. In others, where the enemy force had the people's sympathy, most didn't. It was here that the hastatim got their most abiding trans-species translation: 'killing squads'. Their orders were simple: if people refused to go to the safe camps, or resisted, they were to be shot dead.

If Kamur was with the Taetrus 5th, and was a hastatim, then he had served in the worst of the War on Taetrus... It was no wonder he'd kept it quiet, either. Some _turians _disapproved, never mind the other species. The asari believed too much in the sanctity of life, and the salarians put too much value on their short existences, to accept such a policy. The humans were even more abhorred by it – apparently, 'death squads' had rather different connotations for them, stemming from a 20th century war...

In Zel's mind, it provoked surprising caution. She had known Kamur for a few weeks now, and he had always come across as decent and kind, but if he was a _hastatim_... Someone hardened to that much killing was lethal and, in her mind, somewhat amoral.

"What's the situation?" the hastatim asked, breaking Zel away from her thoughts.

"Bad," Darix muttered, succinctly. "There's another squad barricaded in the garrison, but Cerberus destroyed the walkway from us to them."

"Can't you get to them a different way?"

"Well, there's another route to reach them, it's only ten minutes' march, but Cerberus is in the way."

"What about docking control?"

"Overrun. The station commander's dead, and Cerberus is holed up in the control room."

"Right..."

The hastatim seemed deep in thought, as his two squadmates – and Darix's marines, for that matter – looked to him for direction.

"Got it," he muttered, finally. "Cerberus will want to hold the control room at all costs – block communications, monitor resistance... My squad will punch that way, and with any luck that should draw more troops away from the garrison. Once the path's clear, you take your men round to free those survivors."

"Understood," Darix nodded. "My men could do with a few minutes' rest. Are you sure you won't need backup?"

"We'll be fine," Kamur asserted, although Zel was a bit less sure...

The lieutenant relented at that, and nodded acceptingly. With a quick wave to his squadmates, Kamur set up off up the corridor, as Zel grabbed up her own rifle and followed. As they departed, a few last words from the lieutenant drifted down the corridor:

"Spirits guide you, hastatim..."


	75. Operation Silverback Part 3

_**SSV Cambrai, Aephus**_

_**Day 1, 1235**_

"Alright, Murphy, give me the brief."

The CIC was a hive of activity. Flight and gunnery officers were scrambling to get the ship ready for a fight, as they plunged through the Aephus skyline. A few moments prior, the ship had descended into the planet's atmosphere, deactivating kinetic barriers on the way, and the crew were now trying to make up for the lack of shielding, even as they readied the Cambrai's weapons.

Stood at the galaxy map, which had now been converted to show a wide, holographic display of the battlefield, Colonel Hunter and Captain Murphy were assessing the ground teams – who was on them, where they were, and what they were doing.

"Kamur took Manado and Gazix for Alpha – he said the turian marines would react better to turian reinforcements, that's why the squad's so small. The shuttle dropped them off safely, but we've had no word since."

"Got it. What about Bravo and Charlie?"

"Bravo is under Saffiya. She took a biotic company, said she knew how to command biotics better than soldiers. Aside from the justicar, Bravo has the three asari commandoes – D'Taran, T'Rel and Rafea – and two human biotics, Thorne and Colburn."

"And Charlie?" Hunter repeated.

"Well, Saffiya took the biotics, so Yui took the heavies. The other two krogan – Urdnot Dax and Uthar Vresh, and Kyra Tabris – Vresh wouldn't go without her. He also took that vorcha, Lisk, Vanyali and Araya. They've deployed in the urban district, just like Bravo."

"What about our reinforcements, Delta?"

"Rilum's team is still in the shuttle, they're waiting for one of the other squads to call for support so they can deploy where they're most needed. It's a light team, I think the salarian likes to move fast – he's taken Mac'Tir, and two human operatives, Ethan Cash and Zeke Ryder. Dr O'Leiph went with them too, as a combat medic."

"And that just leaves the two of us and Andersen onboard?"

"Well, Kan'Sura too, but he's in the med bay, combat ineffective."

"Alright... Tell Bravo and Charlie to keep moving, and call for support from Delta if they run into trouble. Try and get some word from Alpha, too, find out what they're doing."

"Aye aye, colonel."

Just as Logan turned to leave, another voice addressed him, this time through the radio.

"Colonel!" came the now-familiar voice of the pilot, Solov. "Frigate in sight, get up here!"

It took Hunter less than twenty seconds to sprint up to the cockpit, and when he arrived, he found its two occupants in a state of frantic activity. Solov was barrelling the ship through the clouds, as Yurai sifted through what seemed to be half a dozen different data screens at his station.

"You've got the frigate?" Hunter murmured, tensely, as he entered.

"Twelve o'clock," Erika nodded, from the pilot's seat. "Idiots haven't looked out the window yet – I guess they're less vigilant because _they're _using stealth systems too. A quick word on tactics, and we can engage."

"Oh? What 'word' would this be?"

Here, the co-pilot Akito took over, swivelling around in his chair to face the colonel.

"According to the SR2 records, that frigate's bigger, faster and tougher than us. The Normandy SR2 was a prototype, so this one could be more... cost-effective" – he scowled at the phrase, apparently thinking cost shouldn't be a factor in ship design – "or it could improved. Either way, we can't take it in a straight-out fight."

"I beg to differ," the pilot scowled. "But Akito's _occasionally _right."

"So we let it go?" the colonel asked.

"Hell no," Solov interjected.

"We can do damage, don't get me wrong," her co-pilot added. "Just not enough to destroy it outright."

"So what's the alternative?"

"If we get in close, given the gap in thruster performance, variables of manoeuvrability, and the time it would take for them to deactivate stealth systems and find us... we'd have about two minutes before they got out of our firing line and flanked us. Three if Erika's having a good day."

"Three it is..." she muttered.

Akito carried on, ignoring her entirely. "That window should be enough to do some damage. The main gun's ineffective in this kind of situation, and our GARDIAN lasers are configured for long-range anti-fighter duty, not frigates. But their kinetic barriers are down, like ours. At this range, the Javelin arrays can really mess them up – we're close enough that their defensive lasers should only bring down one or two of our torpedoes before impact."

"So we hit them with torpedoes. Then what?"

"That's it. That's pretty much all we can do in the minutes we have. But if we aim our shots, hit the frigate's thrusters..."

"It drops out of the sky," Solov concluded.

"Forced landing," Hunter nodded, understandingly. "Once they're down, we can divert a ground team to board the ship. Nice work, you two..."

The two flight crew, it seemed, were unused to taking compliments. Or maybe they were _too _used to taking compliments. Either way, they merely shrugged them off and got to work, as the colonel took a seat at the radio desk on the other side of the cockpit, and began to speak throughout the ship once more.

"All hands, find a harness or a station and strap yourself in. We're going into combat manoeuvres in sixty seconds."

As he spoke, he was clipping himself into the radio officer's seat, as Solov fastened herself into the pilot's chair, and Akito settled into the navigator's station.

Sixty seconds later, with a great, swooping dive, the Cambrai dropped down onto the Cerberus frigate's tail. Almost immediately, the bigger ship veered left, and tried to spiral away from them, finally realising they were being pursued.

To the colonel's amazement, Solov was actually _laughing _as she pitched the Cambrai left, keeping the four thruster trails in sight at all times. Hunter could see them through the cockpit windows, cutting blue wounds through the sky as the two ships whirled and danced.

At one point, the Cerberus vessel lurched upwards, looping over and disappearing from view. For a moment, Logan thought they'd lost their chance, but to his surprise, Solov accelerated forwards, span the ship on a dime, and was waiting for the Cerberus frigate, rushing it head on, as it completed its loop-de-loop.

With the press of a button, a warning salvo was sent across their bow – two Javelin torpedoes were ejected from the left wing, ignited in the air, and shot straight into the other ship's nose. This "cold launching" system had a rather nice benefit, in that it stopped torpedoes detonating in their firing tubes and tearing half the wing off...

The nose of the Cerberus ship was trailing smoke now, but the salvo had done no real damage. Both ships swung around unceremoniously, and the chase resumed. Colonel Hunter felt rather helpless in his seat, watching the ship swirl around as it pursued the enemy vessel. He couldn't help admiring Solov, though – she had a masterful grasp of the ship's controls, and was tossing it around like a fighter as she clung to the other frigate's tail, all the while trying to line up the torpedoes on each wing for Akito to take his shot.

On the far panel, beside the navigator's head, Hunter was surprised to see the GARDIAN lasers were working at full pelt. Sure enough, as he squinted, little red pock-marks were appearing in the other frigate's tail. They seemed somewhat ineffective, however, and were perilously close to overheating...

"There! Fire!" Solov yelled, but as she did, the Cerberus ship jinked left, and her co-pilot swore as his momentary lock was lost.

Both ships rolled over, so that the colonel was looking _up _at the _ground_, colony rooftops whizzing dangerously close. The bigger Cerberus frigate pitched up... err, down... and away from the skyline, then span right-way up once more and dove downwards, swiftly followed by the spinning Cambrai. Those rooftops were getting even closer now, and the colonel, with no control over the situation, felt a rare sense of panic passing through his head.

"They're diving!" Akito shouted.

"_I know!_" Erika roared back. "They're playing chicken!"

"Good strategy," the co-pilot muttered, apparently processing the situation very fast, and jabbering like a salarian. "Win-win situation. We pull up first, they escape, shoot us down. They pull up first, we crash, very messy..."

"What do we do, then?" Hunter yelled in frustration. It really was annoying, sitting here doing nothing...

"Cheat!" the pilot snarled back. She had pulled the ship up directly behind the Cerberus vessel, and the blue flare of the thrusters appeared to be _cooking _the cockpit windows, but the other ship had no room to manoeuvre without bottling out of their dive...

Suddenly catching on, Yurai hammered frantically on his control panel, drew up a dozen different readouts, then slammed his fist against the one in the middle. With a metallic _whoosh_, a dozen torpedo tubes emptied on either side of their heads, and the Cambrai's entire stock of Javelins was hurled into the few feet between them and the enemy frigate.

The torpedoes hadn't even ignited before Solov hit the brakes – flaps on both wings sprang open, and the ship decelerated rapidly, hurling the colonel sideways in his seat. The Cerberus frigate pulled away faster than he could register, but seconds later, the torpedoes ignited, and closed the gap in a matter of moments. At that close range, the GARDIAN lasers, even firing at the speed of light, didn't have time to turn around, let alone knock any of the projectiles out of the air, and every one of them reached their target.

A haze of blue light filled the air as two dozen mass effect fields, blooming around each torpedo's impact, ripped into the frigate's tail. Thruster four was torn clean away, taking a chunk of the right wing with it. Thrusters one and three were reduced to trailing scrap metal, and thruster two was blazing feebly, unable to keep the ship airborne on its own.

With a great scream of groaning metal, the Cerberus frigate rolled slightly, twisted to the left, and dropped in a cloud of smoke. Her pilot was just skilled enough to keep the descent graceful, but keeping the vessel airborne was impossible – it swept downwards, closer and closer to the colony rooftops, before finally ploughing into a cluster of apartment buildings. Great plumes of dust and dirt were thrown into air along with fragments of steel debris, as the ship skidded across the ground, finally coming to a stop amidst the ruined buildings.

The colonel didn't like to think how many people had been killed as the ship hit the apartments – strangely, he actually hoped Cerberus had wiped out the occupants already. That way, it wasn't _their_ fault...

Either way, though, it could have been worse. They had at least managed to bring the ship down, and the mass effect core hadn't detonated, which was a small mercy. Before he could think any further about it, he was interrupted by a cry over the radio:

"Colonel, what in the goddess' name did you just do?" the voice yelled – it was the justicar, Saffiya.

"We brought down a Cerberus frigate," he replied, panting slightly as the adrenaline of the chase faded. "Engines are gone, but she's intact. Are you or Charlie nearby?"

"We're closer," Saffiya muttered. "Charlie stayed back to secure a chokepoint – turian civilians are holed up in a hospital, Yui took his team to help."

"Understood," Hunter said, considering his options. "Get your team to the crash site. Search for survivors."

"Civilians, or Cerberus?"

"Both. If you find any civilians still alive, get them out of there. If you find Cerberus... well, you know what to do..."


	76. Operation Silverback Part 4

_**Typhon Colony North, Aephus**_

_**Day 1, 1300**_

"Everyone, to me!" Saffiya yelled, and her five fellow biotics appeared out of the ruined buildings they were occupying. There was no sign of Cerberus for now, besides the half-dozen shattered bodies at the far end of the street.

"Any answers?" Thorne muttered, shortly. They had all seen the unknown _thing_ crash into the apartment building, but Saffiya had yet to tell the others what it was – she'd only gotten off the radio a moment or two before.

"It's a ship," she replied, and several of her squadmates showed masks of surprise. "The Cambrai just brought down a Cerberus frigate. Colonel Hunter wants us to go and check the wreck for survivors."

"No sign of hostiles here," the human vanguard, Colburn grunted. "Should we move now, before they send more?"

"Yes..." the justicar nodded. "Push north to the wreck!"

The rest of her team moved off without a word. In hindsight, she had picked well – at the time, she had just been looking for the most combat-able biotics on the Cambrai, but as it happened, she had also chosen a squad worthy of the best asari commandoes. True, three of them _were _asari commandoes, but even the two humans knew how to shut up and get the job done...

They headed north at a good running pace, and it took less than five minutes to reach the crash zone. As they neared it, the ground moved from smooth road to a surface littered with steel and concrete, debris from the fallen tower blocks. The air, which had already been overcast, was now thick with ash and smoke.

As the squad crested the hill of debris around the crash site, they found the steel hulk of the frigate buried nose-down in the rubble. The remaining engines were giving off futile puffs of smoke and bursts of sparks, and the hull had been scarred deeply – above one of these scars, the name _"High Hope" _was emblazoned in great white letters.

"I see civilians," Aeryn T'Rel whispered. Sure enough, as she squinted into one of the ruined apartment buildings, the justicar could see angular turian forms, lying dead along with a few white and gold-armoured Cerberus troopers.

"No life signs in the buildings," muttered one of the other commandoes, Maelar, scanning the ruins with her omni-tool. "I'm getting interference from the ship, though."

"Radiation shielding might be blocking your scans," Thorne volunteered. "Anything on radar?"

"Nothing," the commando replied, then corrected herself, "wait, signals! Over that way!"

She was waving, not at the ship, but back to the south, towards the sprawling colony buildings. The six biotics all crouched a little lower and grabbed their weapons, but the figures now emerging over the ridge definitely weren't Cerberus troopers... Even as she peered down her pistol's sights, Saffiya could see a mix of red and silver armour, and tall, plated forms...

"Turians," the justicar sighed. "Weapons down, we don't want to give them the wrong idea."

She lowered her pistol, and around her, her squad did the same, straightening up and looking towards the turians. The frigate was still a few hundred feet away across the rubble, but they moved steadily away from it – personally, Saffiya didn't want to leave her flank open to any surviving Cerberus troopers while they were talking with the turians.

At a wave of her hand, Thorne stepped up, and shouted across to the approaching party with the pre-arranged signal.

"Three-fourteen!" he yelled.

There was a pause.

"Come on, damn it, say the counter-sign," Colburn mumbled, under his breath.

Finally, the turian cry came back:

"Shanxi!"

It occurred to the justicar for the first time that this sign and counter-sign had been set up between a _human _ship and _turian _marines, and referred to a bloody war between the two. That was either _extremely _inflammatory, or a mark that the two species had progressed a long way since...

With both parties lowering their weapons, Saffiya's squad quickly scrabbled over the rubble to meet the turians. They were a rather motley collection, a dozen in number, made up of four turian marines – identifiable by their combat armour and military-grade weapons – and a cluster of civilians, all bearing small arms, and some wearing light armour of the kind available in most colonial marketplaces. Their apparent leader, the one who had yelled the counter-sign, was a tall, thin soldier in crimson armour.

"Sergeant Marat," he introduced himself, as they approached. "Aephus First. You're from the Cambrai?"

"How did you guess?" Thorne laughed, sarcastically.

"What are you doing here, sergeant?" Saffiya interjected, ignoring Thorne.

"We saw the ship go down," he replied. "Figured we'd move up here and search for survivors."

They took another look down at the High Hope, and from this angle, slightly higher and towards the ship's side, rather than its tail, Saffiya realised that the nose wasn't buried _down _in the earth, but in the side of an apartment building. The rest of the ship was completely horizontal, and a hollow in the rubble left the cargo ramp visible. All in all, the damage looked far less serious from here – the tail end had been ruined, and the cockpit was probably smashed up, but the mid-section was almost completely intact, save for the two torpedo scars on the upper deck.

"How's your squad?" she continued.

"Good, considering. A few of the civilians have lost family, they're pretty shaken up, but they're alive at least, and they can fight. We'll need to –"

Exactly _what _they would 'need to', Saffiya never found out. Their conversation was interrupted by the crackle of gunfire, as at Marat's flank, a marine's head exploded. Instantly, the two squads wheeled around to face the ship, and Saffiya was stunned to see Cerberus troopers staggering down the cargo ramp, taking shots at them. Another volley whistled upwards, and two of the turian civilians went down in bloody heaps.

The biotic squad responded viciously, hammering the cargo ramp with biotic missiles and bullets, and killing the three troopers who had appeared there almost instantly. More replaced them, however, and two of those 'Guardian' soldiers traipsed forward, holding shields aloft. Colburn ripped one of the shields out of their hands with a burst of biotics, but there were more than half a dozen troopers now filling the cargo ramp, and more replacing them every second...

Another turian civilian went down, even as Marat tried to get his squad to cover. Saffiya was firing furiously down at the Cerberus troops, when she saw a bulky, slow-moving form march into the midst of the other troops – it was one of the Centurion leaders she had seen on Benning.

The Centurion went for its gun, aiming upwards, but – was it just the justicar's imagination, or was his aim off? His rifle was pointing over their heads, and he wasn't simply scattering bullets in their direction like the troopers...

With a dull _clunk_, he fired, and she realised. A steel canister whistled through the air, arced over their heads, and exploded into a cloud of smoke and gas behind them. Saffiya dropped to her knees, and she wasn't quite sure why... It was only a smokescreen, after all...

Too late, she realised that this wasn't the thick, grey smoke the Centurions had engulfed her team in on Benning. It was pale, almost translucent, which made it useless for screening, and there was an oily tinge to it as it hung in the air... Comprehension only hit her as her lungs began to burn...

"Nerve gas!" she screamed, hoping _someone_ could hear. For possibly the first time in all her service with the Cambrai, she was _scared_. Not because they were under attack, nor because her veins felt like they were full of flames, but because she knew this was a _non-lethal_ weapon. It would incapacitate them, and... then what?

Desperately trying to avoid taking another breath, an idea finally struck the justicar, and she began to scrabble in the dirt, pulling the rubble apart in front of her. She pounded the floor with a biotic fist, deepening the hole, and working frantically against the scorching heat filling her body. As she was forced to take another breath, inhaling another mouthful of blistering fire, the edges of her vision were going dark... She managed to grab one of the emergency beacons from her waist, and cram it into the little hollow she had dug before triggering it, then covering it over with dirt and debris.

With the beacon in place, she felt a surge of relief – and an accompanying surge of sheer pain. She coughed, and saw blood spatter out of her mouth onto the ground. Her legs had gone numb with the pain, and her arms were heavy, refusing to move...

Finally, her vision blackened completely, her body fell limp, and she collapsed in the rubble.


	77. Operation Silverback Part 5

_**Typhon Colony East, Aephus**_

_**Day 1, 1315**_

"Alpha, this is Cambrai, do you copy?"

"We hear you!"

"Finally! Why weren't you responding?"

"We're... a little busy down here, colonel!"

_That _was an understatement. As Kamur yelled into the radio, Zel was on the opposite side of the corridor, putting down two troopers with a flare of biotics. The two of them were taking cover in the little alcoves along the side of the corridor, furiously fighting against the troopers barricading the control station. At the same time, Gazix was occupying another alcove behind them, fending off the _second _wave of troopers attempting to hit their backs.

"Whose _stupid _idea was it to draw them off?" Zel screamed at him, leaning around the corner to kill three more charging troopers with a biotic bomb-blast.

"Nothing we can do about it now," Kamur growled, "so just _get on with it!_"

As he spoke, he was twisting out of cover, spraying the corridor with Phaeston rounds. At the far end, the Cerberus troopers had fashioned a rough barricade from two control room desks and a few portable cover modules, and soldier after soldier was jumping _over _said barricade to charge at the attackers. Kamur vaporised another two with a grenade, and the corridor was left empty for a moment.

The two of them used that moment to turn around and help Gazix – a concerted volley of fire brought down half a dozen of the troopers advancing towards their flank, thinning their ranks considerably before more began to pour over the barricade – spirits, how many of them were there?

"Cambrai, any air support down here?" the hastatim called, desperately.

"Negative," came the reply. "Fighters have taken out all turian air support, and Delta's shuttle barely managed to evade them."

Silence followed, save for the cracks of more shots against the steel walls. A quick peek around the corner showed four men at the barricade, holed up but not advancing. As she looked across to Kamur, Zel noticed he was biting his lower lip in thought. That wasn't good...

"Only four..." he murmured. "We can take that, surely?"

"You have _got _to be kidding me."

"What, you want to sit here until we run out of ammo?"

"I..." Zel hesitated. Charging them? It was nuts. That said, they didn't have many other plans. "Okay."

"On three! One, two... three!"

Kamur bolted around the corner first, and he had swapped his Phaeston for an Eviscerator shotgun, with a rather lethal-looking bayonet attached. A second later, Zel followed, spinning out of cover and sprinting off at his heel.

There was a true sense of panic amongst the troopers behind the barricade. They exhausted every round they had, firing wildly at the approaching figures. In a way that was good - the more desperately they tried to kill the two turians, the worse their accuracy became. A few rounds crackled against Kamur's shields, and one bounced away from her barrier, but Zel was astonished to realise they were going to make it...

When they were a few feet from the barricade, the hastatim sped up, let out a visceral war cry, and to Zel's amazement, hurled his shotgun at the nearest trooper like a spear. The bayonet stuck fast in the man's chest, and he fell back with a gurgle, before Kamur vaulted over the barricade-desk, an omni-blade blooming into life on each wrist. He slashed right, severing one trooper's throat, then stabbed left, impaling another. As Zel leapt, planting her foot on the top of the barricade and using it like a springboard, he reached over to the bayoneted man, grabbed the handle of his shotgun, and pulled the trigger, _blowing _the man off the end of the blade with a blast of buckshot.

The fourth turned and cracked Kamur over the back of the head with the butt of his rifle, but an instant later he found Zel crashing down on top of him with a distinct lack of grace. She pinned the trooper to the floor as soon as she could tell which way was up, and dispatched him with a quick biotic punch to the head.

"Gazix!" the other turian roared, stepping towards the barricade. "We're in, get over here!"

Obligingly, the other turian soldier stood and backed up towards them, still picking off advancing troopers as he did, aided by his two companions. After a minute's firing and falling back, he reached them, turned, and hopped lightly over the barricade.

"I'll hold this position," Gazix muttered, sensibly. "You two hit the control room."

With a brief nod, Kamur clapped the other soldier on the back, plucked his rifle from his shoulder, and began to march towards the end of the corridor, with Zel at his heels.

"Radar says there are five contacts inside," Kamur whispered – somehow, the guards in the control room had yet to come and investigate the noise at the barricade. Or maybe they just didn't have enough men to respond... Either way, the hastatim was showing her a radar display on his omni-tool as they got closer and closer to the door. "Two on either side of the door – guards, I think – and three more on the far side, by the controls. I'll go first and take out the guards. You get the rest."

Zel nodded obediently, but didn't speak. There was nothing to say, after all... There was something else, though, something unspoken in the silence that she couldn't quite put her finger on...

Her musings were cut short as they reached the door. Kamur had rejected his rifle, slipping it back onto his shoulder and readying his omni-blades instead. As they got within a foot of the control room door, the mechanism gave a little pneumatic _hiss_, and the steel door slid sideways.

One of the two door guards span out as the door opened – he tried to take a shot with his rifle, but Kamur cleaved the thing in two with a whirling strike of his omni-blades, then span around and drove the right one into the troopers skull. The second went at him with a shock baton while the first was still impaled on his fist – the hastatim wheeled around, slicing the shock baton in two with his left blade, then cut the man's throat with it. It was a swift and brutal display, and in the space of ten seconds, both guards had been reduced to bloody corpses.

As Kamur reached for his rifle, Zel stepped over the bodies and raised her own. The three other contacts had all frozen on the far side of the room. They weren't armoured troopers – they appeared to be techs, dressed only in crew uniform, and apparently unarmed.

"Step away from the consoles!" Zel shouted, as confidently as she could manage – she didn't have the hastatim's drillmaster bellow, but the three techs stepped back nonetheless, moving nervously into the centre of the room. Once they were there, she lowered her rifle, and whispered to Kamur, "We should restrain them. We can take them back to the Cambrai for interrogation."

"No," the hastatim muttered, firmly, and quite to her surprise. "We put them down, now."

He tried to move past her, still clutching his rifle, but Zel grabbed him by the shoulder and span him around in a weird dance. Suddenly, there was fire in the hastatim's eyes, but she kept a resolute grasp on him, and stared him down.

"You really want to kill a bunch of unarmed techs?" she hissed.

"You don't _know _they're unarmed," he argued. "And they're still Cerberus! You saw what Bowman had in his jaw, that bloody flashbang! We could take them on the ship, and they could blow themselves up, take their guards with them!"

"_Or,_" she snarled, surprising herself by her own tone of dissent, "we could show them what Cerberus is really like and they might join us! You heard what Murphy said about those defectors on Arrae..."

"You are _so _naïve," the hastatim snapped. "Just because they're in civvies they're innocent victims? Wake up, wake the _hell _up! They're still Cerberus, and they still attacked this colony!"

"Why are you so intent on killing them?" Zel shouted, suddenly far angrier than she'd realised. "We could at least get information from them, but _no_, you just want to spill more blood! Why am I even _listening_ to you? You're a hastatim! You're a _fucking _executioner!"

Quite to everyone's surprise, the f-word was punctuated with a fierce blast of biotics, which knocked Kamur clean off his feet and to the floor. Zel was heaving, panting with fury. She wasn't sure where the swearing had come from, or the biotics, all she knew was that quite suddenly, she wanted to pummel her superior for his bloodlust...

"So that's how it is..." Kamur growled, picking himself up and grabbing his rifle. "That's what this is all about..."

It was Zel's turn to be surprised now, as the big soldier stormed over to her, grabbed her by the scruff of her neck, and picked her up a few inches off the floor. Her rifle clattered down at her feet, and a bolt of panic sent biotics surging to her fingertips.

"You want to know why I'm in charge?" he roared. "Why you're meant to be listening to me? It's because I've been at this longer than you, I've killed more men than you ever will, and I don't shy away from killing someone just because they're not holding a gun to my head! It's because I notice things that green soldiers like you don't!"

"Like what?" she spat, rather bravely for someone being held up by her neck.

"Like the fact that your 'unarmed tech' is going for a gun..."

That seemed to take the tech by surprise as much as it did Zel. Behind her head, the man froze with his hand half-way to his boot, where the bulge of a little concealed pistol was visible - not that Zel could see it, suspended in the air and facing the other way.

A moment later, everything was chaos. Kamur threw her unceremoniously to the floor and went for his gun as the tech did the same – the Cerberus agent, with a head start, grabbed the pistol from his boot and fired once...

The shot did nothing. Worse than nothing, actually, because it pissed the hastatim off. The single round bounced off his shields, and then he opened fire, shooting from the hip with his rifle. _Bang, bang, bang – _the first three rounds pulverised the tech with the gun, hitting him in the knee, the gut, and finally the head. His corpse gave in to gravity and tumbled down, as his two colleagues made vain attempts to grab their own weapons from concealed holsters.

They failed. A single bullet to the head killed each, and they dropped to the floor.

"Cambrai, this is Alpha," Kamur muttered into the radio, almost immediately. "We have the control room. There's still an enemy presence on the shipyard, but _we _have control. I repeat, we have the control room..."

"That's good news, Alpha," came the reply – Captain Murphy, as far as Zel could discern at this distance. "Lock down your position and hold the area."

"Copy that, Cambrai," the hastatim nodded. "One thing – have you got a shuttle free?"

_Odd question_, Zel thought...

"Yes, we have," Murphy replied, uncertainly. "Shuttle two is on standby."

"Send it down. Operative Manado is returning to the ship."

"Err... understood."

The radio fell silent once more, and Zel glared in her fellow turian's direction.

"What was that for?" she snapped, angrily.

"You don't want to listen me?" Kamur scowled, "Fine. I don't want you watching my back."

The hastatim didn't say another word to her. He turned on his heel, and left to check on Gazix at the barricade. Zel was left alone, on the floor in the middle of the room, glaring at his retreating form...


	78. Operation Silverback Part 6

_****_**A/N: Right, I've had half a dozen different requests for some kind of database of all the operatives, for readers' reference, and I'm pleased to announce I've started compiling one! The first four dossiers are uploaded in a companion story, "The Cambrai Files", so check out my profile for the story, and tell me what you think!**

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><p><em><strong>SSV Cambrai, Aephus<strong>_

_**Day 1, 1335**_

"Status report, Murphy."

"Not good, colonel... Really not good at all."

"Just give me the damn report, Zachary..."

"Alpha has a foothold on the shipyard," the captain began, reluctantly. "And Kamur tells me the turian marines are still fighting. Something happened down there, though – he's sending Manado back, and she's not wounded..."

"When she gets back, go and talk to her," the colonel instructed. Then, he continued, "What about the other teams?"

"Charlie's dug in at a turian hospital. They're aiding the civilian resistance. Best I can tell, they're doing fine, but if those cruisers get into range, they'll turn the buildings into dust..."

Both men were well aware of the two Cerberus cruisers in high orbit. Both knew that if they descended on the colony, things would go from bad to worse.

"What about Bravo?" Hunter persisted. "And Delta?"

"Delta... ah, this is where it gets complicated, sir."

"Shoot."

"Bravo's gone missing."

"They... what? _Missing?_"

"Yes sir... They went silent just after we sent them to recon that frigate, and we haven't heard anything from them since. Delta flew over in the shuttle, but there was no sign of them. Delta's meant to be deploying to support Charlie at the hospital, but Rilum requested permission to go and recon the frigate, try to find Bravo."

"What did Charlie have to say about that?"

"Yui agreed. He said his men could hold out indefinitely, but that might just be krogan bluster..."

"Damn it," the colonel growled, scratching his head in indecision. After a moment's pause, he opened up the comms, and began to hail the cockpit. "Solov? What's the status on those two cruisers? Are we going to have a problem?"

"Not yet," the pilot replied. "There's a _big _lightning storm rolling in..."

"And?"

"_And,_" the co-pilot Akito answered for her. "That puts a spanner in the works – for us _and _Cerberus. Our ground forces are going to be fighting in storm conditions, but then, so are theirs, and _our _men are dug into sheltered buildings. It also means the colony's a no-fly zone until the storm passes – we can't go down and provide support, and our shuttle will have to pull out if they haven't deployed in the next ten minutes, but it puts their fighter support out of play..."

"What about the _cruisers?_" Colonel Hunter persisted, impatiently.

"I'm getting there! The cruisers can't land on planets with this kind of gravity anyway, but they could have moved into low orbit to provide artillery support."

"Could have?"

"Yeah, the lightning storm ruins that plan. If they came down to cloud level, with their barriers discharged for re-entry, the storm would tear into their hull. As it is, they'll have to maintain high orbit. They can still deploy troops and hit the ground with their cannons, but I doubt they'll be able to shoot straight when the clouds roll in, and their shuttles will have to go in blind – with electrical discharge and low visibility, the odds of making it to landing in one piece would be slim."

"So basically, once the storm rolls in, that's it? Neither side can interfere from orbit?"

"Precisely. Whatever troops we have on the ground, we have to make do with, until the storm moves on."

"And how long will that take?"

"I don't know, I'm not a weatherman! A few hours, maybe more?"

"Right..."

The colonel paused, then closed his channel to the cockpit, and turned back to the galaxy map, still displaying that holographic diorama of the colony.

"Murphy," he muttered, finally. "Tell Rilum he's got the green light to go searching for Bravo. Recommend he starts at the frigate's crash site. After that, tell Alpha and Charlie to dig in and gather as much of the local resistance as they can – if those cruisers can't bomb them out of their holes, then this is a ground war..."

"Aye aye, sir," the captain nodded. He moved off towards one of the empty comm terminals around the side of the CIC, but hesitated, as an apparent thought came to mind. "Sir, what are _we _going to do?"

"Not a lot we _can _do, by the sounds of it," Logan replied, wearily. "Once both shuttles are back aboard, we'll retreat into orbit and try to request turian air support..."

Murphy nodded once more, saluted, and strode off across the CIC, as Colonel Hunter set off slowly towards the elevator. He needed to get to his quarters. He need to sit down. He needed to stop comparing this mission to Benning, too...


	79. Operation Silverback Part 7

_**Typhon Colony East, Aephus**_

_**Day 1, 1345**_

"Shuttle's clear," Lynus Rilum muttered, snatching up his gun – a modified Locust SMG – once more. Sure enough, the blue-painted craft was soaring back over the skyline as he spoke, leaving the salarian's squad alone in the streets below.

Lynus took the chance to do another quick headcount, and examine his squad. In general, they were a green mixture... The drell Mac'Tir had seen action before, and Rilum knew he was a particularly fearsome fighter. The other three members of the squad, however, like himself, were on their first mission from the Cambrai. The salarian knew _he _had experience, from his time with STG, but he couldn't speak for the others.

That said, the two humans looked like they could hold a fight. Ethan Cash was a sentinel, and though he was jocular and a little less focused than Rilum would have liked, he had a good enough service record. The other man, Zeke Ryder, was an infiltrator... His record was okay, good enough for Rilum to bring him along, but the salarian had his professional doubts – the man was a mercenary, for a start, and he appeared to be completely blind in one eye...

The last member of the party was the one who worried Rilum most. The asari doctor, O'Leiph. He had chosen the other three, but the medic had been _assigned _to him, in case anyone on the other teams was wounded. Again, the dossiers had assured him that she was highly proficient, a former commando and an expert with both biotics and chemical weapons. She was very sparsely armoured, though, barely wearing more than a lab coat, and he was fairly sure her form would be... distracting... to other species. All in all, she was somewhat unpredictable, from a tactical point of view.

He had chosen them however, and they had potential, so he would have to make do. At the very least, he knew all four of his squad could fire a gun. That was better than some wretched science teams he'd served with...

"The crash site is to the north," he called. "Everyone, on me!"

They set off at a brisk jog, passing through the abandoned streets. Resistance was worryingly low – turian civilian populations were notoriously violent when under attack, so why weren't they seeing militiamen? Either they had moved off to find targets – there were no Cerberus troops to be seen on this road – or they were already dead... Personally, he was hoping for the former. Professionally, the latter – militia fighters were reckless, angry, and would only complicate matters... He didn't want them to be _dead_, per se, he just didn't want them to get in their way...

"Troopers!" Mac'Tir hissed, breaking the salarian captain out of his musings. "On the left, storefront!"

Sure enough, as they looked over, two Cerberus troopers in that distinctive white-and-gold armour were stood just inside the bombed-out window of a shop. They had their backs to the road, and didn't hear the footfalls of the approaching operatives as Rilum ushered them across the street.

With a quick wave of his hand, the salarian sent Cash and Mac'Tir advancing towards the store. They took quiet, careful steps over the lower precipice of the window, and snuck toward the two troopers, who were still blissfully unaware of their presence. The drell had drawn his sword, and the human sentinel had produced a pair of omni-blades.

"Take them," Lynus whispered, through the radio.

In perfect harmony, the two operatives lunged forwards. Cash reached up with both blades, crossed them around the right-hand trooper's neck, and drew them harshly back across the man's throat, killing him instantly. To the left, the other trooper attempted to scream at his colleague's death, but Mac'Tir crushed his windpipe with a palm strike, fixed a strong arm around his neck, and sliced his jugular clean open. In the space of twenty seconds, both men had been dropped to the floor with bloodied throats. Maybe this squad wasn't _so _bad...

"Keep moving," the salarian muttered, beckoning for the squad to continue onwards.

Once more, they set off up the road at a good pace, carefully scanning the buildings on either side for any sign of an ambush.

There was no ambush, however, and they proceeded uninterrupted for at least ten minutes, traipsing through the dust and rubble-strewn streets until finally, gratefully, they reached the great crater that marked the frigate's crash site.

"Anything on radar?" Lynus inquired.

"Nothing," came Ryder's reply. "Lots of interference from the ship, there might be contacts inside."

"Stay clear of it, then-"

"Over there," Dr O'Leiph interrupted. "Bodies. There's an emergency beacon next to them, too..."

She was pointing over to a cluster of turian corpses, one of many scattered around the area. The others, however, seemed sceptical.

"There are _lots _of bodies," Cash scowled. "Take your pick."

"Do all of them have bullet wounds?" the asari replied, simply.

The salarian had to marvel at her abilities. Whether it was good eyesight or medical training, she was _right_. The others only saw it as they approached, but the three turian bodies she had pointed out were all marred by bullet wounds.

"Wait!" she cried, as they drew closer, and as one the squad stopped, confused. "There's a residue in the air..."

"Explosives?" Ryder asked, curiously. The asari was advancing ahead of them, still scanning the air with her omni-tool.

"No..."

Finally, O'Leiph reached the bodies. Rather strangely, she _sniffed _the air, and immediately she recoiled, coughing bitterly and spitting up what the salarian really hoped _wasn't _a wad of blood.

"Nerve gas," she choked, hurrying away from the bodies while still bent double, hacking and coughing.

"I think we know what happened to Bravo, then..." Lynus sighed. "Are you alright, doctor?"

"Yeah... I'll be fine. Mild dose of atropine when I get back to the ship and I'll be good as new. But, Rilum?"

"Yes?"

"Our squad's still alive."

"_What?_"

"Well, I don't _see _any bodies. That nerve agent isn't lethal, either, and I'll bet a thousand credits that the blood on the ground is just turian..."

"You're on," Cash joked, pulling up his omni-tool. A moment later, however, his face broke into a deep scowl. "Damn it." No-one else had been stupid enough to take the bet on – quite apart from the doctor's impressive medical knowledge, the blood on the floor was _blue_, something Cash probably should have noticed.

"Told you," Ria laughed, weakly. The brief exposure seemed to have torn the breath out of her, so Rilum dreaded to think what prolonged exposure would have done to Bravo team...

"Then _where are they?_" the salarian scowled.

"I think we both know the answer to that..."

Quite suddenly, and yet quite inevitably, all five operatives turned, and looked towards the grounded ship in the crater below...


	80. Operation Silverback Part 8

_**Typhon Colony North, Aephus**_

_**Day 1, 1410**_

"Cambrai, this is Delta. Do you read me?"

"What is it, Lynus?"

"Captain, I need an infiltration route for an SR2 Cerberus frigate..."

"Right. Why?"

"Does it matter?"

"_Yes_, it's hardly a common request, is it?"

Rilum sighed. Murphy could be infuriatingly curious, sometimes...

"Dr O'Leiph found signs of non-lethal attack at Bravo's last known location," he explained, impatiently. "We think they've captured the team and taken them onboard the frigate."

"Alright... what's wrong with using the door?"

"Firstly, we need to enter undetected, or they might kill the survivors. Secondly, the bridge airlock is buried three deep in the side of a tower block," the salarian scowled.

"Cargo ramp?"

"Sealed shut from the inside."

"Damn it... Akito! Have you still got those blueprints open?"

Delta team couldn't hear the co-pilot's reply, but after a minute or two of silence, Murphy returned over the radio.

"We've got an entrance," Murphy muttered. "But it's tricky."

"Better than nothing," Rilum replied. "What is it?"

"Maintenance hatch. According to the SR2 records, there's one on the lower side of the mid-section, near the thermal vents. It lets engineers check the SR2's enlarged heat exchangers, and the maintenance tunnel can act as an emergency vent itself."

"So they could cook us alive in there?"

"_No... _For a start, there's no heat to discharge, they aren't in flight."

"You'd better be right about this, captain..." the salarian murmured. Then, he turned to his squad, "Everyone, follow me! We don't have much time!"

To their credit, they followed him unquestioningly as he scrabbled down the rubble, swapping his sub-machinegun for his omni-tool, and tried to spot the maintenance hatch. As they drew closer he saw, just as Murphy had described, a small metal door on the ship's underbelly, decorated with a few warning notices about safety, decompression, and "operating in motion".

"_That's _our entrance?" Ryder scowled, as the squad gathered around him. The mercenary was right to have its doubts – the hatch was only about a metre square in size. For the rest of the squad, that wasn't so much of a problem. Rilum was bulky, for a salarian, but that was still thin by any other species' standards, and the drell and asari were similarly lithe. Cash, meanwhile, was under five and a half feet, rather short for a human male, which would make his progress easier. All in all, then, Ryder was the only one who was likely to have problems in the ducts...

"It's the only way in," Rilum sighed. "If you want to wait out here..."

The human merc bit his lip. "No," he said, finally. "Just let me go last. That way I won't hold anyone else up if I get stuck."

The salarian nodded wordlessly and turned to the hatch, powering up his omni-tool. It took just a few moments to break the electronic lock – the kinetic barriers, he supposed, should have been the main protection, but they were offline – and he clambered up without a backwards glance, scrambling into the small, steel passageway on his hands and knees.

"It's alright in here," he muttered. "A bit hot, but alright..."

Lynus moved forward slightly, allowing his team space to follow him in, and sure enough, a series of metallic _clunk_s signalled the entry of each of his companions. There wasn't much room to move his head, but he managed to twist his neck just enough to see a glimpse of the figures at his back – Dr O'Leiph was right behind him, followed by Cash, Mac'Tir, and finally Ryder.

"Everyone in?" the salarian called.

"Yes!" Ryder grunted, impatiently. "Just get moving, I'm getting crushed back here..."

Obligingly, Lynus set off at a fairly rapid crawl, trying to keep his motions quiet for fear of alerting any Cerberus troopers beside the ducts. Steadily, and still silently, the squad followed, as they wound deeper into the bowels of the ship.

They kept moving for at least five minutes – the ducts wound up and down, left and right, all the way through the ship, occasionally punctuated by another access hatch, or one of the vents, used to let air into the passageway for the benefit of engineers. On most other ships, these would have afforded them a snapshot of events on board, a chance to spy on the crew, but the Cerberus operatives seemed to operate in business-like silence, making that chance rather useless.

Finally, however, after what seemed like an age in the ducts, the salarian captain heard voices filtering up from below. He raised a hand in the cramped passageway, and his squadmates at his back stopped, as Rilum pressed his face to the grate on the floor in front of him.

"...in the cargo hold, captain. They're all awake," a Cerberus trooper was muttering. "Well. Two of the turians are dead. Choked on blood and vomit while they slept." The complete lack of empathy in the soldier's voice was disturbing...

"How many of them are there?" the apparent captain replied. He was a greying man in officer's dress, with a severe expression and a slightly less mechanical voice.

"Two humans, four asari, and three turians."

"Right... take me down to the hangar. I want to deal with them myself..."

With that, the two figures walked out of Rilum's tiny, window-like view, and an air of panic filled the cramped passage.

"That has to be them," Dr O'Leiph whispered, from behind him. "What do we do?"

"These are maintenance tunnels," the salarian considered. "They should be accessible from engineering or the hangar bay. Either's good. We follow them to the end, then head for the hangar."

A series of nods passed along the line – along with a bout of swearing from Cash, who had nodded his head straight into the ceiling – and they set off once more, at a much faster pace than before.

With urgency lending them speed, they reached the far end of the ducts in a matter of minutes – or maybe the aforementioned urgency just made it _feel _like a matter of minutes – and Rilum got to work on the access hatch, hacking this one open with ease too. He clambered out, crouching low to the floor, and took stock of their surroundings.

To his relief, the hatch had opened up into the frigate's hangar bay. It was a good deal larger than the Cambrai's, and a couple of shuttles, painted in Cerberus white and black, occupied the far end. The cargo ramp was up, sealing the hangar to the outside world, and the only illumination in the room filtered down from the enormous white lights on the ceiling.

The squad was emerging behind a cluster of cargo crates, which was a mercy in that it shielded them from the view of the troopers dotted around the room. With the briefest of glances, Rilum had counted at least a dozen, arrayed around the perimeter of the hangar bay. Thankfully, that perimeter didn't include the very edges of the room, in which his men were now hiding. Dr O'Leiph and Mac'Tir were either side of him, while Cash and Ryder were crouched behind another stack of crates a few metres away. All five of them had gone unnoticed...

Certain that he and his squad were out of sight, Rilum began to look for Bravo. It didn't take long to find them – the captives were all laid out in the middle of the room. Just as the trooper had said, two turian corpses lay at the edge of the room, but there were three very _live _turians in the centre – one marine, two civilians – accompanied by the more familiar faces from the Cambrai, the four asari and the two humans.

"All disarmed," he observed. "Biotic dampeners, too. Common thugs wouldn't have thought of that... Cerberus is smart."

"If you've quite finished flattering them," Mac'Tir interjected, drily. "What are we going to do?"

"We're going to-" Rilum began, but a moment later, his words were cut off by a resonating metallic _whir, _and the sound of a dozen troopers standing to attention.

On the far side of the hangar, the elevator doors had opened, and the grey-haired captain was walking out, with the trooper from before at his side, and a pistol in his hand.


	81. Operation Silverback Part 9

**A/N: Right, as I write this, I'm uploading a new chapter(s) to all four of my fics. What's the occasion? Well, from tomorrow, updates are going to be... opportunistic. I have two weeks of pretty damn vital exams coming up, so if I do manage to upload at all, it'll be fitted around exams and last-minute revision, so it probably won't be following the upload schedule. Here's how it stands for each of the four fics:**

**Defiant to the End - Still suffering from writer's block on this one, so updates are unlikely, as I have none in reserve after today's, Chapter 14.**

**Galaxy at War: N7 - I have a couple of chapters in reserve, and another half-written, so I will be uploading occasionally. Don't, however, expect the daily updates that have been maintained since the story's beginning. They'll resume once my exams are over, but until then, expect bigger gaps and fewer uploads.**

**The Cambrai Files - These are incredibly quick to write, and I have four in reserve, so these are the most likely to be uploaded, more as filler content for Galaxy at War than anything else.**

**Reconstruction - Again, I have several chapters in reserve, and my head is swimming with ideas for this one at the moment, so expect a few sporadic updates for Reconstruction, like Galaxy at War.**

**So, to all readers and reviewers - thank you for your support this far, and please, bear with me over the next two weeks. Once they're out of the way, normal service WILL be resumed...**

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><p><em><strong>Frigate "High Hope", Aephus<strong>_

_**Day 1, 1425**_

"New hostiles," Rilum murmured urgently, as the captain walked in. "Standard trooper, and a captain – no armour, heavy pistol."

"We _know_," Mac'Tir hissed, tensely. "We can see him too... What do we do?"

There was a moment's indecision in the salarian's mind. Once more, his personal and professional sides were clashing. The former wanted to rush in and save their colleagues. The latter wanted to hold back and stay hidden... The latter won.

"Hold fire," he ordered, quietly. "Preserve the element of surprise, but get your weapons ready."

He didn't need to tell them twice – his team was already assembling weapons. Across the way, Ryder had grabbed a Viper sniper rifle from his back, and Cash was checking the mods on a Shuriken machine pistol. On either side of him, Dr O'Leiph had also grabbed a Shuriken, and Mac'Tir was weighing his sword in one hand. Rilum himself reached for his Locust, applying "shredder" ammunition to the thing with a little _bleep_.

Across the hangar from them, the captain was advancing towards the captured soldiers.

"These are the off-world commandoes?" he inquired, approaching the asari and humans.

"Yes, Captain Covick, sir," muttered the trooper at his side. "This one seems to be the leader."

The justicar Saffiya was kicked forwards, all the while glaring fiercely at 'Covick'. To Rilum's side, Mac'Tir let out a little, almost inaudible growl.

"Interesting... a justicar, no less. Quite formidable willpower, if the stories are true. It will be fun to try and break her..."

The captain's drawl had nothing illicit in it – just pure, violent sadism, and it made Rilum sick to his core...

"The asari can provide us some sport," he murmured. "And we can take the two humans for processing" – Thorne snarled at him, as did Colburn – "as for the militia..."

As he spoke, he was pacing over towards the three turians. Two of them were unarmoured – civilians, most likely, one male, one female. The third, by contrast, was _heavily _armoured, in crimson plate, a hulking specimen of a marine who appeared to be of some rank. The captain skulked over to them – as ever followed by the trooper, who seemed to be his bodyguard – and was examining his pistol with bored disinterest.

Then, quite out of the blue, he levelled it at the head of one of the turians, and squeezed the trigger.

A resounding _bang _filled the hangar, echoing and reverberating off the walls, and the civilian slumped dead on the floor, as a pool of deep blue blood began to pour from his head. The other turian civilian was wide-eyed, and the turian marine was snarling like a wounded beast for all to hear.

With a sickeningly gleeful smile, Covick lurched forward again, booting the other civilian around the head – she toppled over, unable to stop herself with bound hands, and hit the floor with a crunch. The Cerberus captain loomed over her, aiming his gun at the civilian's head once more. He turned, staring hard into the turian captain's eyes for about twenty seconds, and then – _bang_.

Both civilians were lying in pools of blood, now, and Rilum half expected him to finish off the marine, too. To his surprise, however, Covick backed off, replacing the gun in his belt.

"Detain the commandoes," he drawled, boredly. "And bring the justicar up to me. As for him" – he stared hard at the turian leader – "let him savour it."

As Covick turned on his heel and left, his bodyguard paced amidst the captives – a vicious kick knocked the turian marine face-down into his compatriots' blood, and as he came behind Saffiya, he dealt her a savage blow to the back of the head with the butt of his rifle. The justicar slumped to the floor, but it took another blow to actually knock her out, stubborn as she was. Then, the bodyguard began to drag her from the room, and all was silent once more.

"Let me go after him," Mac'Tir snarled, through the silence. "I'll gut the bastard..."

"I..." Rilum began, uncertainly. It had been hard to watch civilians die, and his professional side was losing now. Before he could reply, however, events thrust the decision out of his hands.

The turian captain had been lying on the ground for a few moments before one of the troopers, apparently thinking he'd 'savoured it' enough, grabbed him by the back of his head and dragged him upright. He had one of those Hornet sub-machineguns Cerberus troopers seemed to favour, and was aiming it one-handed at the turian.

For once that day, however, Cerberus had been _very _stupid. The turian leader had been disarmed, of course, but unlike the biotic commandoes, his wrists hadn't been manacled together by hefty, steel biotic dampeners. They were tied only by a length of what seemed to be cabling. Even if it _was _designed to hold a prisoner, although Rilum highly doubted that, this was a Cerberus ship – any such equipment would be designed to restrain a human, not an irate turian, especially such a big specimen as the one know kneeling on the hangar floor...

Just as the Cerberus trooper settled his aim over the captive's head, the turian's claws, which had been frantically tearing at the wire for some time, finally broke the restraints. The marine exploded upwards with a howl of pain and fury, knocking the trooper clean off his feet.

Before any of the Cerberus operatives around the hall could react, the turian had broken the floored man's neck with a heel kick, and grabbed his sub-machinegun from the floor, scattering rounds at every white-armoured form he saw. The raptor-like eyes in the turian's skull glistened with hatred and desperate anger, even as rounds began to whistle back towards him from the surrounding troopers...

That, as far as Delta was concerned, was their cue. Rilum span around the corner, putting down the nearest two troopers with his Locust, just as Dr O'Leiph shattered a third with her biotics. To the left, Ryder was picking off yet more with his sniper rifle.

"Cash! Ryder!" the salarian yelled. "Break them out!"

The two humans knew exactly what he meant – they broke from cover simultaneously, with the sentinel Cash powering up tech armour and a biotic barrier to ward off Cerberus' shots, while infiltrator Ryder simply engaged his camouflage. Both were sprinting towards the captive commandoes in the middle, who looked extremely frustrated at their inability to help.

"Rilum-" Mac'Tir began, but Lynus already knew what the drell was going to ask.

"Get after him," he nodded, firmly. The assassin nodded back gratefully, wheeled around, and scrambled back out through the maintenance hatch they had used to get here.

Turning his eyes back to the firefight in the hangar, Lynus realised it was almost over, as quickly as it had begun. There were just two Cerberus troopers left, and as he watched, the turian marine dispatched one of them with a single burst of fire. In the middle of the room, Thorne, Colburn and D'Taran were all on their feet, freed of their binds, as Ryder and Cash worked at freeing T'Rel and Rafea.

The salarian wheeled out of cover, spraying more disruptor rounds towards the final trooper, who was firing from the far corner of the bay. At this range, most of the rounds missed, but one struck the soldier's rifle, causing it to hiss and vent in his face as it jammed. A moment later, Colburn had slammed him against the nearby shuttle, killing him.

That was that. All the troopers were dead, and all the captives were on their feet. They looked somewhat worse for wear, probably from the gassing, and the turian marine had a few bullet wounds from the latest firefight, but they were all alive, at least. Rilum, however, knew this was only the beginning. Alarms were blaring out through the ship, and crimson warning lights were filling the ceiling.

"Get ready!" he yelled, as the elevator began to rumble, dropping down towards the hangar. "More of them are on the way!"


	82. Operation Silverback Part 10

_**Typhon Shipyard, Aephus**_

_**Day 1, 1435**_

"Get ready! More of them, on the way!" Kamur was yelling, just as Lynus Rilum said the same inside the High Hope. As he spoke, another wave of Cerberus troopers appeared in the corridor ahead, and he swore to the spirits.

He and Gazix had returned to the Cerberus barricade outside the control room. It was the only entrance, which made it a perfect choke point. Unfortunately, it also meant there was no escape route, not unless you counted the control room windows and the hundred-foot drop beyond. With no way out, they had spent much of the last two hours putting down wave after wave of Cerberus troopers.

"Proximity mines?" Gazix muttered. Kamur nodded, and the two of them stood up over the top of the barricade, shooting a little ceramic disc each onto the corridor floor. The two little mines _bleeped _slightly, lying in wait for the first hapless troopers...

"How many clips have you got left?" Kamur inquired. They had lasted this long by being economical with their shots, and salvaging thermal clips from the Cerberus corpses behind the barricade, but ammunition was still a worry.

"Half a dozen," his fellow turian replied. With a Mattock, that was quite a lot... "You?"

"Three," he scowled, "but Phaestons have a large clip, and I've got another two left for my shotgun."

Their preparations were interrupted by the sound of footsteps on the floor beyond. Peering over the barricade, Kamur spotted half a dozen troopers advancing around the corner, and their first volley of fire bounced against the desks the two turians were huddled behind.

Wordlessly, the pair of them waited for a lull in the firing, then sprang up. Just as they did, the troopers reached the first of the mines – it went off with a little _pop_, and snuffed two of the six out of existence, spraying their blood to the walls. Kamur mowed another three down with a stream of Phaeston rounds, and Gazix picked off the last with a single shot to the head. The troopers were easy pickings, as ever – the problem wasn't killing them, it was just a matter of having enough _ammo _to kill them.

As they ducked behind the desks once more, a second explosion from a second mine signalled the arrival of more troopers. Kamur swung his arms and head above the top of the barricade – and swore, loudly.

Advancing down the corridor now was not a collection of weak, cannon-fodder troopers, but four of those accursed 'Guardian' soldiers. Behind them _were _half a dozen more troopers, but they certainly weren't easy pickings now, not behind those shields...

Kamur's reverie was broken as one of the Guardians took a shot at him – those pistols of theirs, the 'Talons' as intel had called them, went off like shotguns, and he narrowly ducked to avoid the heavy cartridge smashing against the barricade. A moment later, Gazix popped up, fired three shots, and swore aloud in frustration as he failed to bring them down. The two of them crouched beneath the barricade once more, as the Cerberus got closer and closer still...

After a few seconds' pause, both turians sprang up again, with clearer heads. Their military had only encountered these 'Guardians' once or twice, so their policy was improvised at best, but they still had one. In lieu of biotics to rip the shields away, soldiers were instructed to aim for the little slit in each shield through which the Guardian saw.

_Bang, bang, bang. _Kamur's first three shots all rattled off the shield, to his annoyance, but Gazix had better luck – his fellow soldier sent a Mattock round screaming through the 'mail slot' of one of the Guardians, causing the man's head to explode messily. Then, in a stroke of genius, he slung a proximity mine to the ground, at the feet of the now-very-close troopers. A moment later, just as they dropped back into cover, a familiar _pop_signalled his success – two of the Guardians were blown to pieces as they walked over the mine, and a trooper behind them was also caught in the blast.

That left one Guardian, and, as he popped up from cover, Kamur was at such angle that he could pepper the soldier's exposed side with gunfire. He did just that, and the Guardian dropped as easily as any trooper – speaking of which, the five remaining assault troopers were now just feet away from the barricade, and the first of them attempted to vault over it.

Kamur reached for his shotgun, and dispatched the trooper with a single shot to the back – in his haste, the man had vaulted clean _over _the turian, leaving his back exposed.

The other four were more careful – two of them jumped up _onto _the barricade, while the other two vaulted over, and all four of them had shock batons at the ready. One lunged at Kamur's head, but he used the trooper's momentum to flip him head over heels, hurling him into the barricade and causing one of the two men stood on it to topple earthwards – right onto the hastatim's bayonet. He shook the man off, stabbed the first trooper, who was still propped up against the desk, upside down, and looked over to his colleague.

Gazix was being approached by the last two troopers. Moving deftly, the turian soldier blocked the swing of a shock baton with his rifle, batting it away before cracking its owner around the head with the butt of his rifle. He turned around as the second trooper tried to bludgeon him, and proved, conclusively, that gun beats stick – Gazix shot the man squarely in the face, and he crumpled to the floor. Finally, the turian wheeled around, took aim at the last trooper, and blew his knee out with a single shot, before crushing his head against the barricade with a taloned foot.

Before either of the two turians could breathe a sigh of relief, the madness elevated. A high-pitched whir grew into a death rattle at the far end of the corridor, and _something _began to pelt rounds at them.

Wheeling around, Kamur's hawk-like eyes spotted a lethal-looking grey turret, firing incessantly at them as its operator – a black-clothed engineer – accompanied it with pistol rounds. On instinct, he shoved Gazix roughly to the ground, even as high-calibre rounds pounded his shields into submission. A blare of red-hot pain and a streak of blue blood issued from his jaw before, finally, he managed to drop beneath the barricade.

"Are you alright, captain?" Gazix muttered – Kamur wished he wouldn't call him that...

"I'll be fine," he growled. "But how the hell do we kill that thing?"

The turret had gone silent once they were out of sight, but he knew it would start firing again the moment they popped above cover.

"Maybe..." his fellow turian began, but he never finished his sentence. His words were drowned out by a furious war cry – no, _several _war cries – the _crunch _of metal, and a bloody choking sound. Cautiously, Kamur stuck his head above the barricade, and his jaw fell open slightly in amazement.

At least a dozen turian marines were stood at the end of the corridor. The turret had been reduced to scrap metal, and a few of them were stamping on it, as their leader dealt with the engineer. He had pinned the Cerberus operative to the wall by his shoulder – a serrated turian blade had punctured clean through his flesh, and was buried deep in the wall beyond. The man's legs swung feebly, a few inches off the floor, until, finally, the turian leader yanked the blade back out – the engineer dropped to the ground on his hands and knees, and a moment later, the turian shot him through the back of the head.

Only as the leader turned around did Kamur recognise the smudged green face paint and silver armour of Lieutenant Darix. The lieutenant was sporting an ugly bullet wound in his armour's chest plate, but his eyes were fierce and determined, and his plated jaw broke into a slight grin at the sight of the two turians behind the barricade.

"Captain Destra!" he called, mirthfully. "I should have known you'd still be kicking... You're a hard bastard to kill, aren't you?"

"Lieutenant Darix!" Kamur laughed back, as the turian squad approached. "Good to see you..."

"You too, hastatim. Where's your third?"

After a moment's confusion, Kamur realised he was talking about Manado...

"Gone," he scowled. Then, as Darix's face began to show a sympathetic mask, he added, "I don't mean dead... I sent her back to the Cambrai. She... took issue with being led by a hastatim."

"Really?"

"Yeah... it goes with the reputation, some recruits don't like-"

"Not what I meant," Darix interrupted. "I meant _'Really? _You sent her back to the ship for _that?_'"

"If she didn't want to follow me, I didn't want to rely on her help," Kamur argued, repeating his last words to Manado almost exactly as he did. "I couldn't trust her to cover my back..."

"Foolish," the lieutenant muttered – it was a gutsy thing to say, considering Kamur outranked him.

"What's that supposed to mean?"

"She's a _turian_, captain, just like the rest of us. She doesn't have to agree with every word you say to do her duty, and it's a long leap from arguing with you to letting you die..."

Before Kamur could make any retort, footfalls began to ring through the hallway once more, and a sense of urgency filled the air.

"Everyone, behind the barricade!" Darix yelled to his men. "Hold this position!"


	83. Operation Silverback Part 11

_**Frigate "High Hope", Aephus **_

_**Day 1, 1435**_

Alarms were blaring throughout the ship, but as he scrambled through the ducts, Mac'Tir was blocking out the lot of them. He had squeezed out of the maintenance tunnels and into the altogether smaller ventilation shafts, crawling on his belly as he moved higher and higher through the ship, working his way towards the captain's quarters on instinct alone.

It had been ten minutes since hell broke loose in the hangar bay, and as he went, he could hear various panicked shouts from the Cerberus crew. As best he could tell, the wave of reinforcements sent to the hangar had been wiped out, and the Cambrai's two squads were moving up into the rest of the ship, wreaking havoc on the crew. The drell, however, was interested in just one of the crew, that bastard Covick...

After just a couple more minutes of crawling, he found a dead end approaching, and fervently prayed it was the one he was looking for. His prayers, however, were answered by a sickening sound from the room beyond.

"Your friends are loose," the familiar snarled, full of violence and malice. "And they're _k__illing. My. Men._"

Each of the last three words was punctuated by a blunt _thwack_, and Mac'Tir sped up his pace, reaching the grate in mere seconds. Opening it was another question entirely... no matter how hard he tried, his fingers simply couldn't break the bolts holding it to the wall. That just left one option, and it wasn't a stealthy one...

"Amonkira guide my blade..." he murmured, quietly. "And Arashu guide my spirit..."

Then, after a moment's pause, he lashed out with a biotic fist. The metal grate buckled instantly, and flew across the room, shattering the empty glass tank set into the far wall. He dove forward, rolled smoothly to a stop on the floor, and drew his sword, just as Covick turned around.

The captain had a shock baton in one hand, like the ones the troopers used, and behind him was a battered Saffiya. The sight of his friend, however, sent an inexplicable surge of pride through the drell's mind. She had buckled to her knees, her face was bruised and bloody, but there were no tears in her eyes, and he already knew there had been no screams, no semblance of a damsel in distress. She would have despised seeing herself in that way... Instead, she merely knelt there, glaring defiantly at Covick's back.

The captain's eyes bulged at the sight of the drell, but he offered no exclamation of surprise – he merely went for his gun. A second later, however, Mac'Tir knocked it out of his hand with a surge of biotics. It ricocheted away to one side, shattering the glass pane over the captain's desk and private terminal. What with that and the tank, the floor was now littered with a fair amount of broken glass...

"Guard!" Covick roared, and the door behind Mac'Tir slid open. The drell was quick, however, and before the captain's bodyguard could even turn around in the corridor outside, he had slammed him into the wall, shattering his neck and spine.

As he turned back to Covick, however, the Cerberus officer had taken the moment's distraction as a chance to wheel around and crack Saffiya across the temple. It sounded like a far harder strike than before, and the justicar keeled over sideways, falling limply to the floor.

_That _got Mac'Tir angry. With a vengeful roar, he launched himself across the room in a biotic charge, bowling Covick over and knocking him into the wall of the bedroom section of his quarters.

The captain picked himself up off the floor, still holding the baton in his hand. A few feet away, the drell braced his sword, which glinted slightly in the cabin's pale light. Then, each glaring furiously at the other, they came together.

Covick was surprisingly skilful, Mac'Tir noted. He was at least able to parry the drell's most simple attacks, and his own swings of the shock baton – the thing had been reinforced, allowing him to use it like a cudgel – were somewhat unpredictable, full of vicious energy. He was nowhere near as manoeuvrable as a drell, however, and Mac'Tir had the added advantage of biotics. After one particularly brutal strike from the shock baton, which rendered Mac'Tir sword arm numb and unable to block, he simply tossed Covick aside with a wave of biotics from his other hand.

As the Cerberus officer picked himself up off the floor, now standing next to his desk, he was frantically wiping bits of broken glass from his arms. The drell advanced, once feeling returned to his arm, and resumed their fight with a wide, arcing overhead swing which would have cleaved the captain's head in two, had he not blocked it.

With both of their weapons locked, high above their heads, Covick tried to be smart, launching an unwieldy kick at his opponent's midriff. Mac'Tir, however, ducked to the side, span his weapon out of the lock, and swung around so that he was behind Covick, whose leg was still in the air – a quick sweep to the back of the captain's remaining knee, and he toppled once more, landing face down in the glass and yelling with pain. That stirred something in Mac'Tir – he didn't get to scream like that, not when his victim had taken her blows in silence. As a reprisal, he placed his booted foot on the back of Covick's skull, and ground it down into the glass once more.

Yet again, the captain screamed, but he managed to roll out from beneath the assassin's heel, knocking the drell off-balance. Scrambling to his feet, Covick took the chance to swipe at his opponent once more – the shock baton crashed against the side of his skull, and everything went blurry. Still working off the shock, Mac'Tir retreated back towards the far end of the room, parrying two more swings of the baton, albeit narrowly. A third, however, caught his wrist – his form had been messy, and he mentally scolded himself – and his blade was sent clattering away across the room.

Disarmed now, Mac'Tir took a jab to the stomach. The _jolt _of electricity made him choke, but he saw a chance, and seized it, quite literally – he grabbed hold of the baton, ignoring the crackle of electricity over his skin, and yanked it towards himself, pulling the startled Covick with it. At the same time, he lashed out with a headbutt, cracking his own brow against the captain's. The human's momentum reversed – he staggered back, away from Mac'Tir, and lost his grip on the baton. The drell tossed it aside contemptuously, and closed in, baring his fists.

He landed two quick jabs to Covick's jaw, before the human slammed a surprisingly heavy hook into his stomach. The drell narrowly dodged the uppercut that followed, and let loose with another few quick, darting jabs. They weren't hard punches – Covick's head barely moved with the impacts – but they weren't intended to hurt him. They were intended to annoy him, to frustrate him, to get him angry, and to force a mistake.

That mistake came even more quickly than Mac'Tir had expected. As the drell span around to stand _behind _Covick, the captain swung around, aiming a forceful haymaker at his opponent's head. His opponent's head, however, wasn't where he thought it was – the assassin had crouched low on his haunches, and the human's fist sailed a foot or so over him. Seizing the chance while Covick was off-balance, Mac'Tir rose up and launched a _proper _punch at him, a right hook which slammed into his face and knocked him sideways.

Staggering blindly, the captain grabbed the nearest solid object for support – unfortunately for him, that happened to be the shattered tank in his wall. Shards of broken glass sank deep into his palms and he yowled in pain. As he recoiled, he didn't even notice the drell plucking his pistol from his waist. Turning around, however, the captain froze – Mac'Tir had the Predator levelled straight at his skull.

The drell stared at him for a moment, taking in the greying black hair, the merciless eyes now wide in panic... He wanted to remember this kill, more than any other.

"Kalahira, grant me forgiveness," he spat – he didn't think he really _needed _forgiveness for this one...

_Bang_.

A single shot buried itself between Covick's eyes – the officer's head jolted with a plume of blood spray, and he swung lazily backwards before crashing to the ground.

From the moment the captain hit the ground, he was out of the drell's thoughts. Mac'Tir turned instead to the justicar on the floor. Her eyes were still tight shut, and her breathing was shallow.

"Siha..." he murmured, recovering his sword and cutting the shackles in two with a deft strike. "Siha...?"

After an eternity, the blue eyes finally opened, slightly blearily. They roved around the room, down, across the justicar's own body, and then finally settled on the drell crouching in front of her.

"Mac- _Raziel_..." she laughed, weakly. "What took you so long?"


	84. Operation Silverback Part 12

_**Typhon Colony West, Aephus**_

_**Day 1, 1600**_

"Hold them back!"

As the big krogan roared, Araya was trying to do just that – hold them back.

Charlie had dug into what her more military-minded squadmates had told her was a damn near perfect holdout position. Behind them, the turian hospital was still standing – the top two floors had been gutted by an airstrike, and were still belching smoke, even in this pouring rain...

Araya herself was ducking behind cover at the top of the stairs leading to the hospital's entrance. A rough barricade had been fashioned out of a fallen support beam, and she was crouched behind it, along with four turian marines and the vorcha, Lisk. She had originally been nervous about fighting alongside a vorcha, especially after living on Omega for so long, but to his credit, Lisk was good. He was a madman, hurling incendiary grenades out into the road in-between bouts of rifle fire, but he was a _brave _madman, and he had defended Araya each and every time she reloaded.

Further down, at the base of the steps, were the three krogan – Yui, Dax and Vresh. Upon arriving at the hospital, Yui had actually _picked up _an abandoned car from the street, and had dragged it to the base of the steps, using it as a giant barricade. The three krogan had been taking it in turns for all this time, with one of them stood in the middle, propping the car up on its side and stopping it from falling over, while the other two fired from either end. Like Araya and Lisk, the krogan were being battered by the storm overhead.

The last two members of the squad were the other humans, Vanyali and Kyra. They were both snipers, and were currently occupying the windows of the first floor above their heads, along with a turian marksman.

A rumble of thunder and a flash of lightning interrupted her train of thought. The surface of the road was slick, and looked almost like ice – a couple of Cerberus troopers made a vain attempt to reach them from a distant alleyway, but were slipping and sliding all over the place. Rather calmly, Dax put them down with a burst of machinegun fire.

"Message from the Cambrai!" Vanyali called, from somewhere on high. "That storm's getting worse, give it ten minutes and they won't be able to send in any air support!"

"What about Cerberus?" Yui boomed, in reply. "Are they sending more troops?"

"Unknown," the sniper replied. "But-"

_But_, there was certainly something dropping through the clouds, as Araya looked upwards. In fact, there were three things, not shuttles but hurtling steel forms, plummeting to the ground. Worryingly, they dropped rather accurately by the squad's position – an apartment building somewhere off to the left took the hit, and three great plumes of dust and debris spiralled upwards.

The hospital's defenders were momentarily distracted as another Cerberus squad issued out of the alleyways opposite. One of the two snipers killed the first trooper that rushed into the street, knocking him down with a shot to the head. A few seconds later, Dax had once again drenched the street in machinegun fire, killing two more, and Yui burst out around the corner of the car, killing a fourth with a shotgun round. The fifth panicked, managed to fire two rounds at Araya and Lisk's position, and was instantly shot through the chest by the vorcha.

With yet another Cerberus squad lying dead in the rain, their blood mingling with the pools in the street, Charlie team and their turian allies once again had their attention drawn to the _things_ that had crashed down in the apartments. There was a metallic whirr – no, _three _metallic whirr_s_ – rising to a crescendo in the stormy air, which were only drowned out by a thunderclap, and resumed once the sky's rumbling faded away once more. The three noises were getting closer and closer, punctuated by clanking, thumping footsteps, and then –

_Crunch_. The front wall of a building on the far side of the street exploded, and a hulking white form smashed its way out of the rubble.

"Atlas!" Yui roared, down in the street.

As the krogan yelled and readied his shotgun, Araya was dismayed to see two more of the lumbering mechs kicking their way out onto the street – one of them raised a bulky arm skywards, and an instant later a rocket billowed out, arcing over their heads to smash into the wall of the hospital.

"Vanyali, Kyra!" the krogan leader shouted, as ash and debris filtered down into the street. "Are you alright?"

"We're fine!" Kyra called back. "It hit on the fourth floor! Multiple casualties, but not us!"

Her words were blotted out by a burst of machinegun fire from one of the other mechs, which roved past Araya's head, punched several holes in the doors of the hospital, and knocked a turian marine to the floor in a bloody heap.

"We have to get them away from the wounded!" one of the turians insisted, as another rocket pulverised the side of the hospital, cracking a wall high up on the fifth floor.

"Get inside and hold the lobby!" Yui yelled to the turians. "Araya, Lisk, follow our lead, we'll draw them into the side streets – Vanyali, Kyra, stay here and help the turians!"

"Aye aye!" Araya found herself replying, as Vanyali and Kyra did the same – Lisk merely growled in assent.

"On three!" bellowed the krogan. He had moved to the middle of the car, propping it up while Vresh and Dax tried to distract the mechs with gunfire. "One... two..." – he growled and arched his back, and realisation dawned on Araya – "_three!_"

With a furious roar, Yui whirled around, grabbed the car's underside with one hand, and hurled it with all his might. It swung through the air clumsily, and smashed into the nearest mech. The crumpled car fell away, completely wrecked, and Araya noticed it had shattered the crystalline canopy that protected the pilot, but that was the limit of the damage – the mech was still intact, and the three krogan, now exposed, had to run for cover from a raking burst of machinegun fire.

"Into the alley!" Urdnot Dax boomed, and Araya was momentarily left alone, as Lisk vaulted over the barricade, and the three remaining turians backed off inside the building.

Slinging her shotgun back onto her hip, she took after the vorcha, who was sprinting across the street – the two had to duck several more bouts of machinegun fire, and one spinning, whistling rocket passed dangerously close to Araya's head, but twenty seconds later, they had reached the alleyway on the opposite side of the road, where their three krogan squadmates were already sheltering.

"Where do we go now?" the vanguard muttered, frantically – she could already hear the footfalls of the mechs, moving to follow them.

"Err..." Yui began, uncertainly.

As the team looked to him for direction, a shadow fell over them, and a hulking white form appeared at the end of the alleyway behind them. Quite suddenly, the krogan made up his mind, to the agreement of the whole squad:

"Run!"


	85. Operation Silverback Part 13

_**Typhon Colony West, Aephus**_

_**Day 1, 1615**_

"Turn left!"

As she veered left at the krogan's bequest, Araya was starting to wonder whether Yui actually knew where he was going, or whether he was just winging it. He was moving surprisingly fast for a krogan with a false leg, but the mechs were closing them down – sure, they were a lot _slower _than the operatives, but unlike Charlie, they didn't have to keep turning around at dead ends. Nor did they have to follow the twists and turns of the maze-like alleys – just as that thought passed through Araya's mind, one of the Atlas mechs burst out of a wall to the left, swinging its claw arm and nearly taking Lisk's head off. The vorcha ducked, slid sideways along the ground, and somehow kept running onwards.

"Go right!" came another yell – this time, it was Urdnot Dax, and he sounded rather more purposeful than his compatriot. Once again, the squad swung to the side in a single, fluid movement, and passed into another, slightly wider alleyway... which ran into a dead end.

Dax, however, didn't stop running, and out of some weird trust in him, nor did the rest of the squad. They were sprinting closer and closer to the building at the end of the alleyway, a three-storey apartment building, and as they reached it, Araya was astonished to see the Urdnot warrior hurl himself into the air, smashing bodily through the middle window and coming to a rolling halt in the room beyond. Hei Yui did the same, on the right, while Uthar Vresh, on the left, caught on too late and _tripped _through the last window, nonetheless landing in the room beyond. Bringing up the rear, Araya and Lisk hopped through the now-shattered panes, and the vanguard chanced a quick look behind them – the three mechs were just appearing at the end of the alley.

"What now?" she called, with half an idea that they would jump through the windows on the other side of the building and keep running. Quite how that stopped the mechs crashing through after them, however, she didn't know...

"You two, head upstairs!" Dax ordered, nodding to Lisk and Araya.

The room they had jumped into – quite literally – was part of a bullet-ridden industrial building, replete with abandoned machinery and tools. There was a staircase to the next floor on either side of them – Araya dove to the left, and Lisk to the right, as the three krogan dug in around the windows.

Even as she climbed to the floor above, taking the stairs two at a time, Araya could hear machine gun rounds crashing through the walls and the empty windows of the ground floor, as her krogan squadmates roared and returned fire. Reaching the first floor, she found herself presented with a large, plate glass window, and the rather comical sight of three Atlas mechs all trying to cram themselves into a small alleyway. As one of them lashed out, creating some room to move by caving in the ground floor of the building opposite, she saw Lisk waiting just feet above where the clawed arm had struck. He looked down at the mechs below, then looked up and met her eye. They had both known, without asking, what Dax was planning...

Araya shattered the window in front of her with a blast of biotics, then threw caution to wind and sprinted forwards, leaping through the precipice and into the empty, rain-filled air beyond. A flood of biotics rose instinctively to her skin, guiding her fall as she clattered down on top of one of the mechs, the one with the shattered canopy from Yui's assault.

The Atlas' steel frame was slick with rain, and she slipped down its shoulder, just as Lisk launched himself out of the opposite window, landing on the mech beneath. Araya reached for her shotgun, managing to unload a bundle of krogan darts into the canopy of the middle mech, but failing to shatter it. A second later, the one she was clinging to swung its shoulders and she fell, hitting the ground hard.

A great steel foot came perilously close to crushing her legs, but at the last moment a flare of biotics, summoned by reflex alone, caught the mech's leg in midair and held it aloft.

"Somebody get this _bloody_ thing off me!" Araya swore, arms shaking slightly as she supported her gigantic attacker's weight with little more than a biotic field.

"Knife!" came a cry from above her head – Lisk abandoned his now-empty rifle, and bounded from the mech on the right to the one in the middle, using them like stepping stones. His yell only made sense as Uthar Vresh leant out of a ground-floor window, plucked a krogan dagger from his shoulder, and hurled it through the air just as Lisk jumped to the third mech, the one Araya was beneath – the vorcha grabbed the knife mid-leap, landed heavily on the mech's shoulders, then swung down through the shattered canopy, blade in hand, much to the surprise of the mech's pilot.

There followed a brief and rather bloody exchange – the vorcha cracked a balled fist against the pilot's visor, then slashed him twice across the face, tearing the man's helmet wide open. A second later, Lisk had sliced through the harness holding the pilot into the mech's cockpit. Finally, he plunged the dagger deep into the Cerberus soldier's neck, before pulling him out of the cockpit and tossing him to the floor. The bloody corpse landed just next to Araya, as Lisk scrambled into the pilot's seat himself.

It occurred to Araya that a lone Blood Pack vorcha probably _wouldn't_ have had chance to learn the operating procedures for a Cerberus heavy mech. Sure enough, he _hadn't _– a moment after assuming the controls, he pushed the mech's foot still closer to Araya's prone form, and she had to double her biotic efforts.

"Other way!" she screamed, and obligingly, Lisk tugged back on the controls, tipping the mech away from Araya and straight into the wall of the building to the left. Metal and concrete gave way under the mech's weight, and a good chunk of the wall gave way, as the other two mech pilots watched on in what seemed to be amusement.

That pause was to be their downfall – Lisk seemed to have a rather steep learning curve, and mere moments after ploughing through the wall, his mech lurched back into the alleyway, wildly swinging its clawed arm. To Araya's astonishment, it smashed into the middle mech, and the iron darts from her own shotgun, which had been embedded in the crystalline canopy, were pushed deeper, impaling the pilot with a chorus of bloody screams.

Lisk barrelled forwards once more, knocking the middle mech into the one on the far side of the alley, and hurling them both into the remnants of the broken building beyond. Araya was watching on in amazement, as were her krogan squadmates, who had all lowered their weapons to watch the three Atlases disappear amidst the ruins of the building.

An instant later, the two remaining mechs reappeared, as the Cerberus pilot smashed a brutal uppercut into the midriff of Lisk's mech, knocking him through the wall further down. He followed it up with a hefty, overhead swing of the cannon-arm, but Lisk blocked it, grabbing the swinging arm with his metal steed's claw, and letting loose with a vicious torrent of machinegun fire from his free arm, peppering the Cerberus mech's side with metal slugs.

The Cerberus mech broke free and staggered away, but Lisk was operating his own Atlas with incredible dexterity – he cracked the long cannon-arm against his opponent's knee, buckling it, then slammed the cannon forward to pulverise the other mech's "head", knocking it for six. As the Cerberus pilot stumbled away, struggling to rein in his craft's momentum, the vorcha took aim at his back, and fired the mech's rocket launcher.

The missile flew for a couple of feet before slamming into the back of the Cerberus mech, exploding brutally and tearing chunks out of the metal frame. As his opponent collapsed to its knees, Lisk levelled the gun once more, and fired again – this time, the Atlas' body was torn clean in two with a flurry of flames and sparks, and it finally lay still.

"Well," Urdnot Dax sighed, stepping out through the nearest window and watching as Lisk turned the mech around, marching it back towards them. "That... wasn't what I had planned."

"I like this!" the vorcha laughed, from his new steed's cockpit. "Big gun, and big boom!"

"What he said," Vresh grunted, pulling his dagger back out of the pilot's corpse at Araya's side, as the vanguard got to her feet. "Now let's go kick some more ass..."


	86. Operation Silverback Part 14

_**Frigate "High Hope", Aephus**_

_**Day 1, 1630**_

"One more holdout," Lynus muttered, reloading his sub-machinegun and sending the elevator upwards, as he began to review the situation. "All fire teams, report."

Bravo and Delta teams had paired up – with the exception of the absent Saffiya and Mac'Tir – with the turian Sergeant Marat making up the numbers and accompanying Rilum. After beating back a wave of troopers in the hangar bay, they had surged upwards, storming the engineering and crew decks. Now, the salarian and his new turian ally were heading for the CIC, to finish the job.

"This is Thorne. I've got Colburn with me, we've swept the aft of Deck Three. Crew quarters, life support and observation decks are clear."

"Rafea here," one of the asari commandoes added, "Dr O'Leiph and I have confirmed the rest of Deck Three. The medical bay, forward battery and mess hall are empty."

The elevator was moving painfully slowly, Rilum noted, as he waited for the other two teams.

"D'Taran, Cash, report," he called, impatiently.

"D'Taran," the asari commando replied. "T'Rel and I have control of the engineering section and the sub deck, just waiting for confirmation on the cargo holds."

"Confirmation's right here," Cash interjected. "Starboard cargo hold was torn out when the ship went down. Port cargo hold's empty."

"Acknowledged," Rilum nodded, as the elevator got closer and closer to the CIC. "All teams, make one last sweep, then join us in the CIC."

"Aye aye," someone replied, but the salarian was too busy to think who – the elevator doors had just swung open, and a barrage of small arms fire was racing out to greet them.

Luckily for Rilum and Marat, the Cerberus crew staffing the CIC were not armoured troopers with rifles and SMGs, but flight and gunnery officers, wearing crew uniform and wielding pistols at best. The salarian's brain made a mental note of the worrying cybernetics sported by many of them, the grey-blue implants that crept up several of the crew's necks and faces, or along their arms.

Then, his STG-born curiosity was put to the back of his mind by his equally STG-born combat instincts. He lunged out of the elevator, rolling across the deck to take cover behind the message terminal, next to the galaxy map. Behind him, Marat was staying on his feet, and picked off at least three of the Cerberus crew with his stolen SMG, before coming to crouch next to the salarian.

Just as he did, Rilum wheeled out of cover and let loose with a torrent of fire from his own Locust, watching with grim satisfaction as the shredder rounds did their work, tearing through four or five crewmen who had risen from their work stations. A pistol round grazed his shoulder as his shields failed, and he finished off one last enemy, popping the man's head clean open with a bullet, before rolling back into cover.

On the other side of the deck, Marat had just brought down two more flight officers – it really was child's play, bringing down these unarmoured enemies. Rilum's attention was drawn, however, to the elevator behind them, which had apparently been called to the _top _floor, not the ones below where their squadmates were, and was now coming back down to the CIC.

He trained his weapon's sights over the elevator doors, wholly expecting the captain to march out and start shooting. As the doors finally slid apart, however, they revealed the drell Mac'Tir's fierce glare, as he emerged, sword in hand, and marked his arrival by hurling one of the crewmen across the room with biotics, shattering his bones against the wall.

The justicar was with him too, looking tired and rather bloody, but ready nonetheless, and the two of them quickly huddled between Rilum and Marat, drawing their weapons.

"Covick's dead," Mac'Tir muttered, shortly, as a pistol round cracked past his head. "What's the situation?"

"All the other decks are clear," Rilum replied, processing the new information – he'd been planning to go and deal with the captain once he was done in the CIC. "Just this flight crew now. There can't be more than... half a dozen hostiles left?"

"Four of us versus six of them..." the drell murmured. "I like those odds."

"I concur," Marat grunted, from the other side of the cover point.

"You two, cover us," the salarian ordered, nodding to the two biotics. "Turian – now!"

He span out of cover, wielding his sub-machinegun one-handed and striding towards the enemy. There were three crewmen left on his side of the deck, all of whom were taking aim with pistols. The first one was pulverised by a biotic missile from the justicar, and literally dissolved to blue sparks as Lynus finished the others with a succinct _pop, pop _– two quick shots, one each to the head, killed both men instantly.

On the other side of the deck, Marat had bull-rushed one operative who was trying to flank them, knocking him to the ground and finishing him with a shot to the head. An instant later, he sprayed a second attacker's chest with bullets, killing him in a matter of moments. Mac'Tir lifted the final man helplessly into the air, and the turian strode over, staring him in the eyes before shooting them out.

As suddenly as the fight had begun, it ended, and silence filled the CIC, save for the gentle hum of the instruments lining the walls.

"Marat," Rilum muttered, "check the back rooms. Mac'Tir, go with him."

The two of them disappeared through the far door to the science lab, and Lynus considered checking out the cockpit himself, until he looked across and realised that that whole section of the ship hadn't just been _buried _in the tower block outside – everything from the corridor forwards had been _crushed _to scrap metal on impact.

That left nothing else to do, then... He and the justicar just stood and waited. After a minute or so, their two squadmates returned – Marat was nursing a mandible spattered with blue blood, while the drell cleaned his blade on the sleeve of his jacket.

"What happened?" the salarian inquired.

"Couple of crewmen hiding behind the laboratory door," the turian scowled. "Apparently, they haven't figured out how to fire a gun yet – just smacked me round the jaw with a pistol and stood there while the assassin cut them up."

Lynus laughed – his professional brain was receding, and _allowing _him to chuckle again, now the danger in the situation had passed. After a few minutes' wait, they were joined by the two fire teams from the crew deck, and then the last four operatives from the engineering deck, until the whole group was reunited in the CIC.

As Dr O'Leiph fussed over Saffiya's injuries and Marat's bloody jaw, and the asari commandoes traded kill stories with the humans, Rilum wound his way over to the ship's comm terminal, just at the side of the galaxy map. Having huddled underneath it for the duration of the firefight, he set about using it instead, patching it into the Alliance frequencies...

"Cambrai, this is Delta Lead," he began, and everyone fell silent – except for Mac'Tir, who had already been silent, meditating. "We have control of the frigate. All of our hostages are safe, but we lost several of the turians. Requesting new orders."

There was no reply.

"Cambrai, can you hear me?"

Still no reply – everyone tensed up slightly at the implications of that. Then:

"Delta Lead, are you getting this?" It wasn't the Cambrai, but it wasn't Cerberus, either...

"Delta reads," the salarian replied. "Who is this?"

"Operative Vanyali, Charlie team," the mystery voice muttered, and he relaxed slightly. He knew the human sniper by her name and dossier, if not by her voice.

"Good to hear someone else is still fighting. We're trying to raise the Cambrai, but-"

"Communications are out," the N7 interrupted. "I don't know if you've looked out the window, but there's a _big _storm out there. The whole colony's cut off from radio contact and air support until it passes. We're using an old land-based transmitter in the hospital to bypass the satellite network."

"Clever... Is Alpha patched in?"

"Yes, but it's a lot of noise and not much talking on their end. Cerberus is throwing a large force at the shipyard – Alpha and a local marine squad are holding them off for now..."

"Do you need support? We're clear over here, no sense in sticking around."

"I don't know – if the ship's intact, it might be worth holding on to. Besides which, it makes for good shelter against the storm... And we're holding out fine," she added, as an afterthought. "Cerberus is devoting most of their forces to taking the shipyard, and when they do attack the hospital, we've got a squad of pissed-off krogan and a hijacked Atlas on our side..."

"What about the cruisers?" Rilum inquired, presciently. "I'm guessing the Cambrai can't take them out by itself..."

"No... We think they've bugged out to fetch reinforcements from another colony," Vanyali explained. "For the time being, we're on our own."

"We might want to get working on that, then," the salarian advised. "If the storm rolls back and the Cambrai hasn't brought backup, they could just bomb us to oblivion..."

"As far as I can tell, the only place in the colony with any kind of appreciable firepower is the shipyard," the human sniper mused, in a business-like manner. "The nearest surface-to-air defence battery is a good hour or two's drive away, and we don't even have a truck, so that option's out."

"Just improvised weapons, then... I'll take a team to the shipyard. Tell Alpha to pin the enemy down while we look for a solution."

"Got it."

As the radio faded to silence, Rilum turned to his squad, picking out the asari, O'Leiph.

"Doctor, I need a squad," he muttered.

"And you're asking me... why?" she replied, brow furrowing in confusion.

"Because most of these operatives were captive half an hour ago, and a lot of them have been injured. Getting to the shipyard means a long trek at a quick pace – I need to know who can handle it, and if I asked them" – he looked pointedly at the rest of the squad – "they'd all claim they could. Meet me in the hangar in five minutes with a professional opinion..."


	87. Operation Silverback Part 15

_**Typhon Colony South, Aephus**_

_**Day 1, 1730**_

"Keep moving!" Rilum yelled, above the rumbling of thunder.

Crossing the colony was hard going, even harder than he'd expected upon setting off from the High Hope. The rain lashed fiercely at their faces, and as it fell to earth, forced them to wade through pools several inches deep, even as the road beneath those pools became slick as ice underfoot. On the plus side, the streets were abandoned to the storm – they had given up watching for Cerberus ambushes after crossing three consecutive blocks without opposition.

To their credit, his team was holding up well. It consisted of four humans – Cash and Ryder from his own team, along with the biotics Thorne and Colburn – and the lone turian, Marat. Dr O'Leiph had remained behind with the asari commandoes, who were exhausted, and the justicar, who was injured, while Mac'Tir stayed with them – they had decided there needed to be at least one able-bodied soldier defending the others, and the drell had volunteered.

"How far now?" Marat roared – his bloodied mandible had been stitched up quickly with a couple of sutures, before the doctor reluctantly let him join Rilum's squad.

"Security checkpoint is just up ahead," the salarian called back.

"Have we actually got a plan?" Cash interjected.

"Half of one!" Rilum replied – it was true, his brain _was _beginning to work over an idea, based on the memory of an STG operations years prior...

Before he could quite _finish _the idea, the security station hove into view. It was a small, round building, which fell beneath the shadow of the shipyard looming over the whole colony, and a solitary rail was all that linked the checkpoint and its elevator to the titanic structure above.

The five operatives were still running at full pelt as they reached it. Lynus vaulted over the security barrier, ignoring the alarms that blared out in response, and made a mental note of the two security mechs which were _meant _to be stopping him – both, however, were crumpled on the floor, shot to pieces in the original Cerberus attack.

As his squad leapt over the barrier behind him, the salarian was rushing for the elevator – he leapt in, and as soon as the last of his squad was inside, he hammered the controls, sending the glass pod barrelling upwards.

It was the first chance they'd had to catch their breath since leaving the High Hope – Rilum's conditioned lungs were fine, but a few of his colleagues were taking in huge gasps of air to make up for the last half hour's marathon. For the salarian, however, the view they got as they rose upwards was more breathtaking than their journey to get there...

The whole colony was being lashed with rain, but there was still smoke rising from the rooftops, and the occasional burst of flames. Near the centre of the colony, but slightly off to the west, he could see the hospital Charlie was defending – the top two floors burned like a signal fire, and he caught snatches of a fierce firefight in the adjacent street.

"So, what's this 'half a plan'?" Thorne muttered, interrupted the salarian's reverie.

"Well..." Rilum began. "We need to improvise weapons. The N7 – Vanyali, was it? – got me thinking when she said the only firepower left in this colony is in the shipyard..."

"I didn't see any defences when we passed over in the shuttle," Ryder frowned. "What are you thinking? Turrets? Dismounted Javelins?"

"No. Think... bigger."

Just as he spoke, the feathered edge of a turian frigate's wing became visible through the elevator's glass back, peeking out from one of the shipyard's repair bays.

"You have _got _to be kidding," Colburn grinned.

"No mockery," the salarian smiled. "Six years ago, an STG team I served on was sent to recover a crashed spy frigate in batarian territory. As you can imagine, the batarians weren't too happy about us being there... They ambushed us, killed our captain, and pinned us down with a platoon of infantry."

"What happened?" the turian sergeant inquired. Rilum checked how much further it was to the shipyard, satisfied himself that he could finish the story before they arrived in the danger zone, and then continued:

"I was second in command, which left me in charge of the team. I pulled my men back into the frigate, left the best three soldiers to defend the airlock, and assigned the rest as a skeleton crew. We repaired the kinetic barriers to keep the batarians at bay, then activated the GARDIAN lasers to hit back."

"GUARDIANs against an infantry force?" Thorne murmured, brow rising. "That'd take damn good accuracy."

"This was a _salarian _frigate," he replied, with a hint of arrogance. "We massacred the infantry, brought down a squad of gunships sent to support them, and held out until a second team arrived to evacuate us."

"So..." Cash nodded, comprehendingly, "the turian ships in the yard can't fly, but their weapons are still working."

"More specifically, their _Thanix cannons _are working," Marat added, eyeing Rilum admiringly for the plan. "We just need a way of aiming them."

"I believe the ships in the repair yard are held by adjustable clamps?" the salarian continued.

"Yeah," the turian confirmed. "Mass effect fields move them in three planes – it lets the engineers rotate the ships for easier access."

"Then we can use the docking controls to aim," Rilum mused, more to himself than to anyone else. "And unless I'm much mistaken, Alpha was dug in in the control room..."

"You try your man," Marat instructed, turning rather business-like in tone, "I'll hail the marines."

Simultaneously, the two of them drew up their omni-tools, and began to patch in to their respective comm channels. As they did, the elevator reached the end of its journey, and the doors swung open – their three squadmates all fixed their weapons on the corridor beyond, just in case, but there were no Cerberus troops in sight...

Alpha wasn't answering – Vanyali had already suggested as much – but Marat had more success with his own hail, and after a few moments, obtained a response:

"Sergeant?" an unknown voice called, through the turian's radio.

"Lieutenant!" he exclaimed in surprise, apparently recognising the face in his comm panel. "I'm with one of the human teams" – Rilum scowled at being bundled under the 'human' moniker – "and we've just reached the shipyard. They've got a plan for taking out those cruisers!"

"Well, I'd damn sure like to hear it," the other marine replied. Wordlessly, Marat paced over to Rilum, holding the omni-tool up for him to explain.

"Lynus Rilum," the salarian nodded, introducing himself to the green-painted turian face on the other end of the line.

"Lieutenant Darix. Let's cut to the chase, salarian – what's this plan of yours?"

"We think we can reposition the damaged ships, and use their guns to repel those cruisers once the storm rolls back. Thanix batteries should have more than enough firepower to take down two cruisers without their kinetic barriers..."

"That... damn it, that could work," the turian muttered. "There are two frigates in the repair bays at the moment. One of them has a hull breach, the other has a ruined drive core, but both of their armaments are intact, as far as I know."

"Perfect... What's your situation, Lieutenant?"

"Holding in the control room. I've got twelve marines from my own squad, and two from yours, all fighting fit."

"Cerberus presence?"

"Negligible. There might be a few stragglers left, but we broke the back of their forces – the last wave was repelled ten minutes ago."

"Hold your position - we'll come to you. We've only got a few hours before the storm passes, so let's get this done quickly..."


	88. Operation Silverback Part 16

_**Typhon Colony West, Aephus**_

_**Day 1, 1900**_

"Hey Vanyali, take a look at this," Kyra murmured.

Wearily, the N7 moved over to join her at the window. It was hard to tell quite what her companion was talking about – it had been at least two hours since she made contact with Rilum, and by now, darkness was falling over the colony. Smoke and firelight mingled with the dull haze of rain, and the surrounding streets were quickly becoming invisible.

She could hear her squadmates fighting in the road below – their captured Atlas had been destroyed half an hour before, and the krogan had hauled it to the foot of the steps as an addition to their makeshift barricade. Besides them, the only hint of life in the darkened colony was the dull glow of the High Hope's deck lights, filtering up between the rooftops to the north. The shipyard was completely shrouded by the night – the only way she knew her allies were still alive inside was from their fragmented radio chatter. All in all, it was beginning to feel a _lot _like her lonely vigil with Tyco on Benning, although with mercifully fewer casualties.

"What am I meant to be looking at?" she muttered, finally.

"Over there, _way _off to the west," the other sniper pointed. "The sky's dark, but it's clear, too. The storm's passing."

_That _got Vanyali's attention.

"How long?"

"At this rate? About midnight, I'd say..."

Vanyali nodded wordlessly, then turned away, tapping the radio transponder on the side of her helmet – the emergency transmitter was up on the sixth floor, so both snipers had donned helmets with breathers, to fend off the smoke and ash drifting down from the seventh and eighth.

"Delta?" she began, hoping they would actually pick up this time... what was it with these guys? First the turian ignored her hails, now the salarian...

"What is it, Charlie?" he replied – good, at least he actually deigned to find time to talk to her now...

"We can see the edge of the storm from here – Kyra thinks it'll have passed by midnight."

"Ah..."

"Ah? What the hell is 'Ah'? I thought you said your plan wouldn't take long?"

"It... shouldn't have."

"_Shouldn't?_" Vanyali hissed. She'd been stuck in this bloody building for too long to hear about more mistakes. Her arm was blistering with pain from the old wound, her ribs were aching, and her eyes were straining to focus amidst the thin layer of translucent smoke filtering through the room.

"The first frigate was fine, we powered up the weapons just like we planned, and moved it into place," Rilum explained. "But the second had taken more damage than we realised – the drive core wasn't the only thing offline, the power plant was too. We're still trying to restore power to the ship's systems."

"Well, do it quickly, then!" she urged, feeling undue anger rise in the back of her mind. Exhaustion tended to do that to you...

"Yes, because we've been _dawdling _so far," the salarian snapped, tensely. "We're having to rebuild a whole ship's power systems from salvaged parts, it _isn't _a quick job!"

There was an awkward silence, as Vanyali realised just how tetchy she was being in her tired, battered state. Kyra was watching her with concern, and on the other end of the line, Rilum was staying silent, although she could hear the salarian's quiet breathing.

"Sorry," she murmured. "Just... keep me posted."

"Will do."

Rilum's voice faded, and Vanyali was left alone with her companion's stare.

"Are you alright?" Kyra piped up, finally.

"I... fine," Vanyali muttered, nonetheless clamping a hand to her side as another dull ache tore through her ribs. The other sniper was watching her with a look of supreme scepticism.

"Head downstairs," she instructed, finally. "Take the damn breather off, and get some air."

"What, just wander off in the middle of a mission?" the N7 protested.

"We're not going anywhere," her partner laughed, weakly. "If it makes you feel better, I can rephrase?"

"Oh?"

"Go downstairs, take the damn breather off, and check on the turians."

"Much better..."

"Go on. I'll be fine up here."

Putting her reluctance to one side, Vanyali turned on her heel and made her way to the staircase in the next room. Trotting down it, she _was _rather grateful for the chance to take off her helmet – it felt like a cool breeze was passing over her face, and the headaches abated slightly.

That cool breeze, however, came with the unsavoury smell of antiseptic in the air, and a hint of... death. The turian doctor on this floor was just pulling the sheets over another civilian's corpse, shaking his head sadly.

The hospital had been stretched to breaking point since before they arrived. The initial Cerberus raid had killed most of the staff, leaving just two doctors alive, and it had taken at least a dozen marines dead or wounded to reclaim the place. Every ward had been repurposed to deal with the civilian wounded who had poured in in the first hours of the siege, from the terminal ward to the children's one, on the floor below - the only rooms _not _packed with bodies were the lobby and the surgical theatre. The two remaining doctors were rushing from floor to floor, covering at least a dozen wards between them. They were being assisted by the marines' combat medic, and the marines themselves – including the marksman who had previously been with Vanyali and Kyra – were doing their best as orderlies, shifting bodies and helping with the jobs that required two pairs of hands. It was enormously painful to see the turians trying so hard, and yet failing on so many fronts...

The doctor looked up from his former patient, taking what seemed to be a rare moment of rest, and caught Vanyali's eye. She didn't bother concealing her stare.

"That's thirty now," the turian rasped. Vanyali couldn't help noticing that his arm had been bloodied, cut open by a bullet or perhaps a knife, but it had been stitched together – probably by his own hand – as quickly as possible, to allow him to return to work.

"Keep trying," Vanyali murmured. "Help's on the way. We have to fight for the ones left alive..."

"Yeah..." the doctor sighed. "I- damn it!"

He cursed, as his omni-tool began to page him frantically – Vanyali didn't have to ask what the bleeping meant, as he turned and sprinted out of the room, swearing to the spirits...

"Kyra," she muttered, into the radio – as ever, she found herself incapable of doing nothing. "Send word out to the other teams. Tell Bravo and Delta to bunker down on the High Hope, and tell Rilum to hurry the hell up..."


	89. Operation Silverback Part 17

_**Typhon Shipyard, Aephus**_

_**Day 1, 2330**_

"Storm's really shifting now," one of the turian marines remarked, over the radio.

Lynus wasn't listening to him – at present, the salarian was jammed into a maintenance tunnel worryingly similar to the one on the High Hope, putting the finishing touches on the now-patchworked power plant.

It had taken hours to fix the damn thing, primarily because of a shortage of skill. Rilum was the only qualified engineer on the shipyard, although he _had_ managed to find some help amongst his own squad. Cash had a basic understanding of computer tech from his sentinel training, and Thorne knew a surprising amount about ship repairs – probably from freelance work with his own ship, the salarian surmised. The two of them had been rather helpful.

Despite the difficulties, they had managed, with a little help – the turian lieutenant had ordered his men to gather as much salvage as possible to supply Rilum's three-man engineering team. It had taken parts from wrecked frigates and a civilian freighter in the next bay, liberal applications of omni-gel, and more than a few bypass programs to ignore the safety systems, but the power plant looked in much better condition than when they had first seen it.

He scrambled back out of the maintenance hatch and onto the engineering deck before signalling the turians – he didn't particularly fancy being roasted alive if the power plant _was _working again.

"Lieutenant Darix," he called, finally. "Repairs are complete. Try her again."

There was a dull rumble in the walls behind him, as up on the bridge, the lieutenant powered up the ship's systems once more. The last three tries had all resulted in plumes of smoke filling the engineering deck, and blackouts even amongst the emergency lighting. This time, however, the rumbling was met by a bloom of white light, as the primary lighting was restored, and the dim emergency bulbs flickered off. The consoles at the engineering stations came back to life, complete with translucent, orange holographic interfaces.

"Looks good from here," Rilum reported. "How does it look from the bridge?"

"All systems are spiking," Darix muttered. "And... wait, losing her again!"

"_What?_"

"It's overheating, safety overrides are kicking in..."

Sure enough, the lights and displays dimmed once more, and the emergency lighting resumed its forlorn vigil over the engineering deck. Lynus cursed under his breath, and began to scan every possible _thing _with his omni-tool, looking for the fault.

"Got it," he frowned, finally. "One of the thermal conductors is from a cruiser-class vessel, not a frigate..."

"A _cruiser?_" the lieutenant replied, with a hint of annoyance. Then, he continued, to his men, "You took the _cruiser _apart, too?"

"You said to get any parts we could!" one of the marines protested. "The cruiser's plant was intact, so..."

"Alright, alright... salarian, is this going to be a problem?"

"No..." Rilum murmured, examining the readouts on his omni-tool. "Actually, it's beneficial. Cruisers generate a higher power output – the conductor's made to deal with that higher output."

"And?"

"_And_, the cut-offs in the cruiser's conductor activate at a much higher power level than the ones in the frigate. But we're using the safety programs from the frigate, which still register the lower limit. The conductor exceeds that limit, the program thinks it's a fault, and shuts the plant down..."

"Can you fix it?"

"I already have," the salarian muttered, absent-mindedly. "Applying the bypass program now."

With a brief flicker from his omni-tool, the program installed itself, and he stood back, waiting. Darix powered up the systems yet again, the lighting was restored for the second time, and this time, after a tense couple of minutes of waiting, Rilum was gratified to see nothing had failed.

"Holding steady?" he inquired.

"Holding steady," the turian confirmed, from the bridge. "Now, we need to get this thing into position."

"Agreed. Gather your men, and meet us in the shipyard's control room."

Gathering the men was a remarkably quick process, and within ten minutes, the entire force was re-assembled in the control room – fourteen turians, four humans, and a slightly-panicky salarian.

He was panicking because it was now ten minutes to midnight – ten minutes to their best estimate of the storm's clearance, and the Cerberus assault. Of course, the clouds weren't just going to _vanish _on the stroke of midnight, but the prospect still put a hint of worry into his mind...

"Salarian, ten minutes," Lieutenant Darix called, apparently thinking along the same lines. "What do you need?"

"Err..." Lynus considered. "Three teams, I suppose – one in each frigate, and another up here to man the crane controls."

"How many men do you need up here?" the turian lieutenant persisted.

"My team would do – three men for the controls, and three to hold the entrance... Once those cruisers attack, we'll probably have infantry teams deploying too - they'll need to kept of our backs, but three men should be enough to hold this choke point."

"That leaves fourteen turians," interjected the Cambrai's own turian captain, Kamur. "Seven in each ship. Is that enough?"

"Not to operate it as a _ship_, no," Rilum frowned. "But we only need gunnery and sensor stations filled, possibly with a spotter in the cockpit."

"Then I say we split into two even teams," Kamur continued. "I take one, Darix takes the other."

"Agreed," the lieutenant nodded. "You five!" – he pointed to the five men on the far end of his squad, who were lined up behind him – "Go with the hastatim! You're under his orders now..."


	90. Operation Silverback Part 18

_**Typhon Shipyard, Aephus**_

_**Day 2, 0010**_

"Spotters, report," Rilum muttered, tensely, as he stood before one of the interfaces in the control room.

"No visual," Darix responded, over the radio. "But the sky's clear, and we've got two _big _red blobs on the ladar, closing in..."

"What he said," Kamur grunted, from the helm of the other frigate.

"Update me if it changes," the salarian murmured. "Cash, what's the firing range on those cruisers' guns?"

"They're mass accelerators, they don't _have _a range limit, not an _effective _one, anyway. The _limit _is about the width of a galaxy..."

"Okay, what's the limit on their _guidance _systems, for total accuracy?"

"Based on Alliance cruisers, about thirty miles, air to surface. That puts them just inside the stratosphere, but... why are we bothering with ranges?"

"What?"

"Cerberus doesn't care about its men, or friendly fire," Cash persisted. "They'll just eyeball it and risk hitting a few of their own squads."

"Not true," Rilum replied. "Cerberus doesn't care about their _men_, but they care about their _investments_. They need to preserve every asset they can, especially after their losses on the Citadel."

"Besides," Thorne added, "they don't know what we're planning. As far as they're aware, we're defenceless without the Cambrai, so why risk blowing up their own men and tech? They can close down to guidance range without taking a hit... or at least, they _think _they can."

"And boy, have we got a surprise for them..." Kamur growled, happily – apparently, the turian captain had been listening in over the radio.

"Visual!" Darix interrupted, "Fifty miles up, just entering the stratosphere!"

"Twenty miles to guidance range," the salarian mused, to himself. "Presuming similar or better propulsion to Alliance cruisers, and severe deceleration for sub-orbital descent... We've got a few minutes, at best. Are the ships in position?"

"We're good to go," came the reply from Kamur's ship. "Aiming for the cruiser to the west..."

"We'll turn and hit that one too," Darix decided. "Two Thanix rounds, quick succession? We'll knock her out of the sky before they even know what's happening. Turn us five degrees to port."

Slowly, Lynus turned on his heel, and paced over to the wide bay windows on the far side of the control room. From here, he could see both of the frigates, turned skywards by the docking clamps along their wings – although one frigate's wing was conspicuously missing, torn away by the 'hull rupture' Darix had mentioned – not to mention the two ghostly white hulls descending from the now cloud-free sky. The Cerberus ships were far-off, but he knew that wouldn't last for long.

"All teams, this is Rilum," he began, hoping his comrades in the High Hope and the hospital could hear him. "Keep your heads _down_, do not telegraph your presence. Let them focus fire on the shipyard, minimise civilian casualties."

It was a desperate bid – he knew Cerberus infantry would report the two holdouts eventually; it was just a matter of making the cruisers _think_ the shipyard was the only location of importance. With any luck, they could bring the two ships down before they learned otherwise...

"Second ship's in position," Thorne grunted, from the controls.

"All teams..." Rilum muttered, then paused, hesitating ever-so-slightly. This was a rather large gambit, even he had to admit that... "Fire at will."

Almost instantly, the dull hum that had been filling the air for the last ten minutes was replaced by a deafening roar, and a torrent of blue fire shot upwards from one of the frigates. A moment later, a second followed it, spat from the jaws of the other frigate.

Both shots arced skyward, giving off little blue vapour trails as they whistled into the dark heavens. They disappeared for a moment, and then... _boom_.

The first cruiser erupted in a pillar of flame, with smoke and fire belching out of two wounds – one near the bridge, the other on the tail end. The latter appeared to have smashed right through to the ship's mass effect core, because glittering eezo was streaming out amidst the darkness, forming a pallid blue trail in the sky.

As Rilum watched, the cruiser was dropping fast, streaming fire, smoke and eezo dust behind it as it plummeted.

"Trajectory on the crash?" he muttered, before it even reached the ground.

"Coming down away from the colony," Cash replied, after a moment. "Big impact, hold on..."

_Wham. _The cruiser ploughed down in the open ground at the colony's edge, and great plumes of dirt and dust were hurled into the air behind it. The rumble and scream of rending metal filled the air for miles around until, finally, the cruiser's corpse came to a stop. The ship's hull had been rent in two, with the front end buried nose-down in the earth, and the rear a few hundred feet behind, smoking gently.

"Hit confirmed," the salarian smiled. "Target destroyed. The probability of crew surviving that impact is... small."

"Non-existent," Thorne corrected. "No kinetic barriers? They'll all be bloody smears on the walls..."

"I hate to break up the celebration," Darix interrupted, "but there's still another ship up there, what's the range?"

"Thirty-five miles," Rilum replied, as his spirits sank. "We need to fire ASAP! Turn the ships, _now!_"

Cash and Thorne were already at work, swiping at the controls, and in the bays below, he could see both ships swinging to the right, guided by the glowing mass effect fields inside the docking clamps.

"Thirty-three miles," he muttered.

He looked up to see the skeletal white form of the remaining cruiser – it was closer now, and he could see it out of the darkness, looming over the shipyard with an air of menace as panic filled the control room.

"We're in position!" Kamur yelled, over the radio.

"We're not!" Darix added.

"Fire number one!" Rilum roared, frantically. "Keep moving number two, they're thirty-one miles out!"

Another ghostly blue missile erupted from Kamur's frigate, racing upwards, but even as it did, all sorts of alarms were blaring out from the ladar system now hooked up to his omni-tool. Almost reluctantly, he murmured:

"Thirty miles."

Even as their Thanix shot smashed into the cruiser's upper decks, the Cerberus ship's own guns were lighting up with golden flares of mass accelerator fire.

"Incoming!"

The yell, from Cash, was entirely unhelpful. Moving at well past the speed of sound, the mass accelerator slugs were crashing down around their heads before they quite knew what was happening. The first hurtled past, into the empty plains in the shipyard's shadow, but the second slammed into a bulkhead just off to the left of the repair bay, and Lynus was alarmed to see a chunk of steel debris hurtling high into the air, before succumbing to gravity, and plummeting straight towards his head.

He leapt back, hurling himself face-down on the floor as the great bay window shattered, and the hunk of debris tore into the side of the room. When he looked up, the window itself was gone – the floor that had been leading up to it tapered away into a battered edge, which dipped slightly, the steel actually _twisted _out of shape and littered with broken glass.

That had been a close one, but a moment later, the memory was purged from his mind by an altogether more alarming sight. Another slug raced down, crashed into the middle of the repair bay... and gutted one of the frigates, from cockpit to tail.

Almost instantly, smoke and flame were bursting out into the open air, and dull roars were filling the radio.

"Report!" came Kamur's bellow, from the other ship. "Darix, report!"

There was only silence, however, and a moment later, the docking clamp on the remaining wing sparked and failed, apparently damaged in the blast. Darix's ship lurched, swung limply on the remaining clamps, then plummeted out of the bottom of the bay, taking the clamps and half of the steel superstructure with it... Kamur spat something in turian – it was from some dialect the salarian's translator couldn't recognise, but from the sheer venom in his voice, it sounded like the foulest curse.

"Pull out," the captain muttered, reluctantly. "Abandon ship, quickly!"

From the control room above, Rilum could see turian forms sprinting out of the airlock – by his count, five made it before a hissing slug smashed through the ship's nose, tearing it clean off. A second followed, pulverising the tail end and the docking clamps, and with a great scream, the whole ship plunged into the abyss.

"Kamur?" the salarian murmured, finally. "Kamur, are you alright?"

"I... ah... yeah. We're alright" – Rilum couldn't help noticing that 'are _you _alright' had become '_we _are alright', typical of the turian collective mentality – "I've got five survivors down here, including me and Gazix. Two of my squad didn't make it off the engineering deck, though..."

"No survivors from Darix's ship, either," Lynus sighed, "and the cruiser's still airborne..."

He trailed off as he turned around. The sight that awaited him was a rather poignant kick in the teeth, a reminder that they'd just _failed_ – Cash and Thorne were stood at their desks, joined by Marat and Colburn, and the four of them, like Rilum, were watching helplessly out of the control room windows, as fires began to burn across the colony below... He could see a particularly bright one burning in the side of the hospital tower...

Then, quite suddenly, something flashed up on his ladar. No, _several _things, and there was a dull rush in the air as a dozen steel forms whistled overhead. The radio crackled into life, and time seemed to stand still.

"This is the Cambrai! Sorry we're late, but we brought a few friends to the party!"


	91. Operation Silverback Part 19

_**SSV Cambrai, Aephus**_

_**Day 2, 0025**_

"Bank left!"

Sat in the vacant radio operator's seat once more, Colonel Hunter was watching as the Cambrai's two flight officers hurled the ship across the Aephus skyline. A broadside from the Cerberus cruiser ahead sent mass accelerator slugs whistling toward them, and Erika swung the ship literally feet above the shipyard's roof to avoid them.

Turian fighters were swarming all around them – they had picked up the fighter wing from a turian base on the far side of the planet, and the pilots had been all too eager to help save Typhon. Now, there was a squadron of ten surrounding the Cambrai, flitting in and out of view through the cockpit viewscreens.

"Eshoc Wing!" one of the pilots, apparently the leader, called. "All eyes on that cruiser! Diversionary tactics!"

"Diversion?" Erika muttered, from the pilot's seat. "What does a turian diversion look like?"

"It looks like ten fighters hurling themselves at GARDIAN laser batteries..." Akito scowled. "Standard tactics in situations like this - they occupy the lasers so we can launch a salvo of torpedoes safely."

"That's insane," she replied. "They'll be wiped out!"

"Turians don't care about casualties," her co-pilot murmured, taking the words right out of Logan's mouth. "But more importantly, it won't work..."

"How come?"

"Oh, come on, Erika. If a torpedo volley could take out those cruisers to begin with, we wouldn't have had to run half way across the colony to fetch help!"

Yurai was clearly exasperated at the turians' efforts, and a moment later, he had drawn up the radio panel, even as the turian fighters began to edge ahead of the Cambrai.

"Turian wing Eshoc!" he called, "Belay your last order!"

"Belaying and dropping back," the turian leader growled, "but you'd better have a damn good reason for countermanding my orders, human..."

"Your orders were going to fail," Akito snapped. "All it would have done is killed your men and left us to fight on our own."

"And you've got a better idea?"

"Damn right I do... It looks like our ground team managed to wound that thing - there's a big hull breach on the upper decks, just between the wing arches. That leaves a blind spot – even if the lasers haven't been destroyed, the heat sinks and the targeting systems will have been. You'll still take a few hits, but nowhere near as many as in a head-on attack."

"Okay... and then what?" the turian persisted. "We can't take that cruiser out no matter _how _big a blind spot there is."

"Just keep them busy," Akito instructed, now looking meaningfully at Erika. "Keep hitting them, and we'll manoeuvre for a big hit."

"Alright..." the squadron leader grunted, finally, and with a degree of reluctance. "Eshoc Wing, you heard the man. Your target's already burning, hit them where it hurts!"

With a series of metallic whines, the hawk-like turian fighters pulled away, racing ahead of the Cambrai. At the same time, Erika pitched the frigate upwards, aiming for the Cerberus cruiser – just as the turian leader had said, the topside was burning from the earlier strike, transforming the ship into a giant signal beacon, hovering in the sky.

"Gunnery," Erika murmured, into the comms, "I need torpedoes primed now, and the main gun ready to fire!"

"Javelins are ready to launch!" someone from the gunnery crew shouted back.

"Good. Show the turians how _Earth _does a diversion!"

With that rather jingoistic cry, she slammed one of the control panels, and half a dozen whistling blue torpedoes shot out from either wing. After a moment, and with the Javelins sailing onwards, Logan finally realised what the pilot was doing – the first few warheads were shot down almost instantly, brought down by the invisible GARDIAN lasers, but the turian fighters were _speeding up _towards them. In the eyes of the Cerberus crew's gunners, an incoming torpedo was far more of a threat than one little fighter, so while they busied themselves bringing down the Cambrai's salvo, the turians had a brief window to get past the lasers...

"Main gun's ready!" Akito shouted, still examining the readouts from the co-pilot's seat.

"Hold fire!" Erika yelled back – never mind that they were only six feet apart, she was still yelling... "We won't have long , this needs to be a one-shot job!"

Sure enough, as Logan watched on helplessly, two of the turian fighters were reduced to fireballs in the sky, dropping in ragged spirals to the ground below. The rest, however, had made it to the burning, damaged area of the cruiser, and the great ship was listing lazily around, trying to turn and direct its surviving lasers toward them.

Without warning, Erika swiped at the controls, and the ship whirled over to one side, rolling and strafing through the sky. The Cerberus cruiser was looming ever-closer in the cockpit windows, and they were swinging towards its nose.

"Akito, you remember training?" she murmured, absent-mindedly. She was chatting as casually as if they were having a drink, not blowing a cruiser out of the sky. "Simulation Delta – three-frigate squadron against a turian dreadnought?"

"I seem to remember beating you in that one..." he replied – he too was talking calmly and off-handedly, despite the situation.

"You beat me in _all_ the sims, smartass. Point is, do you remember the strategy?"

They were getting worryingly close to the cruiser now, and Logan hoped they'd just get to the bloody plan already...

"Rotate firing in three phases," Akito recited, "draw off defence fire, swoop back to safe range, then hit them on the central parallel."

"Well, let's just skip to the last one, shall we?"

Logan, the only non-pilot in the cockpit, was displaying a mask of confusion, but he soon found out what the 'central parallel' was. As Erika stopped talking, she had brought the ship quite literally face to face with the Cerberus cruiser – the two ships' noses were pointing at each other, and from the cockpit, the colonel could see a perfectly symmetrical view of the cruiser's front. Erika corrected the Cambrai's aim by mere degrees, then turned, looked at Akito, and gave him a brief nod of confirmation.

In perfect silence, the co-pilot brought up the main gun's readout, primed all systems, and punched the holographic panel which Logan presumed was the 'Fire!' button. A deafening roar filled the air, followed by a _whoosh _as the gun, just beneath their feet, expelled a single screaming slug into the open air.

The round shot forwards through the night sky, glimmered in the pale moonlight, then slammed straight into the cruiser's nose.

Erika had judged the shot well, and at last, the colonel could understand the 'strategy' Simulation Delta recommended. Their main gun punctured at the very tip of the ship's sweeping profile, punctured the unshielded hull, and proceeded to tear its way rather efficiently along the ship's spine. A series of subsequent explosions formed a fiery trail along the cruiser's sides, and Logan could only assume the round was tearing through the ship's innards. It was an effective strategy, and the titanic groan filling the air was evidence enough that it had crippled the enemy ship – the great white hulk began to slip lower in the skyline, twisting slightly to the side as it did. Flames and smoke were pouring out of the gouges along her flanks, along with a stream of eezo dust from one over the drive core.

Then, finally, with a hideous scream of twisting steel, a great fireball roared out of the ship's midriff, engulfing it even as the turian fighters scrambled to escape the blast. Erika and Akito were watching on with satisfaction, and Logan was impressed – not only had they torn the ship apart with a single round, it was now breaking up in the dark sky, rather than ploughing to the ground and crushing a residential district...

"All grounds teams," he murmured, into the comms. "Cruiser destroyed. Everybody okay down there?"

"We're much better now that cruiser's gone," came the reply – the turian, Kamur, "but my team's spotted at least half a dozen shuttles trying to drop troops in the colony."

"Say no more," one of the turian fighter pilots interrupted, "we'll knock them out of the sky."

As the remaining fighters swung earthwards, moving to strafe over the colony's skyline, Colonel Hunter's mind was on other matters.

"All teams," he continued, "we'll send down evac shuttles, get yourselves ready to go. You did good down there."

"Slight problem, colonel," Kamur interjected once more. "Three teams, two shuttles... yeah."

Damn. He hadn't thought of that, in his relief at the threat's passing. Before he could reply, however, another voice joined the conversation – Raziel Mac'Tir.

"Colonel Hunter," the drell muttered. "We're holed up in the Cerberus frigate. The enemy has no way of getting in – evacuate the other teams first."

"Got it," Logan nodded. "Shuttles, scramble to the hospital and shipyard. I want all of our men back home within the hour."


	92. Operation Silverback Part 20

_**Frigate High Hope, Aephus**_

_**Day 2, 0050**_

"Frigate team, mark the landing site. Hospital and shipyard teams are back onboard, we're coming to fetch you..."

Dr O'Leiph suppressed a grin at that, as relief coursed through her veins. The remnants of Bravo and Delta teams, left behind when Rilum departed for the shipyard, were all gathered around the hangar bay as they waited for the shuttle.

Ria took a quick headcount. Her fellow asari, Maelar, Aeryn, Rafea and Saffiya were all gathered on a heap of crates a few feet away, licking their wounds – figuratively, of course – and waiting. The drell, Mac'Tir, was off to one side, working on the ramp's controls – Cerberus had sealed the thing to keep them out, but the assassin was making quick work of their hasty encryption.

In fact, after just another minute, he straightened up victoriously, the previously red console changed to the regular orange glow, and there was a great hydraulic _hiss _from the ship's inner workings. With a press of a button, the ramp began to fall open, and a cool rush of night air swept over the hangar's occupants.

The drell was striding out even before the others had gotten to their feet, and he cut a rather impressive figure as he marched along the now-falling cargo ramp, with his trench coat billowing behind him and a smoking green flare in each hand. Without warning, he leapt over the edge, but smoke continued to filter up from the crater below, and finally, as it opened fully, they could see him standing in the rubble, waving and criss-crossing the flares above his head, and looking skyward.

As the rest of the squad paced over to join him, Ria cast a slightly reluctant look at the two shrouded bodies along the side wall of the hangar. The Cerberus troops didn't deserve much in the way of dignity – in the hours after their takeover of the ship, the squad had heaped them up in the cargo hold – but to the two turian civilians, they had been far more respectful. Ria had salvaged a couple of clean sheets from the ship's med bay – even Cerberus followed certain medical procedures and practices – and the two bodies had been posed more naturally, then wrapped in the cloth shrouds.

"Visual confirmed," the shuttle pilot interrupted, over the radio. "We can't pick you up in the crater, we'll meet you at the top of the ridge."

"Understood," Mac'Tir muttered, turning around to check on his squadmates just as they leapt off the ramp behind him.

"What's the medical situation?

"Err...?"

"Rilum says you had wounded, we need to know if they're urgent, or..."

With an exasperated sigh, the drell turned to Ria.

"Doctor, I think you'd best handle this."

She nodded, and drew up her omni-tool as he patched her into the conversation.

"Dr O'Leiph, what's your status down there?" the pilot repeated. "Any critical injuries?"

"No..." she murmured. "Everyone except Mac'Tir and myself is injured, but it's bumps and bruises in most cases. The justicar could do with a proper check-up once we're back on the ship, but she's not in need of urgent help, if that's what you mean."

"Understood. ETA is about two minutes, hold tight."

Sure enough, after two minutes' wait, during which they scrambled up the side of the rubble crater, the shuttle swooped down out of the night. It came to a hovering halt a foot or so above the ground, thrusters kicking up little plumes of dust, and the familiar doors slid open to welcome them.

Some of the previous team's members had stayed back to help them, apparently in case there _were _critical injuries – Lynus Rilum and Ethan Cash were stood just inside the shuttle's doors. Cash looked apathetic, as usual, but the salarian's face broke into a relieved smile, presumably at the sight of his last two squadmates, O'Leiph and Mac'Tir, both in good health.

Wordlessly, the commandoes filed into the waiting shuttle. There was no real rush – the colony was still shrouded in darkness, but they knew the skies were clear. Nonetheless, Ria had a feeling they were all anxious to get back to the safety of the Cambrai, and some well deserved R&R. Of course, for her, that would probably mean returning to a pile of med bay paperwork, but dodging bullets with the marines had made a nice change, and it had been a rather nostalgic throwback to her commando days.

"Everybody's in," Rilum called, to the shuttle's pilot – as he did, the doors hissed closed, and Dr O'Leiph slumped down in a seat on the far side, suddenly feeling rather exhausted. Rather unhelpfully, her medical brain was prescribing a xanthine derivative to combat that – sometimes, it was damn hard to switch off...

Mac'Tir, without knowing it, helped take her mind off the matter:

"Rilum," he muttered, "what's the situation?"

"Remarkably... good," the salarian smiled – it was probably the first time Ria had seen him smile since beginning the mission. "Shipyard and hospital were evacuated without any further casualties." His mood grew slightly more sombre, as he added, "A lot of turians died, though. Civilian casualty rate is around fifty percent, military was over ninety."

"Kalahira..." the drell murmured, aghast.

"Would have been higher without us," Cash pointed out. "Charlie kept a hell of a lot of civilians alive in that hospital, not to mention us taking out those cruisers..."

"We can celebrate when we're back on the Cambrai," Rilum said, finally. "I've had enough of this planet."


	93. Operation Silverback Debrief

_**SSV Cambrai, Aephon Cluster**_

_**Day 2, 0125**_

"Alright, we've all had a long day... err, couple of days... so I'll make this quick," Logan muttered, from the head of the war room table.

He paused, and took a quick look at the gathered crew. Perhaps holding the debrief in the war room had been a mistake. _All _of the Cambrai's available operatives had gone to Aephus - with everyone packed into the war room, there wasn't exactly a lot of space, and most of them looked ready to fall down from exhaustion...

"There was a lot of blood shed today," he began, "we came back without casualties, but our allies weren't so lucky..."

The three turians in the crowd – Kamur, Zel and Gazix – all looked rather sombre at that. Well, _everyone _looked sombre, but they were taking it harder than most, seeing as the 'allies' were their own people, killed by the dozen over the course of the battle.

"The turians will recover," the colonel asserted, trying to instil his voice with some confidence. "Reinforcements are already on their way from the other colonies – fleets will reinforce, and engineers will rebuild. Because of our efforts, enough of Typhon colony was left standing for it to be _worth _rebuilding, and a lot of turians are alive who would have died otherwise..."

That reassurance didn't really seem to... well, reassure them, and Logan knew several of the marines, particularly those who had been on the shipyard, were thinking of the turians who _wouldn't _have died without their intervention. Murphy, ever the populist, caught their attention as he added:

"And we kicked Cerberus' ass!"

There were a few 'oorah's at that, and the N7s seemed to perk up a little.

"Two Cerberus cruisers? Dead," Murphy continued. "Battalion-strength infantry force? Dead. Stealth frigate with high-ranking Alliance turncoat? Dead."

"What?" came the startled reply, from someone in the mass of soldiers.

"Covick," Hunter explained. "I thought I recognised the name, so I checked our records. _Rear Admiral_ Covick was discharged from the Alliance nine years ago. Dishonourably. He sent a whole regiment of men to their deaths to take out a mercenary outpost, and that rather crossed the 'acceptable casualties' line. After discharge, he ran off into the Traverse. Cerberus must have recruited him there..."

"Whoever he was, the bastard's dead now," Thorne spat, from the other side of the room.

"Quite... As for his ship, I've already contacted Alliance command. After consulting with the turians, they agreed that the Alliance is best equipped to repair the thing. Using the plans from the Normandy, it should be swept of bugs, repaired and operational within a couple of weeks."

"They're using the ship?" Dr O'Leiph piped up, with a note of uncertainty in her voice.

"Why not?" Murphy shrugged, in reply. "They used the Normandy, and Cerberus built that."

No-one seemed to have any way of arguing against that, although Colonel Hunter got the sense a lot of them _wanted_ to. The ship was tainted after what they'd been through, but it was a working frigate, and it out-performed their own vessels by a _long _way. In a war as desperate as this one, they couldn't afford to be picky...

"That's about all there is to say," Hunter concluded. "Seeing as our last shore leave was... interrupted, we're heading back to the Citadel for some well-deserved R&R. Get some sleep, and we'll be on Kithoi Ward by midday. Dismissed."


	94. Downtime 5

_**SSV Cambrai, Aephon Cluster**_

_**Day 2, 0230**_

About an hour after the colonel's debriefing, Dr O'Leiph was finally beginning to relax.

Upon returning to the med bay, she had satisfied her slightly tired brain's prescription with three boiling cups of the xanthine derivative caffeine, which had certainly served to wake her up a bit, and she and Gina had set about calling the entirety of Bravo team up to the med bay. A brief diagnosis of each of them had shown, as expected, the longer-lasting effects of nerve agent poisoning – breathing difficulties, nausea, pains in the lungs and stomach... A mild dose of atropine would clear that up, but there was still a chance of more permanent neurological damage, not to mention atropine's side effect...

The 'side effect' was the slightly inconvenient fact that atropine was poisonous – not lethal, but enough to render the patients feverish for a few hours. Along with Kan'Sura, who was recovering quickly from his suit rupture, Bravo team were now occupying every bed in the med bay.

Of them, only the justicar was still conscious – Ria had yet to give her the atropine, choosing to attend to her wounds first. She had been hurt pretty badly on the High Hope, worse than she was letting on, and her injuries were much more severe than those of the rest of the squad.

As she stitched up a particularly nasty gash across Saffiya's forehead, however, Ria noticed the justicar wasn't even paying attention. She was meditating, by the looks of it, eyes tight shut, sat cross-legged on the end of the bed.

"Are you sure you don't want any anaesthetic?" the doctor asked, yet again.

"No, thank you," came the serene reply.

"Your injuries are quite bad, you know," she persisted, speaking as if the justicar hadn't _noticed_ the bloody cuts and bumps across her face. "They must hurt."

"They're not too bad..." Saffiya murmured, predictably. "The pain is lessened somewhat, knowing that the man who inflicted it got his just reward...

"That he did," Ria muttered – she had examined Covick's body, like all the others, back on the High Hope. "Mac'Tir really did a number on him..."

There was a slight pause as she finished stitching, cut the clear thread she had been using, and reached for the bottle of antiseptic on the side counter, to clean the other wounds. After a minute's silence, she asked the question that had been nagging at her brain for half a day now:

"How long's that been going on, then?"

"What?" Saffiya inquired, curiously, her blue eyes shooting open and taking on a puzzled expression.

"You and Mac'Tir. How long's that been going on?" Ria repeated.

"How long has _what _been going on?"

"Oh, you've got to be joking..."

"What are you_ talking about?_"

"You're _seriously _telling me there's nothing going on between you two?" Dr O'Leiph frowned, sceptically.

"What do you even _mean _by that?" the justicar scowled, as if it was a truly foreign concept – actually, for her order, maybe it _was_...

"You and the big handsome drell, burning the midnight oil..."

"I... never..."

"Never? Really? C'mon, huge strong arms, big black eyes, duelled a man to save you? You've _really _never thought about it? Because I would." – Okay, that last bit was a joke, but there was still an odd feeling saying it, as if her husband was behind her back, scowling at her.

"You're mocking me."

"Yes, I'm mocking you! This is my mocking face! But _seriously_, I've seen the way you two look at each other... You spend most of your time on the ship together, you spent _all _of your time on shore leave together, and back on the High Hope, he shot off like a _bullet_ when you were in danger..."

"I..." the justicar began, but she trailed off, and Ria grinned mischievously as she saw a twinkle in her fellow asari's eye. A moment later, however, Saffiya bit her lip, and her face fell into a frown. "It wouldn't be appropriate," she concluded, glumly.

"Why? Does the Code forbid it?" Ria asked, genuinely curious.

"Well, no, but we're meant to forsake our attachments."

"Oh, lighten up," the doctor scowled, well aware of the irony in telling a justicar to lighten up.

"Okay, even putting the Code aside," Saffiya argued, "we're at war here! If you both might die tomorrow, what do you do?"

"You make tonight count?" O'Leiph shrugged. "My advice, honey? As soon as you're out of med bay you find him, and you tell him how you feel..."

"I..."

"Actually, I take that back - that wasn't advice, it was an _instruction_, now lie back..."

With a frown, the justicar lay back on the bed, and Ria finally reached for the atropine injector on the trolley at her hip, neatly placing it into a vein on Saffiya's wrist – as before, the justicar didn't display a hint of pain.

"See you in the morning," Ria muttered, grabbing a sedative next. Saffiya sighed, a flicker of a smile passed over her features, and then, as Ria injected the sedative into her bloodstream too, she drifted off, rather calmly, into sleep.


	95. Downtime 6

_**SSV Cambrai, Aephon Cluster**_

_**Day 2, 0245**_

Lounging at his desk, Colonel Hunter was feeling rather proud of himself, not to mention his men. Despite his initial fears, the operation couldn't have been more different from Benning. No losses – from their own crew, at least – and a huge amount of damage done to Cerberus. That was a good day's work in his book...

Now, he was sat at his desk, nursing a coffee as he tried to stay awake. Most of the crew were asleep in the hangar or the crew quarters. Aside from himself, the only other people he knew to be awake were Gina and Ria, still flitting about in the med bay window as they worked, and the two pilots at the helm. Much as the colonel wanted to sleep, he needed to get a report off to Admiral Hackett – the attack on Aephus, although a failure, had been brutal and sudden, and the information needed to be passed on before Cerberus could pull it off again.

As he set about continuing the mission report, however, he was interrupted by a crackle over the intercom, and an unfamiliar voice, not the yeoman's, but a hoarse mutter, flanged by sub-harmonics.

"Colonel, it's Kamur," the voice said. "I need a word."

"Come in," Logan replied – this was fortunate, he needed to speak to the turian anyway...

With a dull _swish_, the door opened, and Kamur paced in. As ever, the turian was still in full, silver combat armour, bullet-scarred and slightly burnt from the last battle. He dwarfed Hunter, and looked slightly awkward as he sat down on the small chair opposite the desk, which clearly hadn't been designed for a 6'3 turian.

"I... wanted to talk to you," the colonel muttered, before the turian could even begin speaking. "About Operative Manado."

"Ah," was all Kamur could manage.

"What the hell happened down there?" Hunter continued. "Manado wouldn't tell us..."

"Did you hear about the little... incident, on shore leave?" the turian began.

"I heard you almost killed two turian privates," he scowled back.

"They brought it on themselves the moment they drew their weapons," Kamur muttered, defensively. "Any turian commander would have done the same. The point _is_, when their lieutenant came to stop me, I had to pull rank, and he recognised my unit. So, when we ran into him again on the shipyard, he called me hastatim, and Manado realised what I was..."

"And why was that an issue? Zel's a turian, she should have understood... Is there something you're not telling me about the hastatim?"

"I told you everything already, colonel..." That rang true – in their interview, after Hunter had come aboard as training officer, Kamur had explained all the intricacies of the hastatim, and had sworn it wouldn't affect his performance. "Most turians _do _understand – we know that there's no difference between civilians and partisans in our culture, and we know the hastatim are necessary. I guess Manado just... doesn't agree. Not surprising, really – she's spent most of her life sheltered in the Cabals."

"But _why _doesn't she agree?" Hunter persisted.

"I don't know... Maybe she's just a bit different to most turians. Maybe she's like you humans - can't accept casualties. Maybe she doesn't really have a problem with hastatim – maybe she just disagreed with me, and used the name as another way of insulting me..."

For a few minutes, the two of them sat in silence. Hunter was looking into the turian's hawk-like eyes with an appraising stare. It was rather remarkable – in the space of a single day, he was seeing Kamur in an entirely new light. The relaxed, chatty, slightly cocky soldier was still there, but the events on Aephus had revealed a darker side, a side which the colonel had never seen in him outside the text of his dossier. There was a tiny, black glimmer in his eyes, and it didn't matter that the turian's eyes were golden orbs – it would have been just as easy to recognise in a human, or any other species.

That look of resignation transcended mundane barriers like race. It was a look which only the most hardened, career marines possessed – the defeated look of a man who had killed so many, so often, that it became mechanical, a reflex, even. In the Alliance, Hunter knew marines who had served five, even ten years, and still got the shakes when they killed a man. It was natural – killing synthetics and husks was easy, but killing sentients, men and women like yourself? That took a special kind of nerve. Eventually, the shock response was blunted by repetition, and killing just became a matter of pulling the trigger...

"I need to know this won't affect the mission," the colonel murmured, finally.

"It won't," the turian replied, not breaking the stare. "That's actually what I came to talk to you about. Here."

As he spoke, he reached to his waist, and to Hunter's surprise, he slung a datapad across the desk towards him. The colonel picked it up, and began to read, eyes widening as he did.

When he was finished, he set the datapad back down, still feeling rather staggered at its contents. Without really knowing what he was doing, he stood up out of his seat, and threw a sharp salute. The turian nodded understandingly, matched the salute, then turned on his heel and left, without another word...


	96. Downtime 7

_**SSV Cambrai, Serpent Nebula**_

_**Day 2, 0900**_

"Seriously?" Kamur muttered. "_This _is how you humans get rid of stress?"

"Well," Cash scowled, "our commanders don't let us beat each other up in downtime, so we have to make do..."

They were in the hangar bay, a little distance from the sleeping area, having woken up just an hour before. Kamur and Kan'Sura – the latter had returned from the med bay that morning – were watching on, sceptically, as Andersen and Cash did press-ups on the steel floor.

"And... you _always _do this shirtless?" the turian scowled.

"No, they only do _that _when the females are watching," Kan smirked, nodding towards the group of women on the other side of the hangar – Kyra, Araya, Vanyali and Zel were all attending to their weapons and armour, and the three humans were shooting occasional glances at the two topless marines. As Kamur watched, Zel looked up and caught his eye. After a few moments of awkward staring, the two of them turned their eyes back to their colleagues.

"That has _nothing _to do with it," Cash grunted.

"Oh, c'mon, of course it does," Andersen grinned, at his side.

"Well, it's probably a good thing..." Kamur reasoned.

"What's that supposed to mean?"

"You wouldn't last five minutes in a turian sparring match."

At that, Cash looked affronted – he dipped down for another press, then sprang upwards, landing on his feet with surprising agility. The human usually looked apathetic, but there was a fire in his eyes, a mixture of annoyance and excitement.

"Wanna bet?" he muttered, as Andersen got to his feet and joined him.

"Are you _really _challenging me?" Kamur murmured, a sly smile breaking over his plated features. He cracked his bony knuckles, and looked from one human to the other.

"Ah, what the hell," Cash shrugged, "yeah, I am."

"Me too," Andersen nodded, smiling good-humouredly. Clearly, the two humans were up for a bit of sport...

"Alright..." the turian grinned, stepping back a few paces. "Standard shipboard rules. No weapons, no tech programs, no biotics" – he looked meaningfully at Cash – "and Kan here stops the fight if it looks like broken bones or blood wounds."

"Got it," the engineer nodded. "But the armour comes off too, I'm not punching _steel_."

With a nod of agreement, Kamur stepped back and set about pulling his armour off. Like all combat armour, it was modular, designed to be easily taken apart, repaired in individual pieces, and then reassembled. Over the years, it became a matter of routine, and within a minute, he was out of his armour. Admittedly, the hangar felt rather cold without it – for the sake of comfort, he wasn't wearing a shirt beneath it – but turians as a whole didn't have the same issues with modesty as humans did. Or, as humans _usually_ did, when they weren't showing off to females...

"You want to go first?" Cash asked his colleague. "Or shall I?"

"I don't remember saying it was one at a time," Kamur interjected, already dropping back into a fighting stance.

"Are you serious?" Andersen muttered.

"Do I _look _like I'm joking?"

"You neve-"

"Yeah, yeah, I never look like I'm joking. Just get on with it, softskin..."

With that, the two of them dropped into standard human fighting stances – head dropped slightly on the shoulders, fists close to the chest, hopping nimbly from foot to foot. The turian, by contrast, was keeping his taloned feet firmly on the floor, resting back slightly on his heel spurs and keeping his back straight. An anthropologist would have put the stances down to the differing avian and primate origins, but in Kamur's mind, it was just his training - he was bigger than them, albeit slower, so he could afford to plant his feet and take their attacks.

Their fight had drawn some attention – besides Kan'Sura, who was now sitting on a pile of crates beside their improvised sparring ring, the group of females who had been watching them earlier was now pacing over, curiously.

The turian already knew he had to be on the defensive – standard practice in a two on one fight was either to knock one of your attackers out of the fight quickly and turn on the other, or to hang back and use their momentum against them. Seeing as this was a sparring match, he couldn't cripple either of them early, which left defence as the only option... Just as his brain reached that conclusion, Cash lunged from his right, and his brain switched into combat mode:

_Block, then counter. _He grabbed Cash's fist in his right hand, gripping it with firm but blunted talons, then drove his left hand in a quick jab between the sentinel's ribs. Cash staggered to the right, winded by the sudden strike.

_Turn, press the advantage. _Kamur wheeled around to see Andersen launching a right hook towards his head. The turian crossed his arms in front of his face, neatly blocking the blow, then took a backwards step, rocked on his haunches, and swung forward with a hefty kick to the engineer's midriff, causing him to double over and stumble back. Behind him, he heard footsteps on the steel floor, and realised Cash was charging at his back.

_Feign ignorance, then strike._ He waited until the sentinel was literally feet away, then whirled around in a clockwise circle, striking the side of Cash's head with his left hand and simultaneously grabbing the human's shoulder with his right.

_Sweep the leg. _The turian shifted his weight to the left, hooked his leg around Cash's, then used his grip on the sentinel's shoulder to clothesline him, levering him backwards into the floor. Moments later, with Cash sprawled on the ground, an admittedly solid right hook smashed into Kamur's shoulder, and Andersen resumed his attack, charging headlong at his turian opponent.

_Use the momentum_. Kamur span around, anti-clockwise this time, looped his right arm under Andersen's left, and used the human's forward motion to hurl him head over heels in a textbook hip toss. Andersen hit the ground hard, and groaned, as the other N7s, now gathered a few feet away, watched on with concern.

"One down," Kamur murmured, rounding on Cash.

"One to go," the sentinel grinned back, before diving forwards, fists flying.

_Block left, right, left. _The turian parried away Cash's punches, swinging his blocking arms to the left, then the right, then – _wham. _As he went left again, Cash feinted and struck right, crashing a quick jab against the side of Kamur's skull. He shuffled back as the human jabbed again, catching his jaw and making his head bob. He had longer legs and quicker feet, however, and was quickly out of Cash's range.

_Exploit the confidence, counter. _Kamur made a momentary, deliberate mistake. He raised his arms up over his face, faking concern for the blows to his head, and grinned to himself as the human struck at his stomach – quite suddenly, he brought his right hand down, grabbing Cash's wrist, then brought his left fist across in a vicious backhand to the human's jaw, knocking him backwards with a pained grunt.

_Buckle the knee, disorient. _He ploughed forward, kicking out and striking Cash's leg, knocking him into a kneeling position. Then, he stepped up once more, and dealt a relentless elbow to the back of the human's head. His opponent stumbled once more, shaking his head dazedly and trying to get to his feet, even as Kamur paced across the floor behind him.

_Check the threat. _Andersen had limped out of the fight, and was now stood between Kan'Sura and the cluster of females, watching the fight intently. That just left Cash, who was back on his feet and plunging at Kamur once more, feigning determination despite the slightly dizzied look in his eyes.

_Halt momentum. _Kamur darted forwards, Cash hesitated in his charge, and the turian reached out with his left hand, grabbing the human's jaw in a firm grasp. His legs flailed in the air for a moment, trying to run onwards, before they finally stopped kicking, and swung back to a standing position, still held in the turian's grip.

_Finish him. _He lashed out, swinging a right hook to the side of the sentinel's head and knocking him cleanly to the floor.

The spectators simply stood there, in stunned silence, as Kamur paced back over to where he had started, recovered his armour, and neatly set about clipping it into place. Cash was picking himself up off the floor, massaging an aching neck, but there was no anger on his face – Kamur had half expected the humans to be annoyed with him – only begrudging respect.

Finally, with his stress well and truly relieved, and his armour restored, the turian turned to the assembled crowd, to one spectator in particular, and called, coolly:

"Manado. We need to talk."


	97. Downtime 8

_**SSV Cambrai, Serpent Nebula**_

_**Day 2, 0930**_

Angry silence filled the starboard observation deck, as the two turians avoided each other's eyes. They were both wearing armour, but Kamur was kicking himself for not bringing his weapons, because Zel had her sniper rifle.

"Well?" she muttered, finally. "What did you want to talk about?"

"You _know _what I want to talk about," he replied, trying to stay calmer than he had on Aephus.

"What is there to talk about? You tried to kill a bunch of civilians, I didn't like it."

"But they _weren't _civilians. They tried to kill us!"

"That doesn't matter!" Zel snapped, _very_ confusingly. "You would have killed them whether they were civilians or not..."

"Yes, I would have," Kamur replied, unashamedly. "And in that case, it would have been the right call."

"And in _another _case, it would have left three innocent civilians dead."

"Will you _stop_ calling them innocent civilians?" he hissed, patience breaking slightly. "Alright, they were engineers, but they were working for Cerberus and _invading _one of our colonies, so they weren't civilians, and they damn well weren't innocent!"

Zel seemed to relent slightly at that, biting her lip, but the intelligent part of Kamur's brain, so often ignored, was digging deeper into the argument.

"It was never about that, though, was it?"

"Yes it was, that's exactly what it was about!"

"'Why am I even listening to you? You're a hastatim! You're a fucking executioner!'" he quoted. "That didn't sound like it was much to do with those techs..."

She sighed, resignedly, and slumped down on one of the long benches that faced the observation deck window. Warily, Kamur sat next to her, staying just far enough away to be able to see an attack coming, if she got angry again – he'd learned the hard way not to piss off members of the cabals...

"When we were in training," Zel began, finally, "we had lessons about... well, the rest of the world. I guess _you_ just learned by being part of it, but we were isolated in the cabals. They had to teach us about everything, including how the rest of the military worked. When the instructor got round to the hastatim, he was a bit... jaded. I think he lost family to them... But damn it, he was right!"

The fire in her voice at those last few words caught him by surprise – up until that point, he'd thought she was coming around to his way of thinking.

"You're _literally _death squads," she continued. "That might have been fine in the past, but look at the galaxy now! Do any of the other Citadel races have _death squads? _No! If a human politician even proposed it, they'd be booed out of office!"

"Humans don't arm their civilians and give them military training," Kamur replied, bluntly. "_Their _civilians don't shoot soldiers on sight if there's a territory dispute."

"Oh, come on, that doesn't _really _happen, that's just to make the hastatim's job look harder," Zel snapped.

"Are you _quite _sure about that?" Kamur growled, suddenly feeling anger rise in his gut. "Because I've had to clear streets where families were shooting at us from every _damn_ window. I've lost men trying to bargain with partisans, and I've been shot by 'defenceless civilians' on their doorsteps..."

Rather than the meek, apologetic response his imagination had expected, he found Zel's eyes glinting angrily, as she snarled:

"Yeah, well what did you expect? You earned that reputation... How does it feel, knowing your _job _is killing your own people?" she hissed. She paused slightly, then added: "You know what else our instructor told us? He told us why the hastatim always get transferred off-world – because they can't face doing their job around people they know..."

There was another pause, before Kamur, swallowing most of his anger, replied:

"My _job _was to take people to the safe camps, not to kill them. If they chose to resist, that was their fault. Besides, your instructor was talking out of his ass."

"What, you're saying you _could _face it?"

"I'm saying we _do_. I _did_."

"What?" Zel gawped, face falling.

"That stuff about off-world transfers is a load of crap," Kamur scowled. "Take me – I'm Taetrian."

"You don't wear the colony markings," his fellow turian observed, quietly. "I just assumed..."

"It didn't feel right wearing them," the hastatim sighed. "Not after the war."

"You mean...?"

"The War on Taetrus. Yes. My unit was one of the first into the Diluvian Wildlands. First unit into the capital, too..."

"Was it... bad?" Zel murmured – that single revelation seemed to have shattered her previous hostility, and shaken the foundations of her argument.

"Worst fighting of my life," Kamur replied, shaking his head. "The separatists had a lot of sympathisers in the Wildlands, that's why they hid out there. The infantry got to roll through, blow up the big hideouts and take the glory, but _we _had to clean up after them. _We _had to move everyone to the safe camps while the separatists were bombing buildings around us. _We _had to dodge bullets from snipers on every rooftop. My squad didn't even have the worst of it – we had to kill a lot of people, but the disposal teams, the ones working the crematoriums? They had to clear up the bodies. Men, women, children..."

"Children?" she muttered, some of the fierce disapproval returning to our voice. "You killed _children?_"

"A lot of us hated that," he growled, growing angry at the mere memory. "We could accept putting down adults who fired back – that was self-defence... But I know for a fact I'm not the only captain who forbade his men from killing kids. Command knew we were disobeying protocol, too, but none of them had the heart to tell us to do it..."

"You... forbade them?" Zel echoed, voice growing softer once more – a little part of him wished she'd make her mind up...

"Yeah..." Kamur sighed, hoarsely. "Most of them were glad of the order, too. They _wanted _to follow it. One bastard didn't, but that's another story."

"Tell me it."

He hesitated slightly at that. Zel's previous anger had turned into what seemed to be apologetic curiosity – the sub-harmonics in her voice were far softer now, silkier, even, and her body language was far less confrontational. The memories were bad, but if she was willing to let him to put the record straight about himself, then he'd take the opportunity.

"It was... back on Taetrus," he began. "When we marched into Spaedar. My squad had to take a little residential district – couldn't have been more than fifty houses, but I swear every one of them fought back. By the time we finished, we were getting tired – I'll admit, we were killing them for less and less, too. When we started, they had to fire on us before we shot back. By the end, we took them out just for having a gun in their hand. They'd killed two of our men, they'd spent hours shooting at us, we were pissed, and we weren't going to let them get the drop on us anymore..."

"I... isn't that a bit... well, wrong? Changing your rules as you go along?"

"It's normal for hastatim, and civilians know it – you don't go to greet the hastatim with a loaded gun, not if you want to live. But this one guy, Ipsus... He cracked. He'd always been violent, but then, a lot of hastatim were. Only the toughest bastards volunteer for the job in the first place. Most of the captains, like me, are chosen because they've got restraint, but the grunts? I've seen a lot of psychos there..."

"And this... Ipsus was one of them?"

"Yeah..." Kamur nodded, weakly. It wasn't an easy conversation to have – the memories were more difficult than he'd expected. "Like I said, he was a violent soldier. We got to one of the last few houses, and Ipsus was on point. He kicked the door in, the civilian on the other side put two rounds in his chest, and Ipsus blew him to pieces with a shotgun. After that, he just kept firing, and we assumed... we thought there were more gunmen in the house. He stopped shooting, and staggered off wounded, and me and my number two went to sweep the house, to make sure it was empty. Well, when we got inside, we realised what Ipsus had done. There was another male, gun in hand, dead. Then a female, wife of one of the males, dead too. And behind her, there were three kids. Two of them were dead..."

He swallowed hard. Spirits be damned, why was he choking up? He was a hardened killer, he shouldn't be struggling just to describe some corpses...

"The third one was wounded, bad. Shotgun round in the chest. Me and my second, we rushed over, we tried to help, but the kid, he..."

"He ran away, didn't he?" Zel murmured, presciently. Kamur just nodded.

"Makes sense, in hindsight. We'd knocked down the door and killed his parents, but damn it, it hurt... He staggered off upstairs, and by the time we found him, he'd bled to death."

"Spirits..."

"I saw red. Marched outside, drew my rifle, and shot Ipsus right between the eyes. He never even knew what hit him..."

"And then?" the biotic inquired, tensely.

"Well, the men were pissed off. As far as they knew, I'd just walked out and shot one of their squadmates. I had my gun drawn, they drew theirs on me. Luckily, my second came running out before any of us could fire. I was too angry to talk, but he explained what Ipsus had done, and the men backed down. In the end, I think we listed him as a 'mercy killing'."

"What did you do after that?"

"We got on with the job... We cleared the rest of the block, then another, then another... That was the only good thing about the Wildlands campaign – you didn't get time to _stop _and think, not until it was all over."

"Yeah..." Zel admitted, "but how do you get over that? Afterwards I mean? I can't imagine carrying on after seeing things like that..."

"You have to," Kamur muttered, bluntly. "If I hadn't done it, someone else would have had to take my place, and then I'd be subjecting _them _to the horrors. Thinking like that... that's the only way you can see the job through."

There was a very long pause, in which Zel looked at the floor, as if contemplating her words.

"I know Hunter wanted you to come and see me," she murmured, finally. "He already tried to go through this whole mess with me, but I wouldn't talk. You can tell him... you can tell him the issue's gone. I'll follow you, hastatim."

"No you won't," he replied, sadly. A little spark of indignation flared in the biotic's eyes.

"Yes I will! I'm a turian, I know how to follow orders! I don't like what you do – I will _never _like what you do, but I can at least respect you for doing it..."

"That's all well and good, but that's not what I'm talking about."

"Huh?"

"I don't doubt that you _would _follow me, Zel. But I know that you _won't_. You won't get the chance."

"What do you mean?" came her slow, slightly nervous response.

"When I was in the hastatim, I didn't take a day off in all my five years of service. Extension of the mentality – if I took a day off, I'd be forcing someone else to do my job," he began, going off on a tangent. His fellow was looking at him with confusion, but he knew where his speech was going... "After Taetrus, though, I took all the leave I'd saved up. Ten months of it. I had friends in the staff section who knew I was close to breaking point, so they made sure I got it. I left, wandered, ended up on the Citadel... Two month ago, the vids started coming through from Palaven, and I was sat there on the Citadel doing _nothing_. So, when I saw the recruitment ads for the Cambrai, I... signed up."

"Are you telling me..." Zel murmured, very slowly, "that you're _on leave _right now?"

"Have been since the start," he smiled, wearily. "And it finishes at the end of this week."

"Why does that matter?"

"Because I never got a _transfer_, this was a... side job, if you like. And as soon as my leave finishes, I've got my posting. They need every soldier they can get, now – hastatim are just another marine squad, one with a fancy name..."

"You've got to be kidding," she frowned, concernedly.

"I wish," Kamur sighed. "A week from now, I'm deploying to Palaven..."

Silence followed that revelation. There wasn't really a lot Zel could say, nor much Kamur could add. Nothing _needed_ saying – they both knew what Palaven probably meant. Their people's homeworld was synonymous with a suicide mission now...

"Go on," the hastatim muttered, finally. "Get back to the others. Just... don't tell them, okay? I'll break it to them in my own time..."

Weakly, and rather reluctantly, Zel got to her feet, and made for the door in silence. As she reached it, she seemed to reconsider – she turned on her heel, stared him straight in the eye, and threw a sharp salute. He smiled weakly at that, and threw a salute back. Then, something broke in her composure, and she darted out of the room.

The hastatim was left alone, and that suited him just fine. He leant forward in his seat, clasping his taloned hands together, and stared out into the empty void of space...


	98. Shore Leave Kithoi Ward 1

_**SSV Cambrai, Kithoi Ward Docks**_

_**Day 1, 1210**_

"So, what are you going to do with your shore leave?" Andersen muttered, through a last mouthful of unspecified animal meat. He and Cash were just slopping up the last remnants of their rations, as everyone else began to filter out of the mess hall.

"Dunno..." Cash murmured. In reality, he knew _exactly _what he was going to do with his shore – stay on the ship and train, as always. "What about you? Colburn said something about a club, Lusia?"

"Yeah, we decided against it..."

"Why? Sounds like your last trip was... interesting."

"I woke up with no shoes and some girl's number in my back pocket."

"Most guys would count that as a _good _thing," the sentinel smirked.

"_Most _guys would rather remember hooking up and then forget her name," the engineer laughed, "not the other way round... Besides, there are three very good reasons why we can't go back to Lusia."

"Oh?"

"One, Tyco and Vimes are off on their mission. It wouldn't feel right without them..."

"Granted."

"Two, the bartender nearly killed Yui for hitting on her last time..."

"Fair enough."

"Three, Cerberus flattened the place."

"Ah... buggar."

"Yeah. Buggar."

The two of them fell silent, chuckling darkly, and Cash wolfed down the last morsels of his food, just as Colonel Hunter's voice boomed out over the intercom:

"All hands, security checks are green, we're clear to disembark on Kithoi Ward. I want _everyone _ashore within the next hour – there's an Alliance team coming aboard to inspect the turian repair job, so we need the ship empty. Solov, Yurai, that includes you."

The radio faded to silence once more, and Ethan became aware of Andersen smirking at him from across the table.

"Yeah, yeah..." he scowled. "Guess I'll find some bar and drink myself stupid, then..."

"Ah yes," Andersen grinned, sarcastically, "the loner's solution. Come _on_, come and have a drink with the guys! You'll still get to drink yourself stupid, but this way you'll get to do it _with company!_"

"I... fine."

"Good man. Meet us in the arrivals lounge in an hour or two."

With that, Andersen turned on his heel and left, dumping his plate into the repository beside the mess officer's desk, and Cash was left alone. Everyone else had filtered out of the mess hall, including the mess officer himself, save for the vorcha, and that turian, Manado. Ethan didn't really want to know _what _vorcha rations consisted of – it looked worryingly like raw meat – so he looked at Manado instead, for something to do...

The turian was unusually sombre, more in line with his own demeanour with hers... The polish on her armour was immaculate, as always – Cash had seen all three of the ship's turians up at eight in the morning to clean their armour and weapons – and her face paint, the same crimson as her armour, was neatly applied in sweeping, intricate curves. Her eyes, however, didn't seem to match the pristine, neat decoration. Turian facial expressions were difficult to read –asari and salarians at least had soft tissue, so their eyes and mouths could contort into smiles or frowns – but the usual _bon vivant _spark in her eyes seemed to have been extinguished.

Slowly, and without being quite sure of what he was doing, Cash got up, slipped his empty plate into the repository, and went to join Manado at her table. Much as he tried to deny it, having company was a nice prospect, and hell, she looked like she needed some, too...

"You alright, Red?" he muttered, as he sat down. Okay, where the heck had Red come from? _Well_, it had come from the crimson face paint and armour, but more to the point, why was he using a nickname? He _knew _her real name.

"Fine, Short Stuff," she smirked back. Okay, the _turian_ had a sense of humour – that was a new one... "Still feeling sore?"

It took him a moment to realise what she was talking about – his earlier, rather poor fight against Kamur. All of a sudden, Cash was wishing he'd gone to talk with Lisk instead – the vorcha was a poor conversationalist, but at least he couldn't make him feel _this _embarrassed.

"That's the last time I underestimate a turian," Cash chuckled, trying to conceal the embarrassment with jocularity and confidence.

"If it's any consolation, most turians aren't as good as him," – it wasn't. "You're a decent scrapper – you'd have had me on my ass in no time..."

That _was _some consolation, at least...

"Are you sure you're alright?" he asked, again. Red – damn it, now even his brain was calling her that – was laughing now, but there was still a faraway glimmer in her eyes.

"Yeah, I'm fine... It's just..."

"The mission?" he volunteered.

"Yeah," she nodded, rather unconvincingly. Whatever – if she didn't want to talk about what was _really _bothering her, he'd give her the excuse of saying it was the mission...

"Look on the bright side, now you get a whole week of shore leave to forget about it," Cash sighed.

"You don't sound too... enthusiastic about it," Red observed.

"Well, tonight, I'm being forced into going drinking with the guys," he began, with a sardonic frown. "And seeing as last time, none of them could remember where they _were _when they woke up, I don't have high hopes for the morning after..."

The turian snorted with laughter.

"Oh, I heard about last time," she chuckled. "That dumbass Tyco tried _ryncol_..."

"Yeah..." he frowned. "Personally, I prefer to wake up with my pants _on_."

Red stared at him in utter bemusement, and for a moment he thought his translator had glitched.

"Human expression," he began, "it means-"

"It... translates," she interrupted, still looking bemused.

There was an awkward pause.

"So, what are you doing tonight?" Cash muttered, ploughing on desperately to move the conversation forwards.

"Going to a human club with the girls, I think," Red replied – Ethan assumed 'the girls' meant Kyra, Araya and Vanyali, the three who had been with her in the hangar. "They're great, bless 'em, and it's nice of them to include me, but I don't think they've figured out the whole 'dextro' thing yet... So, I'll be sat in a club, unable to drink anything on the menu. Fun fun fun..."

"At least you'll be sober."

"Not if I can help it..."


	99. Shore Leave Kithoi Ward 2

_**Level 25, Kithoi Ward**_

_**Day 1, 1320**_

The drinking party was a rather impressive affair, as Andersen looked around at it now, although he _did _wonder whether any doorman worth his salt would actually let them in.

They were arrayed around the arrivals lounge – which was notably empty – and numbered at least as many as last time. He took a quick headcount again. Colburn and Kan'Sura were chatting with the initially reluctant Cash, on one of the long benches that ran the length of the room. Kamur was beyond them, leaning against the railing around the side of the lounge, and staring off into space, quite literally – he was staring through the great bay window that looked out over the Serpent Nebula. Mac'Tir, Murphy and Thorne had all made muttered excuses about having better things to do, as expected, but Zeke Ryder and the turian Gazix had both joined the gang, and were examining the news on a viewscreen in the far wall. Finally, rounding off the numbers were the three krogan, Yui, Dax and Vresh, who were stood together in the middle of the lounge – inwardly, Andersen wondered whether the sight of them was what was keeping other visitors away... The absence of Tyco and Vimes felt a little weird, after last time, but hey, that couldn't be helped.

"Guys?" Andersen muttered, trying to draw everyone's attention. No-one heard him over the chatter of conversation, and he waved his arms futilely at them as a last resort. Finally, after watching his friend fail miserably for a few moments, Kamur chuckled, and moved over to help him:

"OI! YOU LOT!" he bellowed, with his best drill sergeant roar. Half of the others jumped out of their skin, and the lot of them turned round to face Andersen and Kamur.

"Err... thanks..." the engineer murmured, trying to dispel the sub-harmonic ringing in his ears. "Right, guys, where do we want to go?"

"Can I just point out how weird it is that we're going drinking in the middle of the day?" Cash piped up.

"No, you can't," Ryder laughed. "Wards don't have a day and night cycle, so anytime's good for a drink..."

"Well, wherever we go, it has to serve dextro, too," Kamur volunteered, rather more helpfully.

"And they have to serve quarians!" Kan'Sura called.

"Seriously?" Colburn muttered, curiously. "They still have places that _don't?_"

"Oh yeah," the quarian nodded. "Loads. We're not a Citadel species, so there's no law about discriminating against us..."

"That's rough..." the vanguard laughed, weakly.

"Could be worse," Kan shrugged. "Illium doesn't even let my people in the _system, _fleet _or_ exile. At least the Citadel lets us dock before they try and chase us away."

"You think they're going to give _you _trouble?" Gazix interjected, cannily. "They're not going to care about one quarian when we've got _three _krogan with us..."

"Heh," was all Yui said in response to that.

"The only doormen who throw krogan out," Kan'Sura began, "are krogan themselves. No-one else dares."

"It's like a VIP pass..." Yui murmured, smugly.

"Right..." Andersen mused to himself, drawing up an app on his omni-tool. "Levo and dextro, quarians allowed..."

"Why have you still got _that _thing?" Kamur frowned, pointing to the omni-tool as it hovered over his casual-dressed arm.

"Because _that thing_ is finding us a club," the engineer scowled. "And it can set your smug ass on fire, so don't push it... Right, here we are... There's a place called Pulse, three levels down from us. Maybe... twenty minutes' walk, and an elevator ride?"

"Sounds good to me," the turian confirmed, and the others were all nodding in agreement.

As they turned to leave, however, a few warning memories sprang through Andersen's mind, and he halted everyone with a raised hand, as he cleared his throat.

"Just a few things before we go..." he muttered. "You" – he pointed at Yui – "try not to piss off _every _asari we meet. You" – he turned to the ever-apathetic Cash – "cheer the hell up. And you" – he finally rounded on Kamur, who had paused mid-step, about to leave – "just the one girl this time. God forbid you should get even _more _smug."

"I'll try..." Kamur grinned, as he carried on out of the lounge. "But no promises. I'm irresistible, remember?"


	100. Shore Leave Kithoi Ward 3

**A/N: Right. Half an hour ago, I finished the last of my exams for this year. As a consequence, I now have two weeks of time off, and a subsequent six weeks of doing not-too-much, during which you can expect my writing output to skyrocket. As I speak, I'm writing Chapter 105. But, dealing with the present, this probably deserves some kind of preamble, because this is Chapter 100, and that fact rather snuck up on me...**

**A little under two months, I published this story as a neat little idea to complement my Shepard fic. I thought it would run for, at the *very* most, twenty chapters, before I ran out of steam due to lack of reader interest, as is usually the case. But, here we are, a little under two months later, and I'm about to make the century, while the Shepard fic this was originally written as an aside to lies battered and broken at the side of the road, under the sign reading "writers' block". Since its beginning, Galaxy at War has racked up not only 100 chapters, but 126,739 words, 425 reviews, 117 favourites and reader alerts, and **49,666 hits from 67 different countries.****

****So, most of all, my thanks go to you (and my poor, oft-abused keyboard, of course). I can't overstate how powerful a motivator it is to have a group of dedicated, enthusiastic readers who are almost as invested in this story as I am, and that motivation is why you're about to read Chapter 100. So thanks for reading, and here's to the next hundred!****

**Oh, and about this chapter... sorry.**

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><p><em><strong>Level 24, Kithoi Ward<strong>_

_**Day 1, 1400**_

"_Reports are just beginning to drift in that the turian colony of Aephus may have been attacked. Reaper activity has yet to be confirmed in the adjacent systems, however, and the Turian Hierarchy is refusing to comment on the matter until all the facts are available."_

As the newsreader trailed off, moving on to some rubbish about _Blasto 6_'s latest box office earnings, Murphy chuckled to himself, and took another gulp of his beer.

Frankly, he was amazed he'd been able to _buy _levo beer. The bar he was in was turian, and the majority of the drinks being dispensed had the golden hue of dextro alcohol, similar to - yet instantly recognisable from - the meady colour of proper human beer.

To be fair, the casual human observer probably wouldn't have been able to tell this _was _a turian bar – not unless they looked at the patrons, at least. If they _did_, they would have realised that every one of them had a painted face, and at least half were still in combat armour – that wasn't the _usual _clientele for the Fox & Flagon, or whatever ridiculous name your local pub went by... Add in the photo of glittering Palaven behind the bar, and the scoped hunting rifle hung above it, and it became pretty damn obvious which species the owner belonged to.

That owner was an old, surprisingly amiable old warrior, who was stood at the end of the bar with a drink of his own, conversing with a group of turian patrons. The actual serving was being done by a bored-looking asari maiden, and a rather chattier human girl.

Just as the captain drained his glass, and was about to wave for another round, the omni-tool on his wrist began to flare with light, and a shrill dial tone filled the air, causing several of the nearby patrons to turn and scowl at him. He shot an apologetic glance at the room in general, and answered the call – the annoying dial tone faded, but the voice that replaced it was even louder, with an edge of panic that set Murphy's nerves racing.

"Boss!" the familiar voice roared, as a black-armoured figure appeared in his comms screen. "It's Tyco! _Damn it_" – a shot had just bounced off the wall behind him, scattering sparks in all directions – "are you reading this?"

"I hear you, Tyco," Murphy replied, anxiously, utterly ignoring the stares of the room in general. "What the _hell _is going on? Where are you?"

"We're on the Citadel-" the line filled with crackling noise, and the captain honestly wasn't sure whether it was static or gunfire... "Tracked Palmer's ship, Kithoi Ward!"

"Repeat your last," the N7 muttered, struggling to remain composed as the line crackled and blared with fire once more.

"We're on the Citadel!" Tyco shouted, at the top of his lungs. "Palmer's ship's on the Citadel, but he ain't on it! We-" _Bam_. Out of shot, there was the unmistakeable sound of someone taking a bullet. "_Shit!_ Zya's hit – Sam, patch her up!"

"Where are you? I can send C-Sec!"

"C-Sec are the ones shooting at us! We took down the Cerberus crew, now they think we're _bloody _hijackers!"

"I'll call them off!" Murphy assured him, "But where's Palmer?"

"He was onboard – he legged it about half an hour before we arrived. Boss, we both know where he's going!"

All of a sudden, Murphy found that he did indeed know where Palmer was going...

He stood up, ignoring the comms panel – at any rate, Tyco had ducked out of shot under a spray of small arms fire – and turned his attention towards the incredulous turians who were now watching him.

"I need a gun," he muttered.

The turians simply stared at him. It was, after all, a rather strange request – weapons were tightly controlled on the Citadel, although he knew, almost by instinct, that the owner would have a gun behind the bar for security's sake...

"_I need a gun,_" he repeated, more vehemently.

Whether it was his tone of voice, or the Alliance casual dress he was still wearing, _something _seemed to tell the turian owner he was to be trusted – the old warrior reached below the bar, grabbed a Predator pistol from a hidden compartment, and slung it to Murphy with a solemn, business-like stare. He caught it deftly, turned on his heel, and sprinted out of the door without a backwards glance.

To say the passers-by were _surprised _when an Alliance captain – armed and wild-eyed – dashed out in front of them would have been a gross understatement. He barged a startled human couple out of the way, and set off up the boulevard, setting his omni-tool to page C-Sec as he did. He was on Level 24 right now. One short walkway up to Level 25, and a run through the arrivals lounge, and he would be at his destination, at Palmer's destination – the Cambrai...

The walkway was largely abandoned – a trio of asari swerved to one side to get out of his way, and an amazed-looking turian seemed to half-consider stopping him, but he reached the top unopposed, rounded the corner into the spacious arrivals lounge, darted around rows of chairs – cleanly vaulted the last one – and shot through the door to the docking bay itself. Sheer panic and vengeful fury were lending him speed, and he thundered along the gantry towards the Cambrai.

At his wrist, his omni-tool glowed and blossomed into life, as C-Sec finally responded.

"Dispatch," a cool, female voice announced.

"I've got an emergency report!" he yelled. "This is Captain Zachary Murphy, of the Allia-"

The last half of 'Alliance' was drowned out by a deafening roar, and a flash of white light to his side. The air crackled with fire as a great explosion filled the hangar, and a wave of heat and pressure slammed into his chest. In a brief instant, the captain found himself hurled off his feet – he smashed against the handrail at the side of the gantry, slumped face-down on the floor, and clamped his eyes tight shut as the blackness enveloped him...

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><p><strong>AN: Like I said... sorry. I *believe* this is what the industry calls a cliffhanger...**


	101. Shore Leave Kithoi Ward 4

_**Level 25, Kithoi Ward**_

_**Day 1, 1430**_

"_Sir..."_

_Argh_. That was about all Murphy's brain could say... think... whatever. A dull echo of a far-off voice was filtering through the muddled haze of his senses, growing clearer by the second.

"Sir...?" the voice murmured again.

With a rush of light and a deep gasp of breath, Murphy's faculties sprang back into life. He was lying on his back on what felt like a cold steel floor, and a turian face was looming over him. A jolt of panic passed through him – he kicked out, dislodging another figure at his feet, who hindsight would identify as the reviving medic, scrambled upright and grabbed the pistol from where it lay, miraculously still at his side. In a matter of moments, he had the pistol levelled at the turian's head out of blind suspicion, as his brain raced to catch up with his body.

"Easy there," the turian growled. "I'm a friend. Captain Gabriel Marin, Citadel Security..."

"I..." Murphy began. Then, he blurted the only question he could really ask. "What the hell happened?"

"We were hoping _you_ could tell _us_..."

The C-Sec captain – Murphy could _see _he was a C-Sec officer now, by his black and blue armour, and lowered his gun – was pointing beyond the human captain. Murphy wheeled around to follow his gaze... and his jaw dropped.

Shattered remnants were all that remained of the SSV Cambrai, as the appalled captain looked on. A chunk of what appeared to be the engineering deck was being held up by the fragments that remained of the wings, clinging desperately to the docking clamps – two hovering drones were dousing the flaming wreckage in water, and a third was projecting a kinetic barrier, sealing off the streams of eezo dust emanating from what little was left of the drive core. The gantry under Murphy's feet was littered with glass and steel, and through the hangar bay doors, he could see several large chunks of debris drifting off into space...

"What happened here, captain?" Gabriel repeated.

"I... I don't know..." Murphy sighed, still trying to wrap his brain around the sight before him. Then, quite suddenly, a more helpful thought – and a very worrying one – sprang into his mind, and he almost bellowed, "Captain! C-Sec's got a bunch of hijackers pinned down in a ship on this ward, haven't they?"

"How did you know that?" the turian frowned.

"Because they're _my _men!" the human roared. "That ship belongs to Cerberus, they were clearing it out!"

The C-Sec captain's eyes bulged, and he wheeled away from Murphy, hammering at his omni-tool. After a moment's pause, which felt like an age, a female figure appeared in his comms panel – the same dispatcher Murphy had contacted just before the blast, however long ago that was...

"Dispatch," she droned.

"This is Captain Marin!" the turian muttered, frantically. "Update on that 3-17 on the Kithoi docks, call our officers off!"

"What?" the dispatcher queried, sounding confused.

"The men on that ship are Alliance operatives! Tell Barram to hold his bloody fire and make contact!"

There was a pause, and from where he was standing, Murphy saw the dispatcher duck out of Marin's comm screen, and heard her begin to chatter away on another line:

"Officer Barram, stand down! Orders from Captain Marin, those suspects are Alliance! Cease your fire!"

Everything was going over Murphy's head at the moment. The sight next to him was simply too shocking – after everything, he couldn't believe _the Cambrai was destroyed._ The skeletal hulk bore almost no resemblance to the sleek, brilliant ship he had been serving on the day before, and events had accelerated so quickly, he rather felt like he'd been left behind...

He was broken out of his unpleasant reverie as the turian officer marched back over to him, with a look of relief etched into his plated features.

"Sergeant Barram's men have stood down," Marin announced. "No fatalities among your squad, but the salarian was wounded – he had to be taken to the hospital for treatment. The other three are on their way over here now."

"Alright..." Murphy sighed, collecting his thoughts. "I should probably gather my crew, tell them what happened..."

"Probably..." the turian murmured.

"All crew of the Cambrai," the captain muttered, setting his omni-tool to transmit over combat frequencies, "we've got a situation up here. Report back to the docking bay ASAP."

He closed the transmission before anyone could ask just _why _they had to return, let out a long, weary sigh, and then looked back over to Captain Marin – the turian was still staring meaningfully at him.

"What?" Murphy scowled.

"That's it?" the captain replied, incredulously. "You're just leaving it there? We need to find out what the heck happened here..."

"Well, try the black box or something," he suggested, dismissively.

"We would, if we _had _it," Marin frowned.

As Murphy looked at him in confusion, the turian sighed, and strolled over to the edge of the gantry.

"Look down there," he murmured. The human captain moved to his side, peered down... and was amazed to see the nose of the Cambrai, buried in a heap of rubble and battered steel, hundreds of feet below. "_There's _your black box."

"Well, go fetch it then!" Murphy replied, angrily. This _had _to be a bad dream...

"I tried," Marin growled. "One of my officers is down there guarding the site, but we don't know the specifics of Alliance ships, do we? And we certainly don't have authorisation codes to remove a flight recorder..."

"So what you're trying to say..." he murmured, tetchily, "is that you want _me _to go and fetch it for you?"

"Well volunteered, captain."

As they bickered, the doors at the far end of the gantry slid aside, and three rather familiar figures stepped between the C-Sec guards on the door. In ordinary circumstances, Murphy would have been overjoyed to see them, but these certainly _weren't _ordinary circumstances, and the gravity of the situation rendered his three colleagues mute, too... Finally, as they drew closer, Tyco managed to speak up:

"Boss," was all he could manage, nodding wearily at the captain.

"Good to see you, Tyco," Murphy sighed. "Hope you didn't get hurt too bad back there" – he looked pointedly at Captain Marin, who scowled as if to say _'Real mature...'_

"So," the turian piped up, moving to join them and still frowning at Murphy – in hindsight, the captain would realise he had been rather more hostile than he usually would have been... "What are we doing about this black box?"

Murphy made his mind up rather quickly. The black box meant answers, and all the anger bubbling away in the pit of his stomach was useless, if he didn't get answers to satisfy it...

"Zya," he began, noticing that the assassin had her hand over her stomach, nursing a bullet wound. "Stay here with C-Sec and wait for the others. I'm uploading the crew roster to your omni-tool, just check them off as they arrive..."

"Got it," she nodded, somewhat reluctantly – like most of the crew, she didn't like being left behind from a mission.

"Tyco, Sam," he continued, turning to the two snipers, "come with me..."


	102. Shore Leave Kithoi Ward 5

**A/N: This chapter and the next are a sort of... double upload. They were too big to combine, but I'm aware not a great deal happens in this one, so I'm uploading both of them. Aaand, one more this evening, just because I'm in a good mood...**

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><p><em><strong>Level 3, Kithoi Ward<strong>_

_**Day 1, 1500**_

"Alright, this is _not _how shore leave is meant to be," Tyco was moaning, as they stepped out of the elevator.

"Last time we were on shore leave, you drank ryncol and passed out for twelve hours," Vimes sighed. "If I were you, I'd call this an improvement..."

"Eyes forward, you two," Murphy muttered, matter-of-factly. He didn't have time for joking, at present...

It had taken almost half an hour for them to reach the site where C-Sec _thought _the black box was. The Cambrai's nose had plunged down more than twenty levels, landing in the rather battered under-districts, and the elevator to reach it had been painfully slow.

Finally, however, they were here. The lazy trail of smoke and dust from around the next corner indicated that they weren't far from the crash site, and Murphy reached instinctively for his gun – he still had the pistol he had set off with earlier, but he felt rather... vulnerable. He had no rifle, no armour – and by extension no camo – just this Predator pistol, and whatever offensive programs were left on his omni-tool from training...

"Marin said his officer was just up-" Murphy stopped dead, as he rounded the corner, "here..."

In an instant, the captain's brain began to dissect the situation unravelling in front of him. First and foremost was the wreckage – the great frigate's nose was buried a few feet into the dusty floor, with the foot-high white letters 'CAMBRA-' hanging in midair. Second was the collection of discarded parts, which had all clearly come from the wreck, but were too neat and pristine to have been broken up by the blast. Third – and this _probably _should have taken priority – was the C-Sec officer face down on the ground, with a pistol pressed into the back of their skull.

The pistol in question belonged, not to a heavily-armed soldier, but to a rather scrawny-looking human man with a bandana around his brow. A second man, armed with a battered assault rifle of a discontinued model, was stood next to him, also aiming at the C-Sec agent. Both of them had singularly failed to spot the three snipers approaching their rear...

A single swing of his wrist, and Murphy froze the two of them in place with an old cryo program. Moments later, a bullet to the head quite literally _shattered _them.

Dull silence fell over the surrounding area, broken by a groan from the floored C-Sec officer. She – the tight-wound ponytail and slight figure marked her out as a _she _even from a distance – rolled over, and did a double take at the sight of Murphy and his two cohorts as they approached.

"Easy there," Murphy muttered, trying – and probably failing – to sound reassuring. "We're on your side, we're Alliance..."

The C-Sec officer took one look at Murphy's smoking gun, and several at Tyco's black mercenary armour, and seemed to come to a very different conclusion. Half way to her own pistol, however, her hand halted, as she caught sight of Sam.

"Bloody hell, Vimes?" she murmured.

"Kayla," Sam smiled, with a hint of recognition. "Long time no see..."

"Sorry to bust up the reunion," Murphy scowled, "but... well, _what the hell? _You two know each other?"

"We used to be partners," the female officer grinned, "until the smug git left for the detective corps..." – she turned to Sam – "Looks like you took another few promotions since – you're with the Alliance now?"

"Special operations," Vimes nodded. "Serving on... well, that." He pointed to the buried wreckage of the Cambrai, with a sad chuckle.

"Ah..." she sighed. "You'll be after the black box, then..."

"How did you know that?"

"Well, this is just the ship's nose, the cockpit section. The only things of value in there are the black box and the flight recorder." Then, she added, rather less impressively, "Plus, Marin called ahead and told me..."

"Well?" Murphy frowned. "Do you have it?"

"Err... no. The situation... got out of hand."

"Yeah," Tyco smirked. "We noticed. The situation nearly shot you in the head..."

"What happened?" the captain persisted, urgently, ignoring Tyco – he didn't have time for the banal chit-chat his squadmates were engaged in... "Who were those men?"

"Local gang members," Kayla explained, "scrappers. They make a living off any parts and pieces they can salvage, so a wrecked ship is... pretty much a gold mine for them. I didn't exactly see much with my face in the rubble" – she scowled at the memory – "but I heard them cutting through the substructure. Probably to hack out the flight recorder – if _I _know it's valuable, then they damn sure do, they make a living off this stuff..."

Murphy wanted to punch something, he really did. Some _fucking _street rats had stolen the black box? Just _brilliant_... Anger was bubbling up in his stomach again, and he could swear the corners of his vision were going red...

"Where are they?" he hissed, finally.

"Deserted residential, a couple of blocks down," the C-Sec officer replied. "I'll put the location on your omni-tool..."

"Thanks, Kayla," Vimes muttered, as Murphy found the co-ordinates uploading to his wrist. "Now get yourself back up to the rest of the squad, get a medic to check you over."

"I'm fine, Sam," she scowled. "But thanks for the concern, and... good luck."


	103. Shore Leave Kithoi Ward 6

**A/N: Part two...**

* * *

><p><em><strong>Level 3, Kithoi Ward<strong>_

_**Day 1, 1515**_

"Is this the place?" Tyco muttered.

"Well, these are the co-ordinates," Murphy replied, glaring at the door as if _it _had blown up the Cambrai. "Let's hope they're right."

"They will be," Vimes assured him. "Kayla's good, she wouldn't have messed this up."

The three of them were gathered around the door of the residential Kayla had marked – it was a squat, one-storey building, with a definite air of rust and decay. Tyco and Vimes were stacked on either side of the door frame, with Tyco grasping his shotgun, and Vimes his SMG. Murphy, with his pistol in hand, was stood opposite the door, still simmering with pent-up anger. He wasn't even too sure _why _he was angry now – maybe it was the injustice of it all... He put it to the back of his mind, grasped his pistol a little more tightly, and swung up his omni-tool to bypass the door lock.

"Alright," Sam murmured, as he did. "We keep our cool on this one, 'kay?"

"Okay..." Murphy nodded. Then, without another word, he hacked the door, it slid aside, and he started firing.

There were three 'scrappers' in the hallway, all human males, and the first two went down with wounds to the head and chest. The third took a bullet to the knee, and slumped against the wall with a scream.

"That was _not _cool!" Sam hissed, as the firing stopped, moments later. "How was that meant to be cool?"

"I left one of them alive..." the captain growled. As he spoke, he strode through the door, away from Vimes' disapproving stare, and made a beeline for the wounded man.

When he reached him, he placed a hefty boot on the man's leg, and crunched down hard. The scrapper shrieked, flailing a futile punch at Murphy's own leg, which earned him another kick, this time to the face. The captain braced his pistol, and with a derisive glare pressed it between the man's eyes...

"The black box," he spat. "Where is it?"

"Th-through there!" the scrapper jabbered, waving his arm towards the door at the end of the hall.

"How many more men?"

"Three, j-just three, I swear!"

_Bang._ No witty punch line, no last words, Murphy just squeezed the trigger, and splattered the wounded man's brains across the floor. That was confirmation, if confirmation were needed, that this was _not _the time to mess with him...

"Cloak," Murphy muttered, before Tyco and Vimes could even speak, "and stay close."

With varying degrees of reluctance, his two awed squadmates vanished with little electronic _crackle_s, and Murphy set off along the corridor, popping the heat sink out of his pistol and grabbing a new one from one of the scrappers' corpses, loading it just as he reached the door to the room beyond. A quick wave of his omni-tool, and that door too slid aside, much to the surprise of the men behind it.

There were three of them. A wiry-looking man, who stood out as the leader, was stood in the middle of the room. Behind him was a thick-set bodyguard, with powerful arms and a square jaw. In front of him was an almost entirely different figure, a ratty little man who was sat in front of a battered computer – they had the sleek, rectangular black box hooked up to it, and appeared to be trying to access its contents, without success.

As Murphy into the room, apparently alone, all three of them drew weapons and turned to aim at him, but the captain already had his pistol levelled at the leader's head, presenting a nice little standoff... If he could just delay them long enough for Tyco and Vimes to get in position...

"Who are you?" the leader snarled, approaching the seemingly outnumbered captain.

Murphy remained silent, as, in the corner of his vision, he saw the slightest shimmers in the air, and knew his companions were moving into position.

"I _said_," the gangster called, puffing out his chest in some pathetic effort to look tough, "who the _hell _are you?"

He got right up in Murphy's face, trying and failing to stand taller than him – he was actually about an inch shorter than the Alliance captain – and glaring in what he seemed to think was a fierce manner, but actually looked like a puppy with its tail jammed in the door. If he was trying to appear like a lethal man, he was failing – particularly because, in a rookie mistake, his posing let the barrel of his gun shift away from Murphy for a fraction of a second...

The captain swung into action, pistol whipping the man across the side of the head, before snatching his own gun out of his grip, bringing _both _weapons around, one in each hand, and blowing out both of the gangster's knees from behind. He screamed and fell to the floor, clutching his bloodied legs.

At the same time, Murphy's two squadmates appeared out of nowhere. Tyco went for the tech – with one hand, he yanked the black box free of the computer, with the other, he slammed the unfortunate man's head against the screen, bloodying it, before hurling him to the floor and finishing him with a shotgun round. Vimes had lunged at the brutish bodyguard – he fixed his arms around the man's throat, piggybacking him for a moment, then dragged him backwards, slinging him to the ground and snapping his neck in a single, fluid motion.

A deathly calm filled the room, save for the gang leader's grunts and moans of pain. Tyco yanked the black box out of the scrappers' computer, and Vimes went to work on his omni-tool, hailing the crew back at the docking bay and holding up the comms panel for Murphy to speak into. Even as he did, however, the captain was fixing one of his pistols over the gang leader's now-terrified face.

"Captain?" Zya murmured, appearing in the viewscreen.

"We've got the black box," Murphy replied, matter-of-factly. His two squadmates were looking questioningly from the captain to the man on the end of his gun barrel, as if asking what he was going to do. For the first time that day, the anger was subsiding, and Murphy genuinely didn't _know _what he was going to do...

"Good to hear," the assassin replied, on the other of the comms. There was an uncertain quaver in her voice...

"Is everything alright?"

"We've, ah... we've got everyone back now."

"Is everyone accounted for?"

"All but one."

_There was that quaver again..._

"Who?"

Another pause. Finally, Zya seemed to pluck up enough courage to tell him:

"Colonel Hunter."

There was a pause, and a slight crackle of static. Murphy looked to either side, to his shocked companions. Then he looked down, at the wide-eyed gang leader on the end of his sights.

_Bang_.


	104. Shore Leave Kithoi Ward 7

_**Level 25, Kithoi Ward**_

_**Day 1, 1600**_

The docks, formerly the Cambrai's mooring spot, were now a hive of activity. C-Sec had locked the place down, but the entire crew had returned and were filling the gantries too – the commandoes alone numbered almost thirty, and with the addition of the flight crew and the engineers, as well as the C-Sec guards, there must have been at least fifty people packed into the docking bay.

Captain Murphy was sat a little way apart from the rest. Most of them were still spreading the news, catching up on just what happened – considering he knew it all already, there was no point in his joining in. Furthermore, Dr O'Leiph had taken one look at him upon his return, and had 'obtained' a sedative from the emergency medics to calm him down before, in her own words, 'your brain explodes'.

Andersen had procured a laptop from C-Sec, and was surrounded by a cluster of detectives as he broke through the black box's firewalls, searching the layers of data for anything that could explain just what the _hell _had happened. After some unknown period of time – it could have been hours, even days – the captain saw Vimes' friend Kayla winding her way towards him.

"Captain Murphy," she smiled, weakly, as she approached. The officer perched down on the gantry rail next to him, and shot him a warm, concerned smile. "How are you doing?"

"How am I _doing?_" he scowled, and she blanched, slightly, clearly wondering what she'd said wrong. "In the last two hours, I've been blown up, my ship's been destroyed, my CO and my best friend is missing, and a mixture of instinct and evidence says he's damn well dead. To top it off, C-Sec _almost _killed four of my men, I _actually _killed six men, and now my own bloody medic told me to go sit in the corner and calm down..."

"Captain, she just gave you a sedative, you probably needed i-" he cut her off with a glare, and she fell silent. Then, she started again, with the much more conciliatory, "For what it's worth, I'm sorry for your loss. And, at any rate... I wanted to thank you."

"For what?" Murphy frowned, _incredibly _dumbly.

"What the hell do you _think?_" Kayla replied, incredulously. "Saving my life, you prat!"

"Oh..." he murmured, with the weakest of laughs. "Right. And... no worries, I guess? I'm really not used to taking _thanks _for saving people..."

"Ah, tell me about it..." she sighed. "Under-appreciation's part of our job description. You know I got hate mail when I first took this job?"

"_What?_"

"Yeah... stuff about the 'human coup' and how I was an 'instrument of tyranny', crap like that. I had suspicions it was from _within _C-Sec, too..."

"That's rough. How did you cope with that?"

"I almost didn't," Kayla replied – for whatever reason, she was opening up a great deal... Maybe she thought it would persuade him to do the same... "I owe Gabriel big for that, and Sam..."

'Sam' registered as Vimes in Murphy's head almost instantaneously, but it took him a moment to remember that 'Gabriel' was the towering turian, Captain Marin.

"After my first few weeks out of the academy, I tried to hand in my resignation, said I couldn't cope with the job" she continued. "But Gabriel just threw the documents right back at me. He said I was good at my job – there was no way I wasn't coping with it, so he wouldn't accept the resignation until he knew why I was _really _quitting. I told him about the messages, and he told me to wait – stick it out, and see if I felt the same after a week. Well, I stormed out, and for the next two days, I kept getting that mail. Then, on the third, no messages. I went into work, and I found out Gabriel had traced the two turians sending them, and kicked them off the force that morning..."

"Good man," Murphy murmured, peering over at the turian captain with new appreciation, as he paced among his men on the docks. Kayla nodded in agreement, before he added, "What about Sam?"

"Sam? He was a bit more... direct about it."

"Oh?"

"Some salarian started yelling at me when we were on patrol. Usual insults. Usurper, power-grabber, ape, and the ever-imaginative _whore_."

He stared at her with a raised eyebrow, before she continued:

"Well, Sam went berserk at the last one. Never seen him lose it like that, before or since. Funny, really – we never saw eye to eye, but I guess the salarian was just going too far... He beat the crap out of him. Earned himself a caution from the Executor in the process, but I don't think he regretted it..."

"You said you never saw eye to eye?" Murphy said, backtracking. "I thought the two of you... _you know_..."

"With Sam?" she laughed. "God, no... It was a miracle we got through our first month of patrols without killing each other. We got on a little better after the salarian_ incident_, and we used to go get drinks after our shifts were over, but _that_... nah. Not my type."

There was a slight pause, and an enigmatic glance between the two of them, but before Murphy could reply, a hoarse shout caught his attention.

"I've got something!" a familiar figure on the gantry was shouting – Andersen, it seemed, had found something.

In a matter of moments, Murphy sprang to his feet and sprinted over to the little cluster of men around the laptop, moving hastily to Andersen's side.

"Come and take a look at this, sir..." the engineer murmured, without turning round. The C-Sec detectives parted to let Murphy through, as he continued, "It's from about two hours ago. Security camera in the engineering deck..."

The captain leant over, peering at the small laptop screen as the video hung in mid-pause. It was in full colour, but there was a sort of... _sheen_ to it, a silvery glint which told Murphy's brain it wasn't live footage. _"That,"_ his brain admonished, _"and the fact that it's paused."_

"Play it," Murphy instructed. Andersen tapped a little key on the laptop, and the vignette sprang into life...


	105. Shore Leave Kithoi Ward 8

**A/N: And so, to round off this bumper crop of uploads, Chapter 105, and some answers...**

* * *

><p><em><strong>SSV Cambrai, Kithoi Ward Docks<strong>_

_**Day 1, 1400**_

_Bang. Bang. The two white-armoured 'inspectors' dropped dead on either side of the engineering deck doors, spattering crimson blood and silver cybernetics across the floor. Heat sink still sizzling from the shots, Colonel Hunter strode into the room – he popped the sink, and had a new thermal clip readied before the last figure even turned around._

_That final figure, crouching over a square object between the engineering consoles, barely flinched at the colonel's appearance. Instead, he simply finished plugging away at the omni-tool on his wrist, then rose, ponderously, and drew a pistol of his own, a sleek Shuriken machine pistol. Quite why Logan hadn't pulled the trigger, he didn't know, but he was regretting it now, as they entered into a standoff, and Palmer's smirking face came to leer at him - his helmet was discarded on the deck beside him. His face was vicious and sly as ever, but a horrible mask of cybernetics crept from the base of his neck to his jaw, and circled his wrists and palms. Even more disturbingly, his eyes were patterned with little synthetic circles, modified to a somehow inhuman degree... His voice, though... his voice was the same. A snide, arrogant murmur which provoked anger in the colonel's very blood._

"_Logan..." the other man drawled, lazily. "And here I was, worrying I wouldn't get to say goodbye... How did you know?"_

"_An Alliance inspection team?" Hunter sighed. "That was the best you could do? The Alliance doesn't have the men to spare, and even if they did, unlike you, they don't think turians are going to sabotage everything we do..."_

_"You still told the crew to clear out," Palmer observed, smugly._

"_Yes..." the colonel growled, "Because I wanted to tear you apart myself..."_

"_Oh, Logan, you just can't let go of a grudge, can you?"_

"_A grudge? You betrayed us to Cerberus, don't you dare call that a bloody grudge!"_

"_I didn't betray you," the former chief smirked. "It's impossible to betray something you weren't loyal to in the first place... And what's wrong with Cerberus, colonel? I mean, really... We're humanity's best hope, if only men like you could see it through your blind eyes! We saved humanity from the Collectors! We're saving you from the Reapers, even as you hunt us!"_

_He advanced, spreading his arms wide in what he clearly seemed to think was a saviour's pose. All it achieved, however, was to bring his gun barrel away from Logan's head, and the colonel seized his chance, blowing Palmer's knee out with a single round from the Phalanx in his hand._

"_Argh!" the traitor spluttered, staggering to stay upright while fixing his gun's aim back over the colonel._

"_Cerberus could save the damn galaxy, and I'd still hate them," Logan hissed, taking a step forward._

"_Blind hatred, colonel?" Palmer jeered. "I thought you were above that? You always sneered at me for it..."_

"_I sneered at you for blind racism," the colonel snarled. "Hatred? That's a whole different game..."_

"_And what did we do to earn your hatred?" the chief inquired, as if they were chatting over a drink, not fixing guns on each other._

"_3__rd__ September, 2183," he recited, bitterly. "Private 1__st__ Class Robert Hunter loses his life on Edolus. His unit was wiped out by a thresher maw. A week later, Commander Shepard was sent out to the system by Admiral Kahoku, and found their remains... Kahoku discovered Cerberus had lured them there with a fake distress beacon, and released the damn threshers... A fortnight after that, Kahoku was dead too..."_

"_He got in our way," Palmer growled, unapologetically._

"_The commander went through training with me, and recognised my son's name on the list of the dead..." Hunter continued, angrily. "Shepard came and found me, on Arcturus. Told me what had happened, and told me Cerberus was behind it – not that cock and bull they made up about a tragic accident, but the truth, in all its glory... That's why I'll always hate Cerberus – you took my son, taking your fucking lives is just repayment!"_

_Even now, even after that tirade, Palmer was still staring along Logan's gun barrel with a superior smirk. After a tense few moments, during which Hunter's breath tore out of his lungs in ragged, furious breaths, he muttered, slowly:_

"_Too bad..."_

"_What is?" the colonel growled._

"_You're not going to get to end my 'fucking life', not today, Logan... Drop the guns on three. I walk, you walk, everybody wins..."_

"_Or everybody loses," Hunter countered, although deep down, his gut churned with the knowledge that the traitor was right. They both had guns levelled at the other's head, they both had fingers on the trigger..._

"_Don't be an idiot," Palmer snapped. "On three?"_

"_On three," he agreed, reluctantly. Maybe he could just punch the smug git in the face..._

"_One... two... three."_

_Quite to Logan's surprise, Palmer actually kept to his word, kneeling down and dropping his machine pistol to the floor. The colonel did the same, planting his pistol just in front of himself, before rising to face his opponent with a fierce glare. He cracked his armoured knuckles, but Palmer didn't look afraid in the least. Instead, a sly smile was passing over his features._

_With a slight glitter in the blue glow of the drive core, the chief slid a knife from the back of his belt, and held it up, examining it in the light as the smile widened. The dagger was at least five inches long, and shimmered lethally – a molecular blade, by the looks of it..._

"_Bastard," Logan growled._

"_You always were too trusting," Palmer observed, then hurled the knife with all his might. It arced through the air, spinning dangerously, and-_

"_Argh!"_

_The point of the blade punched clean through Logan's armour, shields and all, and dug deep into his chest. He could already feel warm blood trickling out, but urgency dulled the pain – Palmer was going for his gun..._

_Logan barrelled forwards, accidentally kicking his own pistol across the floor with a stray boot, before he reached Palmer and lunged, grabbing the traitor around the waist and booting his gun away – it clattered away over the deck, slid beneath the guardrail, and disappeared into the steel chasm below, as Hunter dragged Palmer to the floor._

_Wham. As they fell, Palmer landed a hefty punch across his jaw. The colonel responded by launching himself back, raising a knee to his opponent's jaw with such force that Palmer's blood was spattered across the collar of his own white armour. He rolled over, tossed the Cerberus agent away while he was still dazed, and scrambled to his feet._

_He was only half-way to his pistol, a few feet away across the floor, before Palmer rose, caught up to him, and yanked him back by his throat. In an instant, the colonel's momentum was reversed, and he ended up slamming to the floor on his back, where his opponent took the advantage, cracking three hard heel kicks across his face and splitting his lip in the process..._

_Logan dove away, escaping the kicks, but Palmer seized the chance to grab his pistol, snatching it from the floor and, still stooping, raising it to aim at the colonel-_

_Who crashed into him seconds later – still off-balance from reaching down for the pistol, Palmer toppled sideways, dropping the gun and hitting the floor hard. The two of them scrabbled for the weapon, and Logan's fingers reached the handle, but before he could close his grip around the gun, Palmer had slammed his fist down on the colonel's fingers, and snatched the gun for himself. He scrambled back across the floor on all fours, turned, levelled his aim, and – _

_Bang. Bang. Two rounds punched into the colonel's stomach, adding two fresh streams of blood to the one from the knife in his chest. Before he could fire again, however, Palmer found the snarling colonel diving at him, wrestling the pistol out of his grasp, punching him square in the eye, and taking the gun for himself._

_Just as Logan slotted his finger over the trigger, Palmer grabbed something from his hip. For a moment, the colonel thought it was another knife, but he was wrong – it was a thin, metal cylinder, with an ominous crimson button on one end, over which the traitor's thumb was hovering._

_With dull realisation, Logan let his gaze slip sideways, to Palmer's final bargaining chip. For the first time, he got a proper look at the square package his opponent had been kneeling over when he entered – his eyes took in the glowing VI interface, the holographic counter, and the hazard symbols daubed and stickered along its side... _

_A bomb. How cliché..._

_As that thought passed through his brain, a steel boot slammed down over his throat, and he almost choked. Palmer was over him now, glaring coldly, the detonator still in one hand. Even as the air in his lungs began to turn stale, he brought the pistol round, and centred the little hovering laser dot over Palmer's brow._

"_Please..." the traitor scowled, as if he was growing bored. "Don't even bother, Logan. I'll take you with me, you know I will..."_

"_You seem to be under a... misapprehension," Logan smiled, wearily. The last word was coughed out through a half-crushed windpipe._

"_Oh? What's that?" Palmer sneered, still toying with the detonator in one hand._

"_You... still... seem... to think..." the colonel began, barking each word with all his remaining breath. His arm was slipping, the muscles relaxing against their will, exhausted, but he let them fail, and his arm clattered to the deck – as it did, the little blue laser dot shifted, to dance over the side of the deadly package, just feet away._

"_I still seem to think what?" the traitor urged, relaxing the foot over Hunter's throat to let him talk, blissfully oblivious to what was about to happen..._

"_You still seem to think," Logan gasped, as air rushed back into his lungs, "that I care about dying!"_

_Palmer's eyes flickered to the left, and bulged in fear. Quite suddenly, his boot was pressing down harder than ever, clamping over Logan's windpipe and cutting off the air completely – the colonel's vision was going black at the edges, but he had a few moments, and that was enough._

_Enough to stare up, savour the bastard Palmer's final moments, and pull the trigger._

_A moment later, the world around him was consumed with a scream of rending metal and rushing fire. The last thing the colonel saw, in those split seconds before the fireball consumed the two of them, was Palmer's face, contorted in a twisted mask of fear and horror, with the flames of hell reflected in his eyes, as if inviting the traitor in..._


	106. Shore Leave Kithoi Ward 9

_**Level 25, Kithoi Ward**_

_**Day 1, 1620**_

The observers around the laptop fell into awful silence, as the screen filled with white fire, then dimmed to static. A few of them, Andersen included, couldn't help looking up at the Cambrai's wreck, at the smouldering ruin of the engineering deck that still remained, and glancing back at the screen as if for comparison.

"He killed him," Murphy murmured, after a moment. He honestly wasn't sure who he was talking about, Hunter or Palmer...

"Send a message to headquarters," Captain Marin instructed one of his men – Murphy hadn't noticed the turian join them, but evidently he had seen enough of the video to know what was going on. "And forward a copy to the human embassy, top priority. Captain Murphy" – he turned to the human – "I think you'll have to be the one to tell your men... it's not my place."

With a reluctant sigh and a nod, Murphy turned on his heel and made his way slowly back across the gantry, to the open section where the N7s were clustered. His own brain was still reeling from those few minutes of video, from the massive revelations within, so:

"How the hell am I meant to break this to them?" he muttered, quietly.

"You tell it to them straight," Andersen replied – to Murphy's surprise, the engineer had been at his heel the whole time. "That's what he would have done..."

The captain nodded, sullenly, and turned to the crew, assembled on the wide, open square of the gantry. After a moment of wondering how he could get their attention, he drew his pistol, and rapped it against the handrail, sending a echoing _clang _into the air.

"Everyone," he murmured.

It wasn't a shout or a roar, but a quiet, slightly hesitant beginning. In their tense state, it was enough to get the crew's attention, and they turned as one to looked at Murphy, as did several of the nearby C-Sec agents.

"I..." Murphy continued, trailing off – the words just wouldn't come.

"Go on, sir," Andersen whispered, from his side. "Just say it."

The captain took a deep breath, stared at the crew general, and summoned up the courage to call out:

"Colonel Hunter is dead."

There was silence for a few disbelieving seconds, and then the whole crowd exploded with noise and emotion. To his surprise, the prevalent emotion was not sorrow but _rage_. The three krogan were all roaring in discontent, and the rest of the crew seemed to share their view, shooting angry glares at the Cambrai, and exchanging venom-laced mutterings with each other, swearing various kinds of retribution. Finally, a representative gave voice to their mutual concerns:

"How?" Vanyali called, from somewhere in the middle of the crowd.

"The _former _Chief Palmer" – the name was met with boos and growls – "infiltrated the ship under the guise of an Alliance inspection team. The colonel knew the team was fake, but he ordered us off the ship anyway-"

"Why the hell would he do that?" Tyco boomed. "We all wanted a shot at the bastard!"

"And if we _had _been on board, we'd be dust right now," Murphy scowled. "The colonel made the right call, he probably saved all our lives. Palmer was planting a bomb, Logan ambushed him, and they fought. Palmer _nearly_ killed him, but Logan managed to set off the bomb just before he succeeded. It killed them both," he finished, bluntly.

On any other occasion, the news that a bomb had wiped Palmer from the face of the universe would have been met with cheers and adulation, but not today – sorrow was joining the anger now, and the crowd, as one, seemed to be mourning the late colonel already.

"What do we do now?" Dr O'Leiph piped up, finally. "We've lost our CO, we've lost our ship..."

"I don't know," Murphy replied, truthfully. "I don't even know who takes command now," he added, rather less truthfully. He had a damn good suspicion who would take command, and he didn't like it... "There will probably be some in Alliance command who'll want to send us all back to our own people. Turians to the turian fleet, asari to the asari fleet, and so on and so forth..."

Collectively, the crew seemed to _sag _at that prospect, and Murphy's own brain was growling at the idea of just giving up, not to mention segregating them once more. Without the Cambrai, however, they had no way of continuing, which would make things tricky to say the least.

"That said..." the captain continued, rather more hopefully, "Admiral Hackett has de facto control of the Alliance now, and he damn sure won't want to see us broken up – this whole thing was his idea... I'll have to speak with him, and sort out just what we do next..."


	107. Shore Leave Kithoi Ward 10

_**Level 17, Kithoi Ward**_

_**Day 1, 1930**_

"To tonight," Vanyali muttered, holding up her glass, "and to the future, whatever the hell it brings!"

"To the future!" the girls cheered.

Zel had to admit, Murphy's solution to the situation was... fun, if not elegant. The regular crew had all been provided quarters at a barracks in the human embassy, as members of the Alliance. That, however, left the issue of the non-Alliance and non-human N7s, who mostly had nowhere to go. While he marched off to the embassy to contact Hackett, Murphy had sent the N7s to a largely abandoned hotel in the middle of Kithoi Ward. Clientless, the hotel had been more than happy to rent out a whole floor, two extra-large suites, to the N7s, one for the guys, and one for the girls. Kamur had offered to cover the costs from his surprisingly sizeable bank account, which had mystified the others, although Zel had her suspicions that he was clearing out his accounts before going to Palaven.

So now, she was sat on the floor, in a circle, with almost all of the girls – Saffiya had disappeared off onto the wards with Mac'Tir, and Zya had gone to the hospital, ostensibly to check on her squadmate, Arrete, but the rest were all assembled, clutching drinks from the suite's mini-bar. Unfortunately, it was a _human _hotel, which left Zel unable to drink anything...

The others were engaging in a curious human practice, spinning an empty wine bottle in the middle of the circle. The bottle seemed to have some magnificent power, because it prompted question after question and answer after answer, and at one point – she was fading in and out of the conversations slightly, but this one lingered in her memory – it had compelled Aeryn and Maelar to kiss, on a 'dare'. The asari seemed to understand the game already, or were at least picking it up more quickly than her – the turian was baffled, to say the least.

Nonetheless, as the bottleneck whizzed past Kyra and came to point at Zel, she felt all eyes turn to stare at her, and a number of smirks passed across her friends' faces.

"Truth or dare?" Vanyali called, with a slight hiccup and a slurp of – what was that, vodka? The girls had tried teaching her what the different human drinks were, but frankly, they were hard to tell apart – some were gold, some were white, and they came from different kinds of bland levo crops, none of which smelt of anything in particular to her dextro-attuned sense of smell.

"What?" Zel replied, confused.

"Truth or dare?" the N7 repeated, as if the turian was an idiot. "Just pick one!"

"Okay..." she murmured, still very much lost. "Truth, I guess?"

"Good answer," Vanyali smirked, casting a conspiratorial eye to some of the others. "Alright... first time?"

Put simply, that didn't make sense. Either her translator was glitching, and it was another of those human expressions which translated to garbage in turian, or Vanyali was drunk and slurring. Or both...

"Sorry?"

"C'mon, you can tell us..."

"Tell you _what?_"

"Your first time – when, who, hell, I'd settle for where..."

"My first time of _what?_"

The girls just stared at her blankly, as if to say, _'Seriously?'_

"First time of... _y'know_," Dr O'Leiph prompted, waggling her eyebrows suggestively. Finally, the penny dropped, followed by the pound, the gold sovereign, and the bloody dubloon.

"_What?_" Zel spluttered – she would have been blushing, if she were human. As it was, her plates twitched uncomfortably, and her cheeks felt remarkably hot. "I... err..."

"Oh!" Kyra laughed, at her side. "I'm sorry, but that _reeks _of 'embarrassing story' – spill it!"

"There's no story!" the turian protested.

"Oh come on, honey," murmured the asari doctor, "play the game!"

"Seriously..." Zel repeated – this time, _they _were the ones not understanding. "_No story._"

"You mean, like, no..."

"No."

"Never?"

"Never."

There was a slight pause, before Vanyali muttered:

"_How?_ You spend every shore leave drinking in clubs, and I have it on good authority that you're pretty for a turian!"

"Whose authority?" Zel inquired, curiously.

"Okay, no authority, I'm just guessing, but don't change the subject! _Never?_ Why not?"

"Turian courtship is... weird. It's all tied into hierarchy and family, and I spent my whole life isolated in the cabals."

"Then screw courtship and... well, screw someone!" Vanyali laughed, incredulously. "A one night stand, or go for someone who isn't turian!"

"A one night stand?"

"Ah, damn translator. It means-"

"I know what it means," the turian interrupted. "But... no, not for the first time..."

"Fair enough," Kyra nodded, to her right. "But you didn't mention non-turians... Actually, you didn't even mention guys or girls..."

"Guys," Zel scowled, firmly.

"And aliens?" the mercenary persisted.

"I..."

Mercifully, the interrogation stopped there – for the time being, at least. There was a sharp rap on the door, and a clanking in the corridor outside, accompanied by slightly clumsy footsteps. Zel shot to her feet, glad of the excuse to leave, and trotted over to the door. Flinging it open, she was presented with a rather odd sight – the human, Cash, was stood in the doorway with a sizeable crate in his arms, and a mischievous grin on his usually stoic features.

"Beer run," he muttered, by way of explanation. Zel stepped aside to let him in, and he marched into the room before dumping the crate on the floor, a foot or two outside their little circle. He popped the lid open with a firm yank, and tossed it away across the floor, leaving the girls to their drinks. Across the corridor, Zel caught sight of Tyco, Kamur and Andersen carrying not one but _three _crates into the guys' room.

"I don't suppose there's any dextro in there?" she murmured, as he made his way back towards the door.

"Not in there," Cash replied, and her face fell. "But..."

With a broad grin, he reached to his hip, and from _somewhere _withdrew a tall, slender bottle, with a reddish hue and equally crimson contents. He passed it to her, and the grin widened.

"Thought you could do with a drink," he smiled, "until they figure out the whole 'dextro' thing, hmm?"

She laughed, speechless, and before she could thank him he had disappeared, closing the door on his way out. The sounds of rather exuberant revelry were already filtering through from the guys' room, and Zel was sure she could hear a krogan singing...

When she turned around, she was surprised to find the others staring at her with a mixture of amazement and bemusement.

"Aww..." Ria purred, finally. "That's cute..."

"What's cute?" Zel murmured, blushing once more beneath her plates, and pulling the top off the bottle as she sat down.

"He bought you _turian wine?_" the asari stressed, sardonically. Zel looked down at the bottle contemplatively – it was a pretty good vintage, not that she was going to tell them that...

"So, how 'bout it?" Kyra chuckled.

"Ethan?" the turian replied, with a curious spark in her mind. "I... I don't think he's interested."

"Hello, _wine?_" Vanyali laughed, taking another swig from her drink.

"We're friends, that's all," Zel said, dismissively, although the words didn't quite ring true in her head. She'd barely spoken to him before that morning, so they weren't even friends, not _really_... "Besides, he's human" – four pairs of human eyes turned and frowned at her – "I don't think I'd... _y'know_..."

"I would," Kyra joked, poking her pink little human tongue out at the turian and giggling slightly – it was very odd to see a tough mercenary _giggling_, but such was the effect of alcohol...

"Me too," Vanyali teased, jumping on the bandwagon. "The muscles, working out shirtless in the hangar, those brooding eyes... I mean, he's a bit short-"

"He's not _that _short."

"Ha! So you've thought about it!"

"Oh, spirits..." Zel sighed. The bottle looked more inviting than ever, and as Vanyali _fell backwards _in a fit of drunken laughter, the turian tipped it back, taking a deep draught of wine. Maybe the questions would seem less awkward when she was drunk?


	108. Shore Leave Kithoi Ward 11

_**Level 17, Kithoi Ward**_

_**Day 1, 2000**_

The guys were... _merry, _to say the least. Andersen was sure an anthropologist would have been observing a pack of primates, supping at the sweet nectar of the forest. Possibly with a couple of birds mixed in, and three crocodiles swigging ryncol...

Like the girls, the guys had gathered en masse for one giant piss-up – nature's way of forgetting the day, Andersen supposed, in his slightly drunken musings... Even the solitary Thorne, the _more _solitary Yurai, and the _vorcha _Lisk were here. The latter was drinking ryncol with the three krogan, and handling it better than they were, while the former two were supping vodka and exchanging tales.

Andersen, for his part, was sat in the corner, beer in hand, with Kamur, Tyco, Vimes and Kan'Sura. They were discussing the events of the last two weeks, and their comrades' absence.

"So, where did you actually _go?_" Kamur was saying.

"After Illium?" Tyco mused, "Well, there was Erinle, we rested up there for a couple of days, then shot our way through a Cerberus base... Then one on New Canton, and Talis Fia..."

"Talis Fia was hell," Vimes interjected. "Volus colony, ammonia-based atmosphere, and this base was right out in the wilderness... we had to trek for two days just to go and blow it up! That said, the Terminus in general wasn't exactly _pleasant_..."

"You've spent way too much time on the Citadel, Sam," the mercenary frowned. "The Terminus is fine if you treat her right."

"_If you treat her right? _It's not a 'she', it's an 'it' – a sprawling, violent _it _which kills anything that looks remotely like law and order!"

"Ah, it's all about context. You go waving a gun round on the Citadel, they'll arrest you. Wave a gun around in the Terminus, and they'll stay out of your way... or give you a job... or possibly hand you their wallet."

The other four men were staring sardonically at him, and Sam added:

"Or shoot at you."

"Then you shoot back. Point is, there are no politicians, and no beaurocrats. I'll take pirates and mercs over them any day..."

There was a slightly awkward silence, before Vimes changed the subject:

"So, what were you guys up to while we were away?" he asked.

"Well, after you left, we went to Tuchanka – that was messed up..."

Slowly, Andersen let himself drift out of the conversation. He had been on the ship – he knew about Tuchanka, and Asteria, and Aephus, so there was no real need to listen.

Instead, he looked around the room, taking in the various revelries and revellers. In the deepest parts of his conscience, it didn't feel... _right_. Their commander was dead, their ship was gone, and yet everyone was smiling and drinking. Deeper still, however, in the more reasoned areas of his mind, he understood. It was just a soldier's way of coping – every man in the room had experienced loss like this before, and he had a sad suspicion every one of them would again. He had a still sadder suspicion that, next time they returned to port – if there _was _a next time – a number would no longer be with them...

That knowledge, ever-present in all their minds, meant sorrow could be saved for the sober morning after, and rage would be left alone until they reached the battlefield. For now, that just left the beer in his hand...

He took another swig, just as Kamur finished explaining how Suroc Jarr had been punched to death by own lieutenant.

"Just _bam! _Fist, clean through the front of his face!" the turian was roaring, impressively. "His skull _popped_, I swear!"

"Jesus..." Tyco laughed, darkly. "Still, I guess that's 'Tuchankan politics', as Yui would say..."

"Hey, where's Mac'Tir?" Andersen interrupted, dumbly – he couldn't believe it had taken him this long to realise the drell was absent...

"Off on the wards," Kamur grinned. "With... actually, go on, take a guess."

"Ooh, that's a tough one... err... would it be... Saffiya?"

"How _did _you guess?"

"Ah, good luck to 'em," Tyco rumbled. "End of the world doesn't leave much time for love, might as well enjoy it while you can..."

"Speaking of which... You going to call that Rachel girl?" Kan'Sura murmured, turning to Andersen.

A guilty pang shot through the engineer's stomach – he hadn't even given the girl from their last shore leave a second thought, what with everything that was going on. The holo with her number was discarded _somewhere_ in the bottom of his footlocker. Fortunately, like most of the crew, he had brought his gear ashore and stashed it away in storage, thus it hadn't been lost in the blast – the various bags and lockers had now been piled up in the bathroom and bedroom of the suite.

"I... don't know," he replied, guiltily. "It's been two weeks since we were on shore leave" – as he said it, he noted that, what with one thing and another, repairs, casualties, and so on, they were stopping for shore leave remarkably often – "she might have forgotten all about it. I damn near had... Besides, we were both wasted, it was just a fling..."

"Whatever you say," Tyco muttered. "She's not on the crew, so at least it ain't awkward, not like you're going to see her every day."

"True enough, but I don't think it'd be _that _awkward dating someone on the ship..."

"Well, let's find out," the big bounty hunter grinned. He turned around, scanned the room for a moment, then boomed, "Oi, Yurai!"

"What?" the co-pilot replied, as he and Thorne turned towards them.

"Would it be awkward if you and Solov split up?"

Yurai spluttered for a moment, then twisted his features into a more controlled – but still bewildered – expression.

"What the hell do you mean?" he called back. "We're not together _now._"

"What?" Tyco scowled. "You spend _all _your time together! Like, literally, twenty-four seven, together!"

"It's our _job _to be together," Yurai said, defensively, "I'm her co-pilot!"

"Uh-huh... And sharing the cockpit with a Russian blonde – how's that for a job?"

"Screw you, mercenary," the other man shouted, although there was a good-humoured edge to it, rather than insult.

"No, screw _her_," the 'mercenary' quipped, almost instantly. "It's _way_ more productive, trust me..."

Yurai scowled at him again, and Kamur quickly reached into the crate by the wall, producing another beer and forcibly thrusting it into Tyco's hands.

"Drink up," the turian muttered, teasingly, "and try not to piss _everyone_off tonight - you've got a whole week to work on that..."


	109. Shore Leave Kithoi Ward 12

**A/N: Hmm... at a request from a friend, I'm thinking about writing a Dragon Age fic too. I'd really appreciate all your thoughts on whether I should or shouldn't...**

* * *

><p><em><strong>SSV Perugia, Silean Nebula<strong>_

_**Day 2, 1000**_

"Welcome aboard, Captain Murphy."

The captain of the Perugia was a lean, middle-aged officer, with black hair slicked back from his brow and tired green eyes. Murphy had no more contact with him than that initial greeting, as he stepped through the airlock – he soon found himself guided towards the elevator, accompanied by a stressed-looking serviceman.

Frankly, the crew were right to look stressed... The Perugia had just finished running loops around the Silean Nebula, doing their damnedest to evade patrolling Reapers. Their main focus was on Cyone, which now hovered in space beneath Murphy's feet – fighting on the ground had been sporadic, but intense, although the defenders seemed to be holding for now. The Perugia, for its part, was dropping much-needed supply caches from orbit, along with a platoon of marines, and for various undisclosed reasons, Admiral Hackett had asked to accompany them.

So it was that Murphy, keen to speak to the real thing rather than a hologram for once, had been carried off the Citadel by shuttle, boarded an Alliance frigate – he hadn't caught the name, but he had a vague idea it might have been the Ain Jalut, judging by the smattering of familiar faces on the flight deck – and had subsequently been brought out to the Silean, passed over to the Perugia like a baton in a relay. He would remain out here for the next twenty-four hours, until the cruiser returned to the Citadel itself.

Finally, the elevator ground to a halt, on one of the upper observation decks. The young serviceman waved him out with as much energy as he could muster, and was already descended back to the flight deck as Murphy emerged into the spacious room before him.

The observation deck was a long room, with the sharp, angular corners of a ship's deck disguised by sweeping panes of glass, and a roughly semi-circular shape. It was located on top of the cruiser's gargantuan main gun, and the Perugia had pitched over slightly since Murphy had come aboard – instead of being below the ship, Cyone was now fully visible through the far window, at twelve o'clock.

Admiral Hackett was by the window, hands folded behind his back, and barely seemed to acknowledge the captain's entry. Only as Murphy drew up to his side did he look across, and flash him the briefest of nods.

Hackett was looking the worse for wear. His ribs appeared to be ever-so-slightly thinner than usual, as evidenced by the hanging folds in his uniform, and his face was gaunt from long days and sleepless nights. His hair had always been grey, as long as Murphy had known him, but the grey was growing ever-closer to silver-white. Only his eyes remained the same – there was a bitter, resolute spark in them, and it bolstered Murphy's courage no end to see it. One question did remain, however:

"Sir, why are you out here?" Murphy murmured. It _was _odd – Hackett should have been on the Citadel, or at the very least on the Orizaba. He was the leader of the Alliance, arguably of the entire coalition, so putting him in a lone cruiser on the front line seemed... risky.

"To remind myself why we're fighting," Hackett rumbled back. His voice was hoarse, and more than a little weary...

"You need a _reason _to fight Reapers?" the captain scowled, rather more harshly than was probably deserved.

"No..." the other man sighed, calmly. "I'll rephrase. I don't need to be reminded why we're fighting – I need to be reminded why we haven't given up yet."

Murphy just stared at him, rather uncomprehendingly.

"Look down there," Hackett began, with a sigh. "Cyone. You know the story behind that planet?"

"Err... no, sir. I don't tend to keep up with asari colonies."

"Cyone was attacked at least a dozen times during the Krogan Rebellions," the admiral explained, "but the planet was never once captured. Every time the krogan surged in, the matriarchs cut off their supply lines, and annihilated them..."

"I see..." Murphy muttered, not seeing at all. What did a tale from the Rebellions have to do with the here and now?

"The youngest maidens who saw the defence of Cyone died four hundred years ago," Hackett continued, "but the matriarchs down there today have sworn to maintain the planet's legacy. Cyone will not fall, to organic _or _synthetic. They need to keep that promise, too – Cyone's packed with antimatter generators, and they've been supplying fuel to the Alliance so we can defend them..."

"That's why the Perugia's here..."

"Exactly. We have half a dozen outposts on the planet, and our soldiers are reinforcing every asari fortification. There are turians, too – private militia, from one of the conglomerates that has shares in the generators."

There was a pause, before Murphy finally addressed the blatant question on his lips:

"Why Cyone, sir? Why not another world, a human world, even?"

"Because this is exactly how we need to be fighting," he replied, cryptically. Then, he explained, "There were no issues with interspecies forces down there. The task force fights as one – anything less, and the planet falls."

"A baptism of fire does a lot to bring down the species barriers," Murphy agreed, thinking of Benning, and the operations that followed...

"Exactly," Hackett nodded, and clearly he was thinking along the same lines, because he continued, "it happened on the Cambrai, with your Cerberus troubles. It happened on Cyone when the Reapers hit. Hell... it happened to the whole _galaxy_ when the Reapers hit..."

Throughout the entire conversation, Hackett had kept his eyes firmly on the planet below – the blue-green jewel was hovering gently in front of them, and there was no hint of the violence on her surface, until a pin-prick of orange light burst into view on the tip of one of the green continents. _Something _had just exploded. Two Mantis gunships, configured for space flight, zipped past the observation deck window, weapons bristling, as the admiral finally tore his eyes away, and turned to face Murphy.

"We're not here to discuss Cyone, though, are we?" he murmured, rhetorically.

"No..." Murphy replied, although an answer hadn't really been needed.

"My condolences, captain," Hackett continued, gravely. "Colonel Hunter was a good man."

"Yes..." the captain agreed, monosyllabic again. There wasn't really much to say.

"You realise you'll have to take command?" his superior mused, and Murphy's heart fell.

"I was afraid you'd say that. I'll do what I have to, sir, but it feels like captaining a sinking ship."

"Quite... I've already held counsel with Admirals Singh and Lindholm on what we do next – the Cambrai was just one ship, but tactically, it was damned effective. Personally, I wanted to wait, and find you another ship so you can resume operations. Nitesh was a bit more pragmatic – he wanted to put you all back in the fight as soon as possible, as ground forces... Ines supported me, provisionally, but if we can't get you back in operation _soon_, she's of the mind that it would be wasteful to have you sitting around doing nothing, and you might as well be deployed on the ground."

"We both know that wouldn't work," Murphy protested, calmly. "Our team is a _striking_ force, hit and run – snipers, biotics, techs... They're not equipped for a ground war – it doesn't matter how good the specialists are, they die like anyone else when a Reaper comes crashing down on their heads."

"Captain," Hackett sighed, "you don't have to convince me. I have no intention of throwing away such a talented platoon. But the fact remains, you have nowhere to go with the Cambrai gone. Transferring you to a frigate means displacing the current crew and taking it away from regular combat duties, which none of us are really willing to do, not for the sake of strikes against Cerberus, now they're almost out of the fight..."

Murphy took a few steps away, sweeping his brow in frustration and clamping his eyes tight shut. He could see where Hackett was coming from, but why the hell _couldn't _they just displace another crew? One frigate wasn't going to make a difference in a fleet battle against a Reaper, but with the Cambrai's crew on board, it might just make a difference on the ground... Finally, however, an unholy compromise entered his thoughts.

"Admiral," he began, spinning on his heel to face Hackett. "There is a solution. One which gives us a vessel within Lindholm's timeframe... maybe... and which doesn't mean losing a ship from your fleets."

"Well, spit it out," Hackett muttered, sceptically, "what's this solution?"

Murphy hesitated slightly, biting his lip at what he was about to recommend. He couldn't _quite _believe he was saying it. Then, reassuring himself that it seemed to be the only solution, he answered:

"Give me the High Hope."


	110. Shore Leave Kithoi Ward 13

_**Level 21, Kithoi Ward**_

_**Day 2, 1200**_

The justicar awoke to a burst of simulated sunlight falling across her face, and a host of annoying memories springing into her head from the previous night.

They were annoying because they provoked Dr O'Leiph's 'instruction' to pop up and yell at her. She and Raziel – she had succeeded in conditioning her brain to call him that, instead of Mac'Tir – had spent the afternoon and the subsequent evening on the ward, just walking and talking. She found it surprisingly, even worryingly easy to slip through whole hours just talking to him. Saffiya had lived for three hundred years, Raziel for a little over thirty, but somehow, the drell seemed to have just as many stories to tell as she did...

That worried her just as much as it impressed her, however, because the Code, the nagging bastard of her life, was still ever-present. Raziel was kind and noble, but he was an assassin nonetheless. Had a human been telling her those stories, she probably would have had to kill him. Only the drell beliefs, the separate body and soul, allowed her to circumvent the Code. In the same way a murderer was to be spared if he had killed against his will – cases of hypnotism, mind control, and so on had prompted that writ – the drell's belief that his body was a tool for others, and his soul a separate, innocent entity, was enough to appease the code, albeit barely.

Those worries were the reason she had repressed the words put into her mouth by O'Leiph, and by extension, they were the reason she now awoke, alone, in a single bed and a single room of the hotel they had wandered into the night before, with Raziel in a similarly single suite across the corridor. The justicar in her saw it as logical, but the asari maiden trapped deeper within was kicking herself.

With a weary sigh, she slid out of bed, kicking the covers away, and padded over to the heap of clothing she had left on the floor. She grabbed the familiar black leather garb, slipping her legs and feet into it, then shrugged it up over her shoulders, sliding her arms through until her hands were firmly inside the fingerless gloves of the suit. Finally, she closed up the fastener that ran from her navel to her breast, and rolled her shoulders, working out the cricks and cramps from the previous night's poor sleep as she flexed her slightly achy neck.

She was rather surprised to find, upon fitting her omni-tool, that it was midday. She couldn't remember the last time she'd slept until midday...

Still pondering her Code issues, she stepped out of the apartment's front door, shutting it behind her with a soft _click_, and strolled to the door of the opposite room, the one Raziel occupied. She rapped it three times, and after a moment's pause, a hoarse answer issued out:

"It's open..."

Sure enough, the door _swished _open at her touch, and she stepped inside.

Raziel was on the far side of the room, sat cross-legged in front of the window with his back to her. As she drew closer, she realised he was meditating – his head was perfectly still, eyes tight shut, and his sword was held horizontal in his lap, on upturned palms.

"Sorry, am I disturbing you?" she murmured.

"Not at all, siha," the drell replied – his head loosened, and he snatched his sword up in one hand as he rose to his feet. "Did you have something you wanted to talk to me about?"

"Yes," the justicar began, "I..."

And then, quite suddenly, she didn't know _what _she wanted to say to him – her mind was entering into a fierce mental debate. _Tell him you love him_. Whoa, too strong, that was scary to even _contemplate _saying, and it would probably scare him too. _Okay, tell him you like him, then. _No, that wasn't strong _enough_, it sounded childish... _How about 'I care about you?' _Goddess no, that was too ambiguous...

Finally, the only words that could escape her lips were from her previous musings, and they were about as unhelpful as it was possible to be in the current situation:

"I should kill you."

There was an ugly pause.

"What?" Raziel blinked, as Saffiya began the mental process of kicking herself.

"I..." she stuttered, and then it all flowed out. "Raziel, you've saved my life twice now. You're loyal, kind, noble... and you're an assassin. Have you got _any _idea how confusing that is? I owe you my life, I'm _glad _to fight at your side, I spent most of my waking hours with you, but in every moment, I have to find loopholes in my own Code to stop me from spilling your guts for the lives you've taken!"

To his credit, the drell merely fixed a stoic stare on her, and took it all in. He had straightened up, and Saffiya was rather surprised to find that when standing tall, not hunched over in a fighting stance, he was a good deal taller than her... Nonetheless, she continued:

"No matter how hard I try, I can't get around the fact that you _killed _for money! Every time you tell a story about your work, I have to find some excuse not to listen, or not to believe, because if I did, I'd have to act!"

She fell into silence once more, and was rather surprised to find ragged breaths tearing out of her chest. She rarely lost her self-control, rarely submitted to emotion, so it was rather surprising to find it happening – and yet not surprising at all, given the topic of conversation...

Raziel stood there a few moments longer, as if digesting the information, before he finally replied. His stoic mask had broken ever so slightly, and he seemed to be trying his damnedest to hide the hurt in his expression.

"I have always _been _a killer," he muttered, with a cold edge to his voice that chilled her spine. "As has Zya. As has Tyco. Why, _justicar_" – it sounded so impersonal, the way he said it – "has this only started to matter now?"

He leant forward slightly, and for a brief moment their faces were incredibly close, the drell's cool breath rippling against her cheeks. A few dozen unsubtle solutions raced through her mind, most of them involving lunging at him by way of explanation...

Before she could do anything, however, a damnable _bleeping _began to chime out through the room. No, _two _sets of bleeping – one from the omni-tool on her wrist, and one from Raziel's, discarded at the side of his bed. With a groan of frustration, she hammered the glowing white circle on her own, and a comms panel burst into life, with Murphy's sombre face filling it. Rather irrationally, her mind began to imagine inflicting all sorts of curses on the good captain, even as she waited for him to speak.

"All operatives," Murphy began, with a roguish smile, "we are back in business."


	111. Shore Leave Kithoi Ward 14

_**SSV Perugia, Silean Nebula**_

_**Day 2, 1230**_

"Alright," Andersen muttered, decisively. "Explain."

Murphy scowled at the slight insubordination, but let it pass. They had never had the most formal of outfits on the Cambrai, and right now he just couldn't be _bothered _with rank and formality.

He was sat on the hard bed of a vacant bunk room on the Perugia – rather than leave him stood aimlessly around the ship while the crew worked, they had given him the room of a long-gone officer, and left him to his own devices once his meeting with Hackett was complete. He and the admiral had spent the best of two hours discussing everything from the actual _destruction _of the Cambrai, to their plans for the next operation, the logistics of the ship and crew ready again, and the wretched formalities of Murphy assuming command. Eventually, once everything had been worked out, Hackett had dismissed him to his quarters, while the admiral set about 'making the necessary calls'.

That left him sat at the top of the bed, with a comm panel open on his omni-tool, hailing the Cambrai crew. There were three receiving panels illuminated in his display – Andersen filled one, flanked by Kamur and Tyco, and the three of them all looked rather hung over; Vanyali and Zel Manado were in the second, looking _equally _hung over; and Saffiya and Mac'Tir occupied the third, looking not hung over, but frustrated, as if the captain was interrupting something...

"I just left my meeting with Admiral Hackett," Murphy explained, to the waiting operatives. "And we've got ourselves a ship..."

"_What?_" the engineer replied, breaking into a disbelieving grin.

"The High Hope – from Aephus, remember? I know it's not ideal" – Saffiya and Mac'Tir were both glaring at the memory of the ship – "but look at it practically. It's quicker than the old Cambrai, it's more powerful than the old Cambrai, and it's bigger than the old Cambrai... The Alliance Engineering Corps is fixing the ship up right now, they think it'll be finished and ready within ten days."

"Captain..." Andersen replied, cannily, "a ship wasn't the only thing we needed. What about arms, and armour?"

"Taken care of too," Murphy sighed, "although not in the fashion I'd like..."

"Huh?"

"Logan's will. He left everything – a considerable sum – to fund the Alliance. Hackett agreed that was best spent getting Logan's crew back on their feet."

"Shouldn't that be going to... y'know, his family?" Tyco interjected, rather sceptically.

"It should..." the captain sighed. "But he doesn't have any. I knew his son had died, on Edolus, but I... I just found out his wife died, too. On Earth, just before he joined the Cambrai."

"Christ..." Andersen sighed.

What the captain said next, however, was to provoke an even more visceral reaction:

"Add in the money from Kamur, and we've got more than enough to refill our armoury," he announced. For reasons that were initially beyond him, however, the response was a series of swift, questioning glares directed at the aforementioned turian. Andersen and Tyco had turned to stare at him in their own comm panel, and in the others, Vanyali, Saffiya and Mac'Tir had all gone wide-eyed with surprise. Only Manado looked unsurprised – her plates fell in what Murphy _thought _was a nervous expression for a turian.

Okay, that had been a mistake. Clearly, Kamur hadn't found time or opportunity to tell them yet – although that nervous face made him think Manado knew – and they were glaring at him in search of explanation...

"Thanks for that, captain," he murmured, dryly. "Guys, I'll... I'll explain in a little bit. Captain, continue. _Please_."

"Alright," Murphy nodded, determinedly. "I'm pooling it all into an access fund – Logan's credits, err... Kamur's, and the Alliance funding Hackett gave us as compensation. Anyone who lost their armour on the ship can go and buy a new set. As for weapons, I'm leaving that up to Rilum and Dax – the salarian knows what we need tactically, and the krogan... well, the krogan's the biggest gun nut on the crew. Between the two of them, they should get us what we need... Speaking of Rilum and Dax, I'm transmitting the access codes to the fund – pass on the message, okay?"

"Will do," Andersen promised, as the captain dropped the comms panel away from his face for a moment, uploading the codes Hackett had given him and sending them across the same frequency. Before he could bring the comms panel back into view, however, he heard a low voice rumble out:

"Captain?" the drell Mac'Tir was muttering, his voice disembodied as it popped out of the omni-tool. "Is that all you needed us for? We have... business to attend to."

"Err... yeah, that was all, but I don't think you're _quite _taking shore leave in the right spirit. Speaking of which, you've all got ten days of it, until the High Hope is shipped over to the Citadel. Enjoy it."

"You too, sir," the assassin replied, and by the time Murphy set his eyes back to the screen, he and the justicar had disappeared into static.

"What was _that _about?" he asked the others, without a shred of subtlety.

"They're... finding a bit of romance, sir, can you blame them?" Vimes murmured, as he popped into view between Andersen and Tyco.

"I guess not..."

"Speaking of which, sir... check your omni-tool."

Seconds after Vimes stopped speaking, the captain's wrist lit up. A spinning circle denoted something uploading to his omni-tool, and a moment later, the circle disappeared, blossoming into a new file, with a suspicious terminal address contained within...

"Vimes?" he muttered, quietly. "What's this supposed to be?"

"From Kayla, sir," the former C-Sec officer grinned. "I'm sorry, she blackmailed me into sending it..."

"Blackmailed you with what?" Tyco interjected, curiously.

"_Don't _ask."

There was an awkward pause, and Vimes gave an embarrassed cough, before turning to the terminal and adding:

"We'd best go clean up, sir. Vresh knocked over a keg of bloody ryncol – that stuff stains bright green, and it can withstand a small nuclear attack. I think the concierge might _murder _us if she finds it... Anyway... Enjoy yourself, sir..."

The two remaining channels crackled out of life, and Murphy was left to recline on his bunk, hands behind his head, with Vimes' upload still hovering in his mind's eye. _Enjoy yourself_, indeed... Actually, on second thoughts... maybe he would...


	112. Shore Leave Kithoi Ward 15

_**Level 17, Kithoi Ward**_

_**Day 2, 1240**_

The moment the comms panel closed, Andersen, Vimes and Tyco turned to glare at Kamur expectantly. Turians couldn't exactly _look _embarrassed, but his plates crossed into a rough approximation, and he was desperately trying to avoid their eyes...

"How much?" was Andersen's first question.

"Three hundred thousand credits," Kamur sighed, not even bothering to ask what they were asking about.

"Bloody hell," Tyco muttered. "What is that, your whole life savings?"

"Pretty much," the turian nodded, and Tyco started with surprise. "Saved up wages, and inheritance..."

There was an awkward silence, as they all stared at him. They were largely on their own in the apartment – everyone else, although hung over, had stumbled out by now, save for Hei Yui, slumped face down on the far side of the floor, and a couple of other marines still grabbing their belongings. That meant they had as much privacy as they were ever going to get in a shared apartment, but Andersen still determined to _whisper _the obvious question now springing to his lips:

"Why?"

Kamur growled under his breath, more at himself than at Andersen, and the young engineer was sure a turian would have been able to understand the ripple of sub-harmonics beneath, although he made nothing of it.

"Look," Kamur frowned, finally, with a tone of both urgency and grave seriousness. "What I'm about to tell you does _not _get passed around, okay? Not yet, at least..."

"Err... sure," Andersen replied, wondering just _what _was so serious. It was the first time he'd ever seen Kamur look _worried_ about something...

"I'm leaving," was his blunt reply.

Silence followed – stunned, disbelieving silence. Andersen knew his brain just couldn't process the words, and judging by the looks on their faces, neither could his two companions. Tyco looked like he'd swallowed a bee.

"I... it's quite a long story," Kamur continued, "and I'm too hung over to go through it again. The long and short of it is, I never actually got _permission _to join the Cambrai. My old unit's recalling me for frontline duty, shipping out at the end of the week."

"Where are you shipping out _to?_" the engineer enquired, dreading the answer.

"Palaven."

The silence that followed that reply was even longer and more damnable than the first. Put simply, his reply was the same as if Andersen had announced he was marching back to _Earth_. The turian homeworld was ablaze, they all knew that from the news and the vids, and the soldiers trickling back down to fight were mostly dead within days, if not hours... You didn't have to be turian to know it was a suicide mission, although he supposed you _did _have to be turian to be so calm about it, because Kamur looked unfazed – no, it was more _resigned..._

"The last remnants of the Taetrus Fifth are gathering to join the fight. I rendezvous with them in five days, and then we go down to the surface..."

"Christ," Tyco muttered, quietly, then added bluntly: "You'll all be dead within a day..."

"Maybe..." Kamur murmured, but he didn't sound too confident.

"Err..." Vimes interjected, the ghost of a thought passing over his features. "If you've given all your money to fund _us_, how are you going to buy weapons? We lost them on the Cambrai – are the turians going to replace them for you?"

"They won't need to," the turian sighed.

With that, he simply walked away from them, circled around Yui's prone, slumbering form, and disappeared into the side bedroom which held their belongings. He emerged with a simple footlocker in hand, returned to them, and dropped it down at their feet.

"I leave for Palaven before your shore leave ends – I didn't think I'd be going back to the Cambrai, so I took a load of gear from the armoury before I left. I brought my guns with me, and my armour..."

He was already wearing the aforementioned silver armour – Andersen couldn't help noticing the new, upgraded omni-tool on each wrist, and the enhanced kinetic barrier generator – and sure enough, as he opened the locker it was packed with weapons, all reduced to their folded stocks. One by one, Kamur took the weapons, opened them up, and laid them out on the floor. They made for a rather impressive collection: his old, time-worn Phaeston rifle; a newer, human Mattock, modded with an extended barrel and a set of sights; a bayoneted Eviscerator shotgun; a lethal-looking Viper sniper rifle with an upgraded scope; a Shuriken machine pistol; and quite to Andersen's surprise, one of those salarian Scorpion pistols, the ones which fired _grenades_. To top it off, the engineer could see half a dozen frag grenades in the bottom of the footlocker, and a serrated combat knife.

"Bloody hell," Tyco cursed, as he surveyed the lethal armament. "You're taking all of _that?_"

"Well, I'm not going to have to carry it _back_," Kamur laughed, darkly, "I'll go down fighting, but I won't run out of weapons. That would just be _embarrassing_."


	113. Shore Leave Kithoi Ward 16

_**Frigate "High Hope", Mass Relay Stream**_

_**Day 6, 1300**_

"All systems running steady, sir," one of the engineers was muttering, over the radio. On the bridge, Murphy gave a little nod, and continued to look out across the CIC.

The High Hope had just left the Fifth Fleet's care, with half a dozen refit engineers, two marine guards and Captain Murphy aboard. In the four days since he had requisitioned the ship from Hackett, the refit team had gone into overdrive. The job that was supposed to take ten days had almost been completed in four – all major systems were working to capacity, and the deck refits had been finished. All that remained, once they reached the Citadel, was to restock the armoury and med bay, and work out a few kinks in the VIs that maintained the autonomous processes. With the ship basically complete, Murphy had requested it return to the Citadel early, so that he could attend to some unfinished business...

"Captain, I can give you the tour now, if you'd like," another engineer at his heel announced.

"Thank you, err...?"

"Lindsay, sir."

"Thank you, Lindsay. Shall we start here?"

"Very well... I'm sure I don't need to explain what the CIC is, sir, but there have been a few additions compared to the Cambrai. This ship is actually more in line with the Normandy SR2 under _Cerberus _than the Alliance fit – I'll explain why later. The cockpit and exit airlock are at the bow, as ever, but in the stern, the war room has been moved to the middle, complete with quantum entanglement communicators to the Fifth Fleet and Admiral Hackett, as well as to the human embassy on the Citadel. To starboard, there is a research lab – it seemed a good idea to separate experiments from the med bay – and to port, an armoury."

"An armoury?" Murphy interrupted. "Up on the CIC? I read a little on the Normandy refit, didn't they move it down to the hangar bay?"

"They did," Lindsay admitted, "but the Normandy had a very small complement of shore-going soldiers, around half a dozen. You have almost thirty, and most of them _sleep _in the hangar, according to your reports – keeping the armoury up here makes space for them in the hangar. Most of your crew keep their weapons with them, anyway, the armoury was just used for modifications and spares. Furthermore, if the ship were to be boarded, the flight crew here around the airlock would be the first in need of weapons, so it makes sense to keep the armoury close at hand."

"Fair enough," the captain nodded. "Where to next?"

"Crew deck," she replied, leading him towards the elevator. As they stepped inside, and she hit the button on the display for 'Deck Three', she added: "I should point out that Deck One houses your quarters, as the captain, but you don't need me to show you around _those_..."

They rumbled downwards in silence, and Murphy was pleased to note the elevators were much quicker than the painfully slow articles on the Cambrai. After just a minute or two, they emerged onto the crew deck, which seemed almost ghostly – with no-one but the refit team on board, it was weirdly abandoned...

"The crew deck is... not too different to the one on the old Cambrai," the engineer began. "The crew quarters, starboard observation and gunnery deck are all the same, just a little bigger. The med bay is the same as on your old ship, but the AI Core on the Normandy SR2 was replaced by a proper surgical theatre here, because... well, you don't _have _an AI. The port observation deck has been converted into a bar and lounge for downtime, and the old XO's office was converted into an intel room, as per your request."

Murphy had indeed requested the XO's office be converted, for two reasons. Firstly, the new, smaller war room served only as a communications room, there were no computers within that held their records and intel. Secondly, no-one would have wanted to occupy that office, out of respect for Logan.

"What's in there?" he asked, pointing to a door on the stern wall which had never been present on the old ship.

"Life support," Lindsay required. "It's usually just accessible through the maintenance hatches, but Admiral Hackett suggested we make a proper room of it – the climate is slightly more arid, and given the multi-species nature of your crew, the admiral thought drell especially might appreciate it."

"Very good. Anything else I should know?"

"Nothing comes to mind, sir. Shall we?"

He nodded, and they stepped into the elevator yet again, this time hitting 'Deck Four' and descending down into the engineering section. The engineering deck certainly _wasn't _abandoned – the refit engineers were scurrying all over it, using omni-tools and the deck's computers to make their desired 'tweaks' to the systems.

"The starboard cargo hold remains the same as before," his companion said, "but the port cargo hold was modified to serve as a training room."

"A training room?" Murphy echoed, in surprise. She didn't reply, she merely beckoned for him to follow, and ducked through the door of the 'training room'.

The training room, though packed into the fairly small cargo hold, was actually quite well equipped. On the near side, by the door, a low metal ring formed a basic sparring circle, and a trio of old LOKI mechs were hung against the wall, presumably for use as training dummies. At the other end of the room, the far wall was preceded by a short, bar-like counter, which bore a number of interfaces for controlling holographic targets in what appeared to be a shooting range.

"Impressive," he muttered, and turned to leave, "anything else new on this deck?"

"Oh yes," she grinned, and led him out, off down the side corridor, and onto the engineering deck proper.

She didn't even have to _tell _him what he was meant to be looking at – the new drive core bathed the whole, cavernous room in pulsating blue light and a dull, energetic _thrum_.

"That's the SR2 model Tantalus drive core," Lindsay murmured, proudly. "Two or three times the size of the SR1's. It's fully compatible with the original stealth and FTL systems, it just has a bit more... _kick. _As a consequence, the SR2 can travel at at almost twice the speeds the SR1 topped out at, and can initiate manoeuvres producing at least twice as much G-force..."

"So in layman's terms, faster and more manoeuvrable?"

"Yes... and it's not just the drive core that got an upgrade. Cerberus fitted several high-level technologies, apparently prototyped on the Normandy while it was in their service."

"Such as?"

"Well, for a start, there are cyclonic multicore shields. I won't bore you with tech, but in the simplest terms, cyclonic barriers _deflect _projectiles instead of stopping them outright. That means the projectile's energy is directed away, not absorbed, so these barriers can stop larger projectiles like torpedoes... There's also a form of ablative armour coating – Silaris asari tech, as best we can tell. It vaporises under directed energy strikes, stopping the hull from melting and using the vapour to deflect lasers and the like."

"Sounds... complicated," Murphy frowned. "I'm amazed we brought this thing down in the first place. What about the armament? Anything special there?"

"Oh yes... you've got slightly upgraded GARDIAN lasers, and two Javelin torpedo mounts under the wings, but the main gun was replaced by a turian design – a Thanix cannon."

"Bloody hell..." the captain muttered, recalling just how much damage the Thanix cannons of the turian ships had done on Aephus...

"One prolonged burst from the Thanix cannon can destroy an unshielded cruiser, and even a shielded one can't stand up to more than three – the technology was derived from _Sovereign _by the turian military."

"There's no _actual _Reaper tech in it, is there?"

"No..."

She fell silent, and waved him towards the exit – they left the drive core, and returned towards the elevator, but instead of stepping inside, Lindsay beckoned him over to the great bay window on the wall opposite. As he peered through it, he realised it looked out over the hangar bay.

"The hangar should be just as you remembered it," she murmured. "Although like I said, the armoury facilities have been moved up to the CIC. The hangar now houses the procurement terminal, vehicles for shore parties, and ample space for your men to set up another bunk area."

As he looked around the room from above, however, Murphy was aware of one thing conspicuously missing – there were two Kodiak shuttles, lying on the far side of the hangar, but the space next to them was noticeably empty.

"No Mako?" he inquired. "I thought we'd be getting a new one..."

"No need," Lindsay smiled. "The old one's waiting on the Citadel for you."

"_What?_"

"Oh, come on, everyone knows those things are damn near indestructible. Yours got flushed out of the hangar when the Cambrai exploded, but one of the Defence Fleet's ships bumped into it – _literally_ – and hauled it back... It's a bit battered, and it needs a wheel replacing, but your team's engineers should be able to fix it up."

"I... fair enough," Murphy nodded, after a pause. "Then there's just one more thing that needs doing."

"Sir?"

"High Hope. It's the ship's Cerberus name, and a lot of the crew have bad memories of it..."

"What would you propose instead, sir?"

"Oh, I think that's obvious..."


	114. Shore Leave Kithoi Ward 17

_**Level 25, Kithoi Ward**_

_**Day 7, 1100**_

The upper docks of Kithoi Ward had been sealed off to accommodate the funeral procession. Well, strictly speaking it was a ramp ceremony, not a true funeral, but no-one was too bothered about the distinction... Whatever it was supposed to be called, they were bearing the casket towards the access ramp of the SSV Perugia – the cruiser had escorted the newly-christened SSV Cambrai back to the Citadel the day before, and was now waiting to take the frigate's commander on his final voyage...

With no body to recover, the Cambrai's crew were really carrying an empty casket on its way to the waiting Perugia, but for all the world they could imagine their fallen commander was amongst them. In reality, the coffin – a steel casket, emblazoned with the N7 insignia – held only three items, none of them a body. The first was a standard assault rifle, an Avenger, loaded with a single clip and laid inside the casket as an emblem of the career soldier. Alongside it, Murphy had personally placed a fresh set of dog tags with Hunter's name on them – the originals had been lost in the blast – and a Medal of Valour, freshly awarded by Admiral Hackett for the marine's long and excellent service, and his sacrifice.

Now, Murphy was holding the casket on his shoulder, taking his corner while five others took theirs. Formality dictated the pallbearers were supposed to be serving personnel, but Murphy and Hackett had both decided that was inappropriate, given the nature of Logan's command – only three of the bearers were even human, as it happened. Murphy and Vanyali, the colonel's fellow N7s, took the front. Behind them were Andersen and the justicar Saffiya, and bringing up the rear, the turian Kamur and the salarian Rilum stood in grim repose.

Somewhere amidst the onlookers – the entire crew of the Cambrai and most of the Alliance embassy contingent had gathered in attendance – a set of mournful pipes was playing, in the hands of a burly marine sergeant. The Last Post was echoing eerily around the empty hangar, reverberating off the walls as the pipes sang of a thousand ere-forgotten dead. The melody was eerie, and haunting, but at the same time it stirred the very soldier's soul in Murphy's heart. The dead would never truly be forgotten – that was the promise and the duty of every man under an army's banner.

On that very theme, as the pipes trailed off from their beautiful dirge into respectful silence, a hoarse, grizzled voice began to call aloud – Admiral Hackett was stood by the ramp to the Perugia, and Murphy was surprised to notice that he was reciting from memory, not reading from a sheet before him... It was some old burial rite from earth, an ode of remembrance that had been requested in the colonel's testament, and it seemed oddly familiar, although the captain had never heard it before:

"They shall grow not old, as we that are left grow old:  
>Age shall not weary them, nor the years condemn.<br>At the going down of the sun and in the morning,  
>We will remember them."<p>

"We will remember them," the crowd echoed, with even Murphy and the pallbearers joining the promise – some muttered it, some whispered it, but all meant it...

Slowly, ever so slowly, the captain and his fellows wound their way closer to the Perugia, placing one foot before the other in a determined, drilled march. In the corner of his eye, Murphy could see a cluster of figures, Tyco and Kan'Sura amongst them, bearing rifles and facing towards the casket as it hove towards them.

"Ten-hut!" Hackett shouted, reverting to what seemed to be a past life, a drill master's tone, as the pallbearers approached the saluting guns. "Ready! Aim!" – the rifles they bore, a uniform collection of Avengers, were pointing upwards, over the heads of the crowd and the pallbearers – "_Fire!_"

A first, tremendous volley ripped its way out of every gun, as at least a dozen blank rounds were fired in unison, cracking over their heads with an even more deafening echo than the now-silent pipes.

"Ready!" the admiral repeated. "Aim! _Fire!_"

The second volley tore through the air, resonating even as the first began to die, and nearly deafening all those gathered around – Murphy's head was certainly ringing, although that might not have been from the guns...

"Ready! Aim! _Fire!_"

A third and final volley bellowed forth, and the guns fell silent, even as the thunderous rumble swirled around the bay's outer walls.

"Present arms!"

As one, the assembled riflemen swung their weapons upwards, barrels rising to the sky as the underside of each gun was turned towards the coffin – a mark of respect that was timed perfectly, because the pallbearers reached them at that moment.

"Order arms!" Hackett shouted, and as one, the saluters dropped their rifles to their sides, as the admiral himself saluted the empty casket. Finally, the pallbearers executed a sharp turn to the left, and Murphy was left facing the ramp, beyond which lay the Perugia's already-open airlock.

"At ease!" came the final command, at their side, and as they proceeded up towards the ramp, the captain was aware of Hackett coming to march beside them – they traipsed in regimented discipline up the ramp, through the open airlock, which was guarded by two of the Perugia's marines, and finally laid the casket down inside.

The very last preparation was for one of the two marines to produce an Alliance Navy flag, folded into a neat square with only the silver emblem of Earth showing, and hand it to Hackett. He laid it neatly over the head of the casket, just above the N7 insignia but without covering it, and then stepped back, turning to face the pallbearers.

"At ease," he repeated, rather wearily.

The others turned and departed, but Murphy lingered for a moment, complying with the unspoken request in Hackett's stare.

"We'll take good care of him, captain," the admiral smiled, weakly. "You did good. You'll do good. Of that much, I'm certain... Dismissed."

Murphy nodded to the admiral, met his final salute, stole one last glance at his old comrade's casket, then turned on his heel and forced himself back down the boarding ramp. As he did, a nervous energy was filling the air, along with a mournful dirge, as the pipes began to play once more...

* * *

><p><strong>AN: I'm aware there were a couple of references in this that might have gone over some people's heads. Firstly, the poem Hackett recites from is For The Fallen, by Laurence Binyon, a piece commonly recited on Remembrance Day in the UK and Commonwealth (which is also where the tradition of repeating "we will remember them" developed). The Last Post is a piece of music, a bugle call, which is played as part of military funerals and remembrance services in Britain and the Commonwealth. You might well have heard it and never known what it was called. A quick search on Youtube will produce several copies to listen to, and I'd recommend it, because frankly, it's very moving.**

**(For the considerable chunk of our readers who live across the Atlantic, the equivalent in the USA is Taps.)**


	115. Shore Leave Kithoi Ward 18

_**Level 17, Kithoi Ward**_

_**Day 7, 1730**_

It had been a little over six hours since they said goodbye to the colonel, and now Andersen was preparing to say yet another goodbye...

Kamur had finally told the others about his departure, but had ordered them to go and enjoy themselves tonight – everyone except Andersen and Tyco had departed for the clubs and the bars, albeit reluctantly, leaving the two humans to help their turian friend pack.

The packing didn't really take long. All Kamur had were his weapons and his armour – the former were already stowed away in his footlocker, and he was wearing the latter, doing a few last minute tweaks to his barriers and checking the omni-blades on each wrist were working.

"This feels weird," Tyco announced. The big merc, like Andersen and Kamur, was in his armour, and was toying with a new pistol that he'd bought that afternoon.

"I wouldn't swap this chance for the world," Kamur assured them. "Think about it. The one thought that's been pushing you two onwards is that when the Normandy's done what they need to do – when _we've _done what we need to do – we'll all be charging off to Earth, to take the fight home. You'll get your chance later, but I get mine now, so don't deny me it..."

His two friends merely nodded in vague understanding, as he finished inspecting his left omni-blade for the third time, and finally stood up off his footlocker, more reluctantly than his words would suggest.

"Time to go," the turian muttered.

Hesitantly, the three men crossed to the door, Kamur leading the way with his footlocker in his hand. They passed through the now-familiar apartment door, clambered down through the spiralling staircases to the hotel lobby, and emerged out into bright, artificial sunlight. As ever, a steady trickle of pedestrians was winding up and down the ward, and initially, it brought to mind their old criticism of the Citadel – the veneer of calm was tremendous, not to mention false, even after the Cerberus coup. Here they were, about to send a friend off on a suicide mission, and people were just getting on with their day to day life as if nothing had changed.

On closer inspection, though, there were a few gratifying changes amongst the ward-goers as the trio passed through. For a start, the sight of the three men in armour certainly drew glances, everything from surprise to reverence, and several people went out of their way to... well, get out of their way, clearing a path for the soldiers. Furthermore, as they reached the elevator that would take them to the upper levels, a group of intuitive turians – evidently realising what Kamur was doing – flashed stony-faced salutes at them, and stepped out of their way to let them go first.

Even as the elevator rumbled upwards, the three of them were silent. It was yet another of those moments where there just wasn't anything to say... Finally, however, Tyco found something:

"Where are we... y'know, _going?_" he muttered.

"The docks on Level 28," Kamur replied, rather quietly. "There's a shuttle waiting."

"You're goin' to Palaven in a shuttle?" the bounty hunter frowned.

"No," the turian replied, sardonically, "I'm going to Palaven on a dreadnought, the Valiant. But docking a dreadnought takes a _huge _bay and a few hours of work, so I'm transferring by shuttle instead..."

"Ah. Gotcha."

They lapsed into silence once more, and Andersen found both of his comrades' faces to be unreadable. Tyco's expression was obscured behind his black visor, and Kamur's turian plates were rigid and stoic, although the engineer thought there might have been a glimmer of anxiety in his hawk-like eyes. For reasons unknown to his two companions, Kamur knelt down as the elevator readout flickered to 'Level 26', and flicked his footlocker open, grabbing one of the folded weapon stocks from within before straightening up, still weighing the gun in one hand.

Finally, the elevator ground to a halt on Level 28, and the three soldiers stepped out directly onto the docking bay gantry. It was far larger than the private dock the Cambrai occupied – three separate gantries ran out from the main hub, all occupied by one or more ships. To the left, a civilian freighter was unloading what appeared to be a group of asari refugees – another world on the path to Thessia had fallen, it seemed – while on the right, the crewmen of a salarian corvette were stepping back _into _their ship, preparing to leave for some far-off battlefield.

Hanging from the middle gantry was the turian shuttle, guarded only by a single marine, clad in black armour and with a sniper rifle resting lazily on his shoulder, pointing roofwards. As the trio marched towards him, he suddenly came to attention, hoisting his rifle more strictly to his shoulder in a guard stance, and flashing them a broad salute.

"Captain Destra," he called, when they finally reached him.

"Lieutenant Varin," Kamur smiled, the first genuine smile Andersen had seen on his face all day. "Good to see you're still kicking."

"You too, sir," the sniper replied.

"Ready for one last fight?"

"Not the last, sir, not if I've got anything to say about it..."

Kamur laughed weakly at that, and waved the lieutenant towards the shuttle – he hopped inside, as Kamur turned around to face his two friends.

"Well, this is it," he murmured, with a lopsided grin. "What to say, what to say... thanks? That doesn't really cover it, but, yeah, thanks. For all the drunken nights and the fighting days..."

"Our pleasure," Tyco grinned, weakly.

"Andersen," the turian continued, shifting his gaze to the engineer. "I think you'd better take this. I won't need two rifles, and spirits know you need a proper gun..."

With that, he tossed the folded stock in his hand to the young engineer, and as he caught it, Andersen found the trusty crimson Phaeston unfurling in his grip. There really wasn't anything he could say to that...

"Take care of yourselves, guys," Kamur muttered, finally. "And take care of the others, too. Not that they'll need much help – Murphy will be brilliant, and you can quote me on that. Although, if you get a chance to talk to Manado, tell her... thanks."

"What for?"

"It doesn't matter. She'll know. I..."

"Captain?" Varin called, appearing at the door of the shuttle.

"Damn it," Kamur cursed. "I should really get going, shouldn't I? Planet to save and all that..."

He slung his footlocker into the shuttle ahead of him, then turned, and flashed them a quick salute.

"To Earth," he muttered, unexpectedly.

"To Palaven," Tyco and Andersen smiled back, returning the salute.

Without another word, Kamur clambered determinedly up into the shuttle. The doors slid shut behind him with an air of finality, and with a lurching cry, the shuttle's thrusters burst into life, dragging the craft slowly away from the gantry and off into open space.

After what seemed like an eternity of standing there, watching the shuttle drift off towards the titanic dreadnought now framed through the hangar doors, Tyco spoke up:

"Well, that was..." he began, but he never finished his sentence.

"Yeah..." Andersen agreed, also trailing off.

"Drinks?" was the best the bounty hunter could manage to mutter.

"Lead the way..."


	116. Shore Leave Kithoi Ward 19

**A/N: A little more backstory for Yui, today...**

**On an entirely unrelated note, after much hesitation I've decided to publish the Dragon Age request series I started. It's already up on my profile under the title of 'The Return', and I'd really appreciate some feedback from you guys! (Well, those of you who said you'd be interested, at least...)**

* * *

><p><em><strong>SSV Cambrai, Kithoi Ward Docks<strong>_

_**Day 8, 1300**_

Urdnot Dax was rather happy with the new arrangements. Much as he had liked the camaraderie of everyone gathering together in the old Cambrai's hangar, this new, bigger ship was much more fun, principally because of one thing – the armoury.

The new Cambrai's armoury was better than anything he'd seen on Tuchanka. Fortack's workshop was nothing compared to this – it was cramped, littered with scrap, and in the last few years had been devoted to agriculture and medicine, at Wrex's bequest. Sure, there were reasons for the change in direction, and they had brought enormous benefit to the clan, but Dax and his fellow scouts had always preferred tinkering with weapons to tinkering with crops, and this armoury was the holy grail of tinkerers.

Case in point: he was currently stood over one of the armoury's three worktables, taking apart a Revenant machine gun to install a stability dampener and a bigger clip. Around him, the walls and benches were lined with almost two hundred thousand credit's worth of guns, which the krogan had purchased and shipped to the Cambrai en masse that morning.

"Dax!" came a familiar voice, from the door to the CIC. Another hulking krogan had just entered, with a curious expression on his face.

"Yui," the Urdnot scout greeted, still holding a few dismembered Revenant components in his hand as he turned around to face his friend. "Something I can do? Need a gun?"

"No..." the other krogan grunted, then seemed to reconsider and added, "actually, a Claymore wouldn't go amiss..."

He trailed off thoughtfully, stole a glance at the treasure trove of weaponry in the armoury, then snapped to attention as he got back to his point, replacing his distraction with an accusatory glare, aimed at Dax.

"I got a message from my daughter, Merix," Yui said, dryly.

_Buggar_, Dax murmured inwardly. He knew what was coming, and sure enough his friend continued:

"She says a couple of Urdnot scouts are camped out in front of her house. Is that your doing?"

There was an awkward pause, and Dax shuffled his feet with equal awkwardness.

"I... may have made a _suggestion_," he muttered. "What the clan did with that information was theirs to decide."

"Why did you think they needed protecting?" Yui scowled, what little anger he had giving way to curiosity.

"I thought they were bloody isolated out there," Dax replied – the other krogan had told him about his daughters after visiting them on Tuchanka – then added, "krogan attackers won't go near Hei territory, be it from superstition or respect, but if the Reapers roll in..."

"They'd at least be able to fight. They both used to be pirates, you know..."

"Really?" he blinked back, genuinely surprised. "I thought they were barely over a hundred? That's childhood for asari, isn't it?"

"Ah, their mother was a bitch like that... have I ever told you how I lost this leg?"

"No..."

"The divorce."

Dax couldn't help laughing at that, and again at the utterly serious expression on Yui's scarred face. The other krogan let out a dark chuckle, shaking his head and coming to examine some of Dax's work on the table opposite – he paid particular interest to a Carnifex, which would normally have been too small for his liking, not to mention his grip. This one, however, had been modded with high explosive rounds.

"I'm not joking," Yui continued absent-mindedly, trying to grip the tiny weapon in his huge hand. "She was one of them Eclipse sisters? We were running a mercenary ship – pirate ship, really – and I slept with some sweet little maiden when we went into port. She went ballistic."

"You only did it once?"

"Err..."

"_Ah_..."

"_Anyway_, I told her not to over-react. So, she tried to shoot me, ran out of bullets, then shut my leg in the airlock and left. Took the kids, too..."

There was a sad pang in his eyes at the latter words, which he quickly quashed in favour of a resolute krogan visage, complete with a slight growl as he continued:

"I didn't see her for a couple of decades. When she came back, I was working with a Spectre friend of mine, Scarlet. Come to think of it, I've served with quite a few Spectres... We were in... a bit of a _mess_, fighting off an enemy fleet in the Krogan DMZ. Didn't notice we'd been boarded, and my bloody wife – err, _ex-_wife – steps on board, with both my daughters. They overpowered us, took over the helm – long story short, we ended up on the deck with guns to our heads."

Urdnot Dax was listening with rare patience for a krogan. He hadn't _asked _for the story, but Yui was telling it anyway, which rather gave the impression he wanted, no, _needed _to tell it. Thus, Dax just listened on...

"I started chatting to the kids, just to delay 'em. Asking how they were, even while Merix was pointing a gun to Scarlet's head. Asked them if they'd got my letters, my presents... turns out, their mother had been flushing them out of the airlock. I got mad, ended up charging Natalya" – Dax assumed she was his ex-wife – "and the Spectre, Scarlet, took on my daughters, while the rest of the crew massacred the other pirates."

He paused slightly, becoming rather self-conscious of his babbling, it seemed, and only continued when Dax prompted:

"Go on..."

"Well, Scarlet knew they were my daughters from the conversation we'd been having."

"The conversation... at gunpoint?"

"Aye. Natalya liked to gloat. Anyway, Scarlet was a friend, she didn't want to _kill _my daughters, so she took 'em down gentle – for a Spectre, that is."

"How does a Spectre do _gentle?_" Dax interrupted, frowning.

"She knocked 'em out with biotics instead of shooting them," Yui muttered. "Trust me, that was gentle for Scarlet. After a couple of minutes, it all came to a head. Natalya grabbed my shotgun, and aimed for my head. She was about to blow my brains out for _real_ this time, so Scarlet did the first thing that came to mind – hurled the nearest blunt object at her. That... happened to be my daughter. She threw Merix off her feet with biotics, she knocked Natalya and Dera to the floor, and I tore the bitch's head with my own hands. Problem was, Merix and Dera banged their heads when they came together. Merix was fine, but Dera..."

He laughed derisively, and appeared to be _crushing _the stock of the pistol in his hand as he growled:

"Turns out the best doctors on the Citadel can't pull their heads out their arses long enough to cure a bump to the head..."

"I see..."

"Yeah... She hasn't been the same since. Don't get me wrong, she's happy enough, goes round like a bloody child, laughing and chirping. It's the _rest _of us who got hurt, blaming ourselves. Merix says it was _her_ skull that did the damage, so it's her fault. Scarlet says she was the one who knocked 'em together, so it's hers."

"And you?"

"Me? I say I was too slow, too weak, that I forced Scarlet's hand..."

Yui's eyes were afire, a potent mixture of guilt, anger, remorse, frustration, relief, regret... a whole cocktail of emotions bubbling up – not just at the memories, but at the fact that he'd actually _told _them to someone. Calm as ever, and surprisingly tolerantly for one of his race, Dax just turned and got on with his work. If his friend wanted to talk further, he'd force the matter. If he didn't, he'd walk away.

"I..." Yui murmured finally, and rather gruffly – Dax got the sense he was trying to block out his fatherhood empathy, to maintain the warrior's facade. "Thanks for looking out for them, Dax. They – I mean, we – appreciate it..."


	117. Shore Leave Kithoi Ward 20

**A/N: Well, shore leave's about to come to an end, but there was one last scene that had to be done before we go back to the battlefield...**

* * *

><p><em><strong>Level 21, Kithoi Ward<strong>_

_**Day 13, 2100**_

Traipsing back towards her rented apartment for the last time, Saffiya had a feeling of supreme serenity. She and Raziel had been out onto the ward, grabbing food from a rather nice asari restaurant, and were now returning for their last night – tomorrow morning, the Cambrai was shipping out anew.

As she turned away to enter her room, however, she felt a gentle hand enclose her wrist, spinning her around to face her drell companion.

"Siha, we need to talk..." he murmured, sadly.

"What about?"

"You know what about... it's been eleven days, and we haven't even discussed what you said..."

"Goddess," she cursed, under her breath. This was a conversation she'd been hoping to delay... preferably until one of them was dying on the battlefield – it would make things so much easier... Reluctantly, she nodded, and the two of them slid silently into Raziel's room as a pregnant silence filled the air.

Finally, after a moment of staring awkwardly at each other, the drell broke the air:

"So..." Raziel muttered. "Still want to kill me?"

"I never _wanted _to kill you, you idiot," she sighed, smiling weakly. "I just..."

"Have to," he concluded.

"Maybe."

"_Maybe?_ I didn't know the Justicar Code dealt in 'maybe's..."

"It doesn't, it deals in absolutes. I, however, have been dealing in excuses for the last month... You were acting on behalf of others through the Compact. You were _given_ to the Compact without any choice in the matter. You believe your soul is distinct to your body."

"And none of those things are valid in asari beliefs," the drell frowned, "which means they aren't valid in the Justicar Code."

"Then I'll come up with better excuses! Or I'll just ignore the Code! Or I'll swear an Oath of Subsumation or... argh, _something!_"

He reached out a steadying hand, gripping her shoulder tightly and staring into her blue eyes with those big, black orbs of his. A weak smile played across his jaw, and he shut his eyes with a sigh.

"You know you can't abandon your Code," he muttered. "And no excuse will be good enough for it."

"Then that just leaves one option..." Saffiya sighed.

"No," Raziel objected, instantly. "You'll regret this, siha..."

"Not as much as I'd regret doing nothing," she hissed, and was astounded to find a single, hot tear bursting up in the corner of her eye. She blinked it back, determined not to give it the satisfaction of falling, and continued, vehemently, "Do _not _ask me to kill you, because we both know I could not..."

He made to protest again, but before he could, she stepped back, out of his grasp, and a biotic ripple began to shimmer along her skin, almost involuntarily. Slowly, cautiously, Saffiya dropped to one knee, planting a steadying palm to the floor, and murmured, after a moment's hesitation:

"_By the Code, Raziel, I swear to fight at your side. Your morals are my morals, your actions are my actions, your choices are my choices. Until journey's end, I will follow you, by the Code I swear it."_

She paused for a moment, breathing heavily for no obvious reason, then peered up. The drell was looking down on her with mingled expressions of delight, apprehension, and horror that screamed of doubt.

"Why did you do that?" he whispered, finally.

"You know damn well why," she replied, with a sad smile. "Whatever happens, whatever we have to do in the future... it can wait. When this war ends, if we're both still standing, we can deal with it then..."

Raziel looked hesitant – then he nodded, slowly, and let out a low sigh. For reasons that escaped the justicar, he reached into his belt, drew his glimmering silver blade from its scabbard, and examined it in the room's pale white light. Then, with a practiced flourish, he span it single-handed so that the tip danced over his chest, and held the hilt out to Saffiya. After a moment's hesitation, and a few silent prompts from his watchful eyes, she set a slim hand on the hilt, and he released the blade into her grasp. The sword was remarkably well made – it was light, surprisingly so, and felt fluid in the air as she flicked it about a few times, testing it...

"Why?" was her question, echoed after a minute's silence.

"For when we have to... sort things out," Raziel smiled. "When we're done with all this, you can give it back, you can stab it through my heart, or, hell, you could hang above our fireplace... What I'm trying to say, siha, is that it's a gesture of trust. That blade is... old."

Without warning, his eyes flashed back, the tiny pupils dancing free of the black lid that usually covered them, and his head bobbed in the trance-like, eidetic state...

"_Sunset plays in the forge's embers. The others line along the beach, frolicking, playing... Forms shift at ease in the water. Decanis leans back from the forge. Extinguishes the blade. Steam dances in the setting sunlight. He holds it aloft, consecrates it, presents it, murmurs:_

'_This is no easy path, child. This is a weapon of honour. It will not give ease, or mercy, or forgiveness. It asks for risk, for courage, for the heart of a warrior.'_

'_Then I shall be a warrior.'_

_He smiles. A flash of silver, of pride. The blade falls, comes to rest in open palms, glittering in dusk, a drop of blood a-tip the steel..."_

His eyes rolled back, and he returned, with a weak, apologetic smile.

"Cursed memory," he laughed. "That was Kahje again. My hanar master warned me of every truth, even that of my blade. The first blood it took was my own, when he dropped it into my hands."

"You – he – said something a path?"

"The choice of weapon, of course. Initiates choose their tools. Some dance with pistols, others practise in the rifle... I chose the blade."

"Why?" was the only question that came to mind.

"It grounds me, in reality."

"You'll... have to explain that one. It _grounds _you?"

"Every marine on the Cambrai has killed a man with a gun, that's just a fact. You have, I have. And we both know it's... impersonal, almost like it's too easy. You squeeze the trigger, the gun acts, and the man on the end of the muzzle drops dead. You don't feel him die, you don't feel the tremor in your nerves, not after doing it so many times... Using a sword, or biotics, I can feel bones break, feel flesh rend... I _feel _my target die, and that just seems... right. I'm not allowed to forget what I'm doing, what I've done, because every one of my senses is reminding me..."

There was a considerate silence as his monologue ended, before another question burst into Saffiya's mind:

"Did you say this was your first blade? I can't take _that_..." the justicar murmured.

"Why not?" Raziel replied, in that infuriatingly calm, reasoned manner he possessed. "I have others, and I like the symbolism of this. I hold your Code, you hold my blade. A fair trade, no?"

She smiled, weakly, and drew a little closer, relief coursing through her veins at the resolution. The drell's eyes tracked her every movement, and after a moment's pause, a quick wave of his wrist sent the window shutters gliding down, causing the ever-present, artificial sun to 'set' beside them. She tossed his blade to the floor, reached up, and wrapped her arms around him after what seemed to be an eternity of waiting. Darkness enshrouded the two of them, and it felt good to let go, tumbling back onto the bed as they did...


	118. Operation Bloodhound Briefing

_**SSV Cambrai, Serpent Nebula**_

_**Day 1, 0800**_

"Alright, everyone, today we're getting a little away from the norm," Murphy called, trying to instil as much confidence in his voice as he could. Privately, he was crapping himself. He'd stood and watched Logan give half a dozen different briefs and debriefs in the Cambrai's old war room, but in this new one, with the colonel gone, he was feeling the pressure.

The new war room was considerably brighter, and the dozen or so operatives he needed were now stood around the rectangular table that filled the middle of the room. Stood next to him, at the head of the table, was Lynus Rilum. It spoke of how odd the situation was that he needed the salarian to explain their mission...

"We should have been picking up new recruits today, but priorities have changed. The mission is... a bit peculiar," he announced, "so Lynus is going to fill us in on the details."

"Thank you, captain," the salarian nodded. He tapped away at the table display, and the image of a brown-grey planet flickered into view.

"Is that Korlus?" Andersen interrupted.

"Yes."

"Attican Traverse again, and not a colony world. This can't be an Alliance mission..."

"It's not," Murphy scowled. "The intel and objectives come from the salarian Special Tasks Group."

_That _sent a ripple of mutters and murmurs through the group, until Rilum interjected:

"Not _quite _accurate. Mission comes from _me_. Twenty... _one _hours ago, two STG recon officers on a mission to Korlus broadcast high-priority transmissions requesting retrieval, and orbital support. STG was unable to respond."

"How come?" Tyco questioned, from the back corner of the room.

"This is _not _to be repeated to civilians or other salarians, but the Special Tasks Group is... at breaking point. Our scientific teams were hobbled by the Cerberus attack on Sur'Kesh, and the subsequent political fallout when their experiments were uncovered..."

"I read about that," another voice volunteered – Dr O'Leiph. "They were suggesting uplifting the _yahg _as soldiers."

"A very _misguided _suggestion," Rilum muttered, rather defensively. "But desperate times make desperate measures seem... less so. The krogan came full circle and have earned redemption – suddenly, uplifting isn't such a dirty word among my people any more. At any rate, our scientists are struggling, our information wings are working to capacity, and most of our frontline teams are already_ on_ the front lines. So these scouts began sending messages to operatives _outside _STG service – Spectres, retired agents, and joint operations personnel like myself. I was the one who answered their call."

"And as it happened, we have the _orbital support _they requested," Murphy added, gesturing to the ship in general. "We swoop down to Korlus, evacuate the scouts, and neutralise whatever threat they've discovered."

"Sounds simple enough," Tyco nodded. "How are we doing this, then?"

"Two teams," the captain replied. "Alpha team is five strong, and focused on fire support. A mixture of biotics, tech, and firearms skill. Your objective is to hit the ground at the rendezvous, and meet up with the two salarians - take their information, and defend the area. Alpha will be made up of Cash, Colburn, Gazix, Rafea, and Ryder. Cash or Colburn will take command – decide between the two of you."

"He can have it," Cash muttered, immediately – just as Murphy had anticipated. The psych report was correct, then, he really _did _have an aversion to leading...

"Err... alright," Colburn said, taken aback by his colleague's reaction. "Where's the rendezvous?"

"An old breaking yard," Rilum interjected. "Most of Korlus is made up of scrapyards, and this one was used by the Eclipse mercenary company to break down starships, for eezo and scrap metal. The scouts should be there within the hour."

Colburn nodded, as did the rest of his team, and Murphy turned to face the remaining operatives, announcing:

"Bravo will function as a support team. Tyco, you'll have command. Manado, Andersen, Kan'Sura and O'Leiph will be with you. Cumulatively, that's three snipers, two techs, two biotics and a medic. You'll be on hand to respond to whatever the _hell _the salarians have discovered down there. They need medical attention, you can cover it, they need tech support, you can cover it, and so on..."

"Right," Tyco nodded. "Backup, wherever and however they need it."

"Exactly. You've got your assignments, people. The armoury's next door, and the shuttles are waiting. Dismissed!"


	119. Operation Bloodhound Part 1

_**Ereban Breaking Yard, Korlus**_

_**Day 1, 0900**_

"Everybody prepped and ready?" Colburn muttered, nervously. It was his first time commanding, and he was grateful it was just a simple retrieval mission. His last two operations had been the disastrous strike on Benning, when he and Mac'Tir had been sent scurrying into the sewers with their squadmate Shaw dead behind them, and Aephus, where he had been gassed, captured, and very nearly sent for indoctrination...

"Ready," Cash nodded, at his side. The sentinel was flexing a biotic-rippled fist, and weighing a Phalanx pistol in his other hand.

"Aye, ready," Zeke Ryder agreed, nursing his Viper sniper rifle in the corner.

"Ready," chorused the asari, Rafea, who was examining the eddies and swirls of the biotics at her fingertips, as if worried they had been damaged. Like Colburn, she was still feeling slight side effects from the nerve gas on Aephus...

"Ready," came the final voice, that of the turian Gazix, who was stood up next to the door, toying with his rifle and looking rather bored.

"Cambrai, this is Alpha," the vanguard called, into the radio, "we're ready, descending now."

"Copy that, Alpha," Murphy replied. "I'm patching Rilum into the radio. Bravo will be deploying in ten minutes or so, on your tail."

"Understood," Colburn nodded, getting to his feet – a large jolt had just passed through the shuttle, and sure enough, a few moments later, there was a buffeting sound as the thrusters reversed, and the whole craft came to rest on the ground. It would be waiting with them until the salarians arrived, and they could depart.

They poured out into the abandoned breaking yard, moving in the pre-arranged formation. The rendezvous was a square courtyard littered with scrap and broken courtyards, and while Colburn secured the centre, his four squadmates spread out to the four corners of the structure, checking the walls, the scrap heaps, the empty arches that formed the entrances...

Nothing. A desolate wind whipped through the dusty surroundings, whistling through the torn shells of ships and giving the place an eerie air, as if long abandoned by any sort of caring god. It was also notably free of salarians.

"Anything?" Colburn shouted, rather desperately. "Any sign of the scouts?"

"Not a bloody thing," Ryder swore back, from somewhere near the far wall. "Radio it in, ask Rilum where the _hell _they are!"

With a brief nod, the vanguard reached for his omni-tool, and tapped into the radio. There was something not quite _right _about this, and his blood was running cold.

"Cambrai, this Alpha," he began. "Requesting an update. There's no sign of the salarians, I repeat, there is _no _sign of the salarians."

"No distress calls sent out," Rilum replied, almost instantaneously. "No updates of a delay, either... The operatives are trusted, no indoctrination risk from past operations, and their transmissions were passed as genuine by every piece of software I could find, so they haven't reneged. The logical conclusion would be..."

"Foul play," Colburn concluded.

"Yes... stay vigilant. We'll try and get an update."

The radio crackled into silence, and Colburn motioned silently for his team to take the four corners. Every one of them had weapons drawn and raised, ready for anything... And then, after mere minutes of silence, the comms exploded into noise once more. A panicking voice filled the airwaves, with a roar of what sounded like _fire _in the background:

"This is MSV Jericho, broadcasting on all channels!" the voice called. "We've got an emergency here! To any vessels in the area, we require assistance!"

"Jericho, this is SSV Cambrai, Systems Alliance," Captain Murphy replied, quickly. "We're going to need some more detail than that!"

"Alliance? Thank God! We're carrying refugees from Anhur, close on two hundred humans and batarians, but there are indoctrinated agents on board! We've sealed them out of the cargo hold and the cockpit, but they'll get through eventually! Our security team was gunned down; we don't have the men or the firepower to stop them!"

"Alright, Jericho, calm down, we hear you..."

Murphy broke off into contemplative silence, as if weighing up his options. Just as he did, however, Colburn's ears pricked up – a feral growl rumbled out from somewhere in the distance...

"Alpha, weapons ready!" he urged. "Ryder, Gazix, check it out!"

Colburn was marching towards the noise, bracing his rifle, but his two men were closer, and got there first. Ryder was wielding a Predator pistol, while Gazix clutched a Katana shotgun in his arms.

In a flash, the unseen _thing _darted out of the shadows, and gunfire reigned. A grey-blue form hurled itself, hissing, at Ryder, who dropped onto his back, kicked out...

And sent the husk hurtling away. It hissed for just a few seconds, before the mercenary silenced the creature with a bullet between the eyes. Events were accelerating too quickly to think, however, because two more were billowing through the open north gate, screaming aloud and staggering like demented spectres. It was Gazix who swung into action this time – he kicked one to the floor, snapping its neck with powerful, turian talons, even as he unloaded a shotgun round into the second.

Now, as quickly as the din had arisen, it died, and the air fell silent... Colburn was left aiming his rifle at a trio of corpses, with no targets in sight, and after a full minute of husks failing to appear, dropped it in favour of his omni-tool.

"Cambrai," he muttered, "this is Alpha. We've got hostile contacts – three husks just rushed the rendezvous. I repeat, confirmed Reaper presence on the planet."

"Shit!" Murphy cursed, over the radio. "Rilum?"

"Unfortunate," the salarian murmured. "Presume the scouts are dead or were indoctrinated. This... also presents another problem."

"What?" Colburn queried.

"Alpha's mission now is either evacuation or extermination," Rilum explained, hesitantly. "If there _is_ a Reaper threat growing on the planet, we need to neutralise it. The practical choice would be to send Bravo in immediately to reinforce the rendezvous and strike outwards from there."

"But...?" Murphy prompted.

"_But_, what about the Jericho? Shuttle two won't be able to drop Bravo off, pick up another squad _and _reach the Jericho in time, not after picking up Alpha..."

"Damn it..." the captain swore. "Jericho, what's your situation?"

"Critical!" the pilot yelled by way of reply. "They're about to breach the main cargo hold!"

"Alpha?" he asked, with a tone of desperation.

Colburn bit his lip, and muttered:

"It's only husks. We can probably hold... The Jericho needs your help, or you'll have a _lot _of dead civilians over there... Besides, we've got one shuttle, we can evacuate if we have to. The civvies take priority."

"Disagree," Rilum interjected, sadly but harshly. "Husks are a symptom; they usually indicate a larger force. Too many unknowns – we should secure our soldiers first, and _then_ go offering charity to civilians..."

Colburn sighed. It made a sick sort of sense, and he knew the salarian wasn't saying it to be cruel. He had a professional, 'no heroes' approach to soldiering, and his concerns were logical... Finally, the vanguard murmured:

"It's your call, sir..."


	120. Operation Bloodhound Part 2

**A/N: So, that poll that's been on my profile for a few weeks now? Here's your choice:**

* * *

><p><em><strong>Korlus Orbit, Eagle Nebula<strong>_

_**Day 1, 0930**_

"Captain?"

"I don't know, damn it!"

Bravo's marines exchanged a rather dubious look at the captain's cry – Tyco was grimacing and shaking his head, and Andersen felt rather helpless, hanging in space without a clue where they were going...

After what seemed like an eternal pause, Murphy made his decision:

"Bravo," he muttered, darkly, "divert to the Jericho. Bail them out. Alpha, you'll just have to hang on in there until reinforcements arrive."

"Understood," came Colburn's reply. "Alpha, spread out! Hold the perimeter, watch each other's corners! Be ready to fall back to the shuttle at a moment's notice!"

With that, the radio fell silent, and Andersen felt the shuttle lurch away beneath him, veering off through space to the struggling Jericho. He didn't envy Murphy that decision, he really didn't... That said, Colburn's team was only facing husks, and they were all soldiers. The refugees, on the other hand, weren't exactly well equipped to take out armed hijackers. From the point of view of efficiency, not to mention morality, the captain had made the right choice...

"Alright, everybody up for this?" Tyco murmured, leaning in to talk to his squad, and gripping his sniper rifle rather tightly.

"We're ready," Kan'Sura nodded, also clutching a sniper rifle, and the others nodded their agreement.

"The target is an Athabasca-class freighter," the bounty hunter continued. "Multiple decks, but the hijackers are sealed into a maintenance corridor just off the cargo bay. We go in via the airlock, move the refugees to the far side of the room, then lock down the door and gun 'em down as they come through. Kan, Zelva, you're with me – we head for the upper level, dig in with sniper rifles, and they won't stand a chance. Andersen, I want you on the door. Keep it shut until we're ready, then blow it open. Dr O'Leiph, stay with the refugees. Keep them out of the firing line as best you can, and attend to any wounded..."

As he finished barking orders, they finally reached the target – it had been a surprisingly short journey – and the shuttle swung beneath them, tilting uncertainly.

"Problem," came a voice from the cockpit. "Airlock won't take a shuttle. The Cambrai could dock with that thing, but we can't..."

"You've _got _to be kidding me," Tyco hissed. "How did you not work this out before now?"

"Hey, I hadn't seen the ship!" the bodiless voice replied, and Andersen felt a surge of irritation at the unseen pilot. What a jackass...

"What about the hangar bay?" Manado suggested.

"Too far," the bounty hunter said, dismissively, "and we'd have to get through a _lot _of locked doors to reach the cargo hold."

Then, after a moment's hesitation, an idea seemed to flit through his mind, and he muttered:

"Has everybody got a helmet and a breather?"

"Right here," Kan'Sura smirked, rapping his exosuit's helmet with his knuckles and sporting a smug grin beneath the mask.

"Ha-bloody-ha. What about the rest of you?"

By way of reply, Andersen and Manado pulled combat helmets from beneath their seats – it was good practise to take them with you on the shuttle ride, at least, in case the damn thing blew up outside the atmosphere – and Dr O'Leiph drew a white recon hood from within the folds of her coat.

"Will that thing hold up ex-atmo?" Tyco frowned, looking at the hood.

"Should do," the doctor replied, nervously. She pulled it over her head, while Tyco, Andersen and Manado slipped their own helmets on, with subtle _clicks _as they connected to their hardsuits.

"Pilot!" the bounty hunter called, once they were all on their feet and ready. "Bring us as close to the airlock as you can, and open the doors!"

To his credit, the pilot – jackass or not – didn't question the request. He simply span the shuttle around – Andersen had to grab the rail on the craft's ceiling to stop himself falling over, as it lurched sideways – and the doors slid open with the familiar _swish_.

Quite suddenly, Andersen felt as if he had been submerged. Sound seemed to abandon them in favour of dull, stunted silence, and after the initial rush of air escaping the shuttle's interior, everything was perfectly still...

"Alright, be careful with this," Tyco muttered, and his voice emerged as a dim, echoing crackle over the radio. "I'll go first. Then Manado, Kan'Sura, O'Leiph, Andersen, in _that _order."

Andersen knew perfectly well why Tyco was being so careful, not his usual, carefree self. It was simple physics – with no air to stop them, one mistake, one confused knock in the wrong direction, one _stumble_, could send them spinning off into the void with no way of stopping themselves. _Scary thought_.

The engineer was snapped back to reality, as Tyco's hefty form lunged out of the doors with weightless grace that it would never have possessed on terra firma. Once he was safely out of sight, Manado stepped up to join him – the turian girl wasn't the most _agile _of people, but she too sprang lightly out into space. Kan'Sura leapt after them, swiftly followed by Dr O'Leiph, whose light frame made it look _effortless_, and then it was Andersen's turn... He stepped up to the precipice, and peered across the gap. The others had already gotten the airlock open, and Tyco was just inside, beckoning him to join them, while the others clustered at the far wall. Swallowing down his nerves, Andersen checked his weapons were firmly attached to his suit, braced his arms on either side of the doorway, and swung forward with all his might...

To his surprise and relief, he _didn't _spur off in some random direction, into the swirling void of space. He flew forward, straight and true, and after just a few moments he was flying through the airlock entrance – he cracked against the inside wall, just as the others must have done, and grabbed the door latch to halt himself. Dangling in midair, he span around, and saw Tyco closing the outer airlock.

Then, quite suddenly, his head seemed to explode. Tyco had just activated the 'acclimatisation' sequence, which basically involved the re-introduction of gravity and air to his happy little weightless world... His knees buckled as he dropped to the floor, and everyone but Tyco was sent sprawling too. The rush of air was deafening, but subsided in about thirty seconds – as it did, the inner airlock door slid open, permitting them entrance to the cargo hold.

"Right," Tyco muttered, nonchalantly, grabbing the rifle from his back. "Where were we?"

* * *

><p><strong>AN: Nothing really happens in this one, I know, but a second update will be coming this evening.**

**As for the poll, if you hadn't guessing, it came out Paragon by an astonishing margin, 80% (49 votes) compared to 20% (12 votes) Renegade. So, this is your choice...**


	121. Operation Bloodhound Part 3

_**MSV Jericho, Eagle Nebula**_

_**Day 1, 0950**_

"Andersen, what's the status on that door?"

"Holding! These idiots really _aren't _hackers, I can keep them out all day!"

As he spoke, Andersen was leaning against the controls of the cargo bay entrance, casually tapping away on his omni-tool. Whether it was the effects of indoctrination or just a lack of brain cells, the hijackers were woefully slow in hacking the door – every move they made, the engineer countered in a matter of seconds. Even this was a last resort – their first attempt had been to take a plasma cutter to the door, but that had failed to do more than scratch the surface...

"Jericho," Tyco continued, over the radio, "what can you tell me about these hijackers?"

"They were refugees, like the others," the pilot explained. "We jumped out to this system, and they just _flipped_. Overpowered security, stole some weapons, and made a beeline for the cargo hold. They aren't soldiers, though, at most they'll have light armour and small arms."

"Got it," the sniper replied. "Snipers, don't bother hanging around for headshots, just go for the chest and take them down. We can't risk letting crossfire get through to the refugees..."

Behind Andersen's back, the refugees had been corralled into the corner by Dr O'Leiph, and were watching on with a unanimous air of fear. There were about fifty of them in this hold – the two hundred refugees the pilot had described were actually spread over four or five different cargo segments, and the apparently indoctrinated hijackers were only attacking one of them. All in all, the 'emergency situation' felt frustratingly anticlimactic...

"Let's do this quick, then get the _hell _down to the planet!" Tyco yelled. He, Kan'Sura and Zel were perched on the upper gantry that overlooked the cargo hold, sniper rifles jutting over the edge. "Open the door!"

With a quick _swish _of his forefinger on his omni-tool display, Andersen dropped the electronic locks, and the door's inner workings gave a great, whirring rumble – a few of the refugees exchanged panicked murmurs at that, but most were staring on with curiosity and apprehension. Andersen, meanwhile, was doing calculations in his head. Tyco was using a Black Widow, while Kan'Sura and Manado were using Mantis rifles. That gave them a collective five rounds before they would have to reload. If any of them missed, or went for the same targets, or if the hijackers had shields, or if there were more than five...

He clutched his pistol rather tightly, just in case – Kamur's Phaeston was ready on his back, but he had yet to even try firing the rifle, and had decided to err on the side of the familiar until he had.

Then, with a grinding noise and a yell of surprise from those on the other side, the cargo bay doors slid wide, presenting half a dozen lightly-armoured, rather unimpressive-looking assailants, all of whom were simply standing there, looking dazed and confused.

They were quickly spurred into action by a chorus of sniper fire. The loud, deafening booms of Tyco's Black Widow drowned everything else out, and just as planned, the initial barrage killed four of the hijackers outright – they dropped dead, sporting bloodied chests and abdomens. A fifth was wounded, and a sixth dove behind a door pillar, even as Tyco's third and final round stung the floor, trying to find his foot.

Not wanting to wait for the snipers to reload – and thereby give the men a chance to shoot – Andersen wheeled out from behind the door, and started firing. His first two shots found the grounded man, hitting him in the thigh and the chest, and relegating him to just another corpse on the floor. The rest of his clip, however, was buried in the wall and the door pillar in a shameful display of inaccuracy, as the last remaining attacker huddled behind the door for all his worth, just inches from the engineer's shots.

In hindsight, Andersen would realise that he probably should have died in the next few moments. In a hideous blur of events, his pistol ran empty, the hijacker popped out of cover, and he saw the muzzle of a Tempest machine pistol come up to greet him. The man's finger was tightening on the trigger...

And then the gun exploded. _Someone_, either Manado or Kan, from the light sound of the shot, had landed a Mantis round square on the top of the hijacker's gun, reducing it to twisted scrap and knocking it out of the man's now-crimson hand.

Andersen took his chance – as his opponent danced back, screeching and clutching his bloodied fingers, the engineer lunged at him, swinging a quick left to his stomach, then cracking him over the head as he doubled over. The man crumpled to the floor, and never stood again – before he got a chance, Andersen had driven a burning omni-blade through the back of his skull.

With the dull crackle of his omni-blade dying, he turned away from the corpses now littering the corridor, and shot Tyco the _a-okay _signal. The response, however, was _not _the one he'd been expecting:

"That was a bloody waste of time," his friend growled, over the radio. The Jericho's pilot gasped slightly, and tutted, but the bounty hunter was vehement as he continued, "Those guys were nowhere _near _cutting the door, and they could barely shoot straight! You're honestly telling me that with _two hundred _souls on board, you couldn't have organised a fight back?"

"I-" the pilot stammered, but Tyco cut him off:

"If our men are dead because we diverted to _this_, I'm blowing this ship up myself..."

"He's joking!" Kan'Sura interjected, hastily, before an incident occurred.

"This is Bravo, calling for pickup," Tyco continued. "Shuttle two, meet us at the airlock. We're outta here..."


	122. Operation Bloodhound Part 4

_**Ereban Breaking Yard, Korlus**_

_**Day 1, 1000**_

"Alpha, Bravo is en route. I repeat, Bravo has resolved the situation on the Jericho, and is on their way to reinforce your position. ETA ten minutes."

As Murphy's voice crackled through the radio, Ethan Cash was surveying the rather boring scene before him. It was the same dusty, desolate scrapyard it had been an hour ago, and there hadn't been another husk since that first attack...

_Bang._

What the _hell _was that?

_That_ was Zeke Ryder burying a sniper rifle round in the side of the shuttle, for no apparent reason. Colburn was marching angrily over towards him, even as the mercenary stared at his own rifle in surprise.

"Sorry, sorry," he stammered. "Thought I saw something."

"Well, stop shooting at the bloody shadows!" Colburn chided. "We don't want to draw _more _attention to ourselves..."

Even as he said it, however, Cash had the most indescribable feeling that something was _very _wrong. And sure enough, not two seconds after Colburn finished speaking:

_Bang. Bang._

Two vivid white flashes illuminated the _inside _of the shuttle, and over the radio, their pilot gave a terrible gurgle, before the sound of a body slumping to the floor filled the comms.

Instinctively, he grabbed his pistol, and paced quickly towards the shuttle. The doors were already open, but from this angle, he couldn't quite see the figure within – not until the figure stepped out, and slammed a furious wave of biotics into the sentinel's gut. Cash flew backwards, tossed off his feet by the shockwave, and thudded to the ground somewhere near the wall of the compound. His ribs were splitting with pain, and his dizzied mind only saw snatches and snapshots – a violent plume of blue filled the air as Rafea lunged at the assailant, biotics clashing between the two, and shots were criss-crossing his vision as the others opened fire.

As quickly as he had appeared, however, the figure sprinted aside, dove to the floor – and disappeared...

"He's got camo!" Colburn was yelling, from somewhere in the distance. "Keep together, watch all angles!"

_Bang._

Colburn's orders were drowned out and rendered moot by another gunshot, and Ryder doubled over, clutching his stomach. He toppled to the ground, and almost instantly, Cash could see the blood bubbling out of his abdomen. Even then, though, the mercenary waved off Gazix and Colburn's efforts to help, _crawling _back towards the shuttle with them. Rafea too was marching towards the centre, and Cash picked himself up, setting off at a sprint towards the shuttle. Their attacker was still cloaked...

And then he wasn't – he appeared out of thin air, between the shuttle and Rafea. Cash went for his gun – and realised, with a jolt, that he had dropped it just minutes prior. The other three men were clueless, their view obscured behind the shuttle, and by the time the sentinel had drawn up his omni-tool, Rafea had clattered into the mysterious attacker.

They came together with another violent clash of biotics, tumbling to the floor and back to their feet in a graceful tussle. Cash swung out with his omni-tool, but the fireball it produced whistled harmlessly past the target's head, as a burst of biotic fireworks rent the air – Rafea was sent crashing to the ground, and as she stumbled back to her feet, the attacker slammed a biotic fist into her stomach. She yelped aloud, blue eyes widening, and Ethan could practically _see _her bones breaking, even as he launched another fireball at their opponent. This time, it hit, and the man was forced to leap away, the tattered black coat around his shoulders set ablaze and spewing disembodied embers as he cloaked to avoid a subsequent biotic strike from Cash. Rafea, however, saw none of this – she slumped to the floor, and lay very still...

Everything was a blur as Cash rushed over to the shuttle, trying to reach the rest of his squad. Two wounded, under fire, an unknown attacker – _whoosh_.

A roar of blue fire reverberated off the side of the shuttle, knocking the sentinel off his feet once more and dashing his three squadmates to the ground. Gazix was smashed against the side of the shuttle, dropping his rifle, while Ryder and Colburn were hurled clear, in the other direction.

In those dizzied, panicked moments, Cash got his first proper look at their assailant. He was human, and male, those were the first two methodical observations that came to mind. Next in line for observation were the floods of biotics emanating from his fingertips, and the blunt pistols – were those Paladins? – one in each hand. He was wearing a black jumpsuit, with a black jacket slung over it – a jacket which was still slightly charred from Cash's fireball, the sentinel noted proudly. He had piercing blue eyes, with a touch of insanity in them, and a shaven head. As he strode through the midst of the four remaining marines, examining them with a malicious glare, he began to mutter:

"Eenie, meenie, minie... _mo._"

He punctuated the last word by wheeling around, raising his gun, and putting a bullet clean through the wounded Ryder's skull. A sickened jolt ran through Cash's stomach as his friend fell, further exacerbated as he saw the rough, golden logo stitched into the back of the hateful attacker's jacket – a Cerberus emblem that seemed to _leer _at him through the dust and smoke. Gazix let out a fierce roar, and plunged at the man, taloned gauntlets flashing in the meagre sunlight –

The biotic cracked him around the head with one of his pistols, then kicked him forcefully back against the shuttle. A moment later, he brought both pistols up, and blew Gazix's knees out with simultaneous shots. The turian slumped down against the craft's body, and the Cerberus bastard pinned his head against the metal with a pistol's barrel.

Even Cash, trained and hardened as a soldier, had to clamp his eyes shut as the biotic spattered the turian's brains across the side of the shuttle. When he opened them again, Gazix had fallen to the floor along the shuttle's side, and the attacker was turning, with an evil grin, to Cash and Colburn.

They exchanged a panicked glance – both of them had lost their weapons in the assault – and then did something _incredibly _stupid. They rushed at their opponent, rising up to strike at him in tandem. For a moment, it worked – Colburn landed a biotic punch across the man's brow, bloodying it, and Cash, springing both of his omni-blades into life, pulverised one of the adept's pistols with a quick swing of the right. Mere moments later, however, it all went to hell. The biotic swung his other pistol at Cash's head, and the sentinel was mildly surprised to find a stunner attached to the bottom of the barrel – it cracked against his temple, and the jolt of electricity that shot through his nerves reduced him to a heap on the ground. Through blurring vision, he just about saw the Cerberus agent wheel around, block another punch from Colburn, then toss the vanguard effortlessly through the shuttle's open doors – he cracked his head against the far wall, and crumpled to the floor.

In his whole career as a soldier, Ethan Cash had never been _afraid_. Angry, yes, upset, yes, but afraid, no... Now, however, a burst of fear was rippling over his skin, inflaming his biotics as it did, and it was a rather strange experience. He staggered to his feet, and found his actions powered only by a fearful mixture of instinct and adrenaline – he was backing up, swinging his omni-blades to fend off blow after blow from the maddened attacker, who was darting at him repeatedly, growing more enraged with each attack that Cash blocked. Finally, he stopped throwing punches, and stepped back – just as Ethan was about to plunge in with a stab of his blade, however, the Cerberus agent sent a rush of biotics his way, and he was catapulted off his feet yet again.

His head smashed hard against the dusty ground as he landed, and he could just about see the biotic advancing, a furious glint in his eyes. The events of the last few minutes – although they felt like hours – had been a senseless blur, but they weren't slowing down any time soon... He began to look for cover – there was a scrapheap to his right, and one of the compound's walls at his back...

That was as far as his thinking got, before a hefty boot found his face, kicking him down into the dust and sand once more. He coughed, and spluttered, and looked up to see the ivory muzzle of a pistol staring him in the face. Reluctantly, resignedly, he shut his eyes, waiting for the ringing cry of a gunshot.

What he got instead was a furious roar, and the whip-like _crack _of biotics. His eyes sprang open, and everything seemed to play out in slow motion. The air was dancing with violet light, and Colburn, battered but defiant, had hurled himself at the Cerberus agent's back with a rough biotic charge. The maddened blue eyes were wide with pain, but a moment later, he swung around with a malicious glare, hooking his arm under Colburn's and spinning the vanguard through the air, before hurling him roughly aside – he crashed against the scrapheap to Cash's right, and rolled down it to fall in a heap on the floor.

Ethan saw a brief window of opportunity, and lunged forward with his omni-tool ablaze – only to have the window slammed shut on his fingers. The Cerberus adept whirled around, brought his pistol to bear, and fired, point-blank.

The shot smashed against the side of his head, grazing his temple and causing a searing burst of pain to run through his eye. Finally just _giving up _on the fight, and life in general, he toppled back down to the floor. Moments later, the attacker's free hand had cast him aside with a wave of biotics, slamming him against the same scrapheap as Colburn.

He came to rest at the foot of it, and looked up, vision blurry, to see the adept taking keen aim at his head. The pistol danced over his face, the finger tightened on the trigger... and nothing happened.

A dull _click _resonated through the air from the empty pistol, and quite to Cash's surprise, his enemy began to laugh. It was a hideous, quite _insane _laugh, which tore out of the man's lungs in ragged bursts, and chilled the sentinel to his core.

"It's your lucky day..." the man rasped, speaking for only the second time in the whole, brutal blur of a battle. "You just might get to live, whelp... _or_, you might not."

With a final wave of his fist, the adept sent a bright blue burst of biotics cannonballing off past Cash's broken form – it crashed into the base of the scrapheap, and a dull, metallic groan began to fill the air, as Ethan's stomach lurched in realisation. The Cerberus agent was already sweeping around his heel, disappearing in the dust- and sand-strewn winds that were whipping up around the compound's walls. As he crackled out of sight, cloaking once more, the heap gave way, and a torrent of scrap began to fall. It was all Cash could do to cover his head and hope for the best, putting all his strength and effort into a biotic barrier, and tech armour, and _anything _that could shield him. A chunk of rusty metal gouged along his forearm, and something blunt smashed into his stomach, winding him. As the final blow struck, however, and a hefty piece of debris clattered against his head, knocking it unconscious against the steel heap, he couldn't hear the radio chatter emanating from his omni-tool, from Colburn's at his side, from Ryder and Gazix and Rafea's omni-tools...

"_Alpha? Alpha, this is Bravo, we're over the rendezvous now, what's your status? Alpha? Alpha!"_

* * *

><p><em><em>**A/N: So... you had the choice, now these are the consequences. I'd like to point out that the actual deaths weren't set for the Renegade option, it came down to a coin toss. One flip for the number of survivors, another for who they are...**


	123. Operation Bloodhound Part 5

_**Ereban Breaking Yard, Korlus**_

_**Day 1, 1010**_

"Damn it!" Tyco swore.

To be honest, it was the only response that did justice to the scene they were now surveying. The first thing Andersen saw, as he jumped out of the shuttle behind his friend, was Alpha's craft, lying abandoned in the middle of the yard. It looked perfectly normal, until they passed around to the other side, and saw the turian Gazix's corpse, laid out along the shuttle's side. His blue blood had been spattered across the side of the craft, and was almost indistinguishable from the blue paintjob, save for the silver flecks of what looked horribly like brain matter... On closer inspection, the shuttle doors were open, as was the door to the cockpit, and a trickle of crimson was flowing through the latter, ribboning across the compartment floor...

Tyco disappeared into the shuttle, but it took him just a few moments before he emerged, shaking his head.

"Pilot's dead," he muttered. "Two shots to the back of the head. Never stood a chance. Spread out, try to find the rest of the squad!"

It didn't take them long to find the next two bodies. A few metres from the stricken shuttle, slightly obscured by its nose, was Zeke Ryder, eyes glazed over, with blood still seeping from his midriff and his temple. No diagnosis was needed – a gunshot through the temple was fairly conclusive. The only thing that mystified – and frustrated – Andersen was the killer's absence. He would have liked to have gotten his hands on the man, and Tyco definitely looked like he was willing to strangle the bastard to death...

They moved on, somewhat reluctantly, and on the other side of the ship, battered and broken, they found Rafea. She bore no bullet holes or blood wounds, and it took Dr O'Leiph a minute or two of examination before she reached her verdict.

"Died of blood loss, internal," she sighed. "Blunt force trauma broke four ribs and ruptured the digestive tract..."

With a quiet groan of anguish, the doctor slid her fellow asari's eyelids shut, and straightened up, dusting off her coat and sighing loudly once more.

"Alright, that leaves two," Tyco growled. "Colburn and Cash. Spread out and find them, quickly!"

The group fractured, splitting off in various directions , and Andersen found himself marching towards the northern entrance of the breaking yard. There was no sign of the missing men, but he _did _spot an uncomfortably familiar sight...

"Husks!" he called. "Three of them, just like Colburn said!"

"Dead?" Kan'Sura yelled back.

"Yeah..."

"Good riddance," the quarian snarled.

The engineer took a moment to examine the bodies, grotesque though they were. One had a bullet between the eyes, small calibre. Of the other two, scattered a few feet from the first, one had been obliterated by a shotgun round, and the second had a snapped neck, criss-crossed with gouge marks that appeared to be from _talons_ – Gazix, maybe? Whatever – no, _whoever_ they had been before, they had a twisted semblance of peace now...

His musings were interrupted by a strangled yell behind his back, and he wheeled around to see all eyes focusing on Manado. The turian was tearing at the base of a scrapheap like a thing possessed, and just next to her scraping hands... was that a _leg?_

In the space of thirty seconds, the rest of the squad was beside her, and Andersen was dismayed to see that it was indeed a leg, along with a body – no, _two _bodies!

"Give me a hand here!" Manado shouted, but Dr O'Leiph did the opposite, before any of them could react – she swept the turian aside with a firm hand, causing a truly stunned expression to pass over Manado's brow plates. To Andersen's surprise, the good doctor leant back, then swung forward, biotics flooding from her open palm and tearing a great chunk out of the scrapheap.

As the debris fell away, two battered and broken forms were revealed, and Andersen's heart skipped a beat. Colburn was on the right, face down, with his back twisted at an odd angle, but a notable absence of blood. Cash, by contrast, was caked in crimson. He was to the vanguard's left, face up, clearly unconscious – his left eye was barely visible behind a mixture of dried and still-flowing blood, and a particularly jagged piece of scrap metal was embedded in his chest.

"Get them out of there!" Tyco roared, moving to crouch over Colburn. Manado reached down and plucked Cash off the scrapheap without a second thought. "Back to the shuttle!"

"Wait!" Dr O'Leiph cried, just as the bounty hunter went to pick Colburn up. "That looks like a spinal. Move him, and you could paralyse him!"

"If we _don't _move him, he'll die in the dirt!" he growled back, in reply.

"I..." the asari medic bit her lip, and finally nodded. "Okay, just... be careful, damn it."

With a grunt of assent, Tyco hefted the vanguard up into his arms, being as careful as he could to keep him level, and not move his twisted back. Manado was already back at the shuttle, laying Cash out inside, and the squad moved as one, quickly placing Colburn next to him, and standing back in panicked silence as they decided what to do. After a moment, Tyco muttered:

"Doctor O'Leiph, take Manado, and get them back to the Cambrai ASAP. We'll take care of the dead and follow on later..."

"Aye aye," she murmured, hopping into the shuttle beside Manado, and shutting the door behind her.

As their shuttle lurched up into the sky, billowing clouds of dust beneath each thruster, Tyco was already on the radio:

"Cambrai, this is Bravo, emergency situation down here! We've got four dead, and two wounded..."

"Repeat your last, Bravo," came Murphy's shell-shocked reply.

"Four dead and two wounded, damn it! Someone attacked the rendezvous. Cash and Colburn are critical, our shuttle's bringing them back to Cambrai for emergency treatment. O'Leiph and Manado are riding shotgun, tell the doctor to prepare the surgery ASAP!"

"Understood," the captain staggered, and disappeared from the comms for a moment, evidently to pass on the message. When he returned, he rather quietly added, "What about the others?"

"All dead," Tyco growled. "Gazix, Ryder, Rafea, and the pilot, too..."

"Christ..."

"We're staying to gather them. We'll bring Alpha's shuttle back with the bodies."

"Err... how? The pilot's dead, isn't he?"

"I can fly," Kan'Sura interjected, quite to Andersen's surprise. "Migrant Fleet Marines train every marine to perform a medevac and an emergency take-off..."

"I..." Murphy stammered. "Understood."

"Sir?" Tyco added, before the captain could leave again. "What do we do about the mission? Whoever hit Alpha, they're still out there."

"Then don't linger – we don't want to lose you too. As of now, the mission is aborted..."


	124. Operation Bloodhound Part 6

_**SSV Cambrai, Eagle Nebula**_

_**Day 1, 1030**_

"Gina, get the respirators ready!" Dr O'Leiph yelled, as she sprinted into the med bay. Behind her, Cash was being carried in by the still shell-shocked Manado, and Colburn was suspended in Uthar Vresh's arms – the krogan had been waiting in the hangar bay to assist, and his strong arms had been ideal for holding a spinal patient steady...

"What have we got?" Gina replied, apparently trying to keep her cool. As she spoke, the two marines were laid gently on adjacent beds, and she began clamping oxygen masks over both their mouths.

"Operatives Cash and Colburn, medical files are in the Alliance records," Ria blurted, taking a few deep breaths to lower her pounding heart. "Standard human males, no abnormalities I can remember besides biotics..."

"Dosages?"

"Go with standard. Colburn's right on the average size, and Cash has enough muscle mass to make up for his height deficit. Give them pain relief, no sedative – morphine drip, perhaps? Colburn's spinal, we need him conscious – see if you can bring him round."

"Spinal? Christ... what kind of injuries are we talking about?"

By now, Manado and Vresh had both staggered out of the room, stupefied, leaving the two doctors to their quick back-and-forth conversation.

"Colburn... I'm not sure. Slight rotation of the vertebral column, around the lumbar curve, I think. Pull up an x-ray to be certain?"

"On it. Damage to the spinal cord?"

"Probable, but we can't check feeling in his legs until he's conscious. I'm worried about internal bleeding, too... Rafea was killed by a blunt force trauma, ruptured her abdominal organs and ribcage. Colburn could be undergoing the same."

"What about Cash?"

"Multiple minor traumas, I suspect he's broken several ribs. Glancing gunshot wound to the temple, too – it took a chunk out of the side of his head, but it didn't penetrate the skull. Possible damage to the ocular nerve – we need to clean the blood out of his eye and check. Substantial chest wound from a piece of scrap metal – I removed the metal during the shuttle ride, but the wound was deep..."

"Alright, take a step back," Gina murmured, calmly. She took a few deep breaths, like Ria, then continued, "Recommendations?"

"Immediate pain relief and stabilisation," Ria considered, quickly. "X-ray on Colburn to check for spinal damage, and then we look for internal bleeding."

"Blood pressure and sodium levels," her colleague nodded. "I say we delay the x-ray. If there's spinal damage, he might be paralysed, but internal bleeding could _kill _him while we wait to find out. Better paralysed than dead..."

"Agreed. I'll take Cash, you take Colburn."

With a brief, mutual nod, the two of them swung into action. They both knew what they were looking for – internal bleeding was one of the first things a medic was trained in looking before, because unlike an open wound, the blood loss wasn't obvious, and could often be missed. The main things to look for were, as Gina said, a drop in blood pressure and the depletion of salt – if a patient lost more than 10% of their blood, a noticeable change in both would be seen.

Ria's first course of action was to take a blood sample from his wrist, slipping into the analyser beside the bed to check for sodium, while fixing a blood pressure cuff around his upper arm.

"Anything?" Gina called, having done the same for Colburn.

"Sodium levels are slightly below normal," the asari murmured. "Blood pressure's eighty over fifty."

"Not good... Colburn's ninety over sixty, and dropping..."

"They're both bleeding," Ria surmised, as she slipped a dose of morphine into Cash's wrist to ease his pain. "Goddess... We've only got one surgical suite, what do we do?"

"What are Cash's odds?" Gina asked, matter-of-factly.

"Fifty at best... I think he's bleeding from the chest wound, I can stitch that up quickly, then check for puncture wounds from the ribcage. What about Colburn?"

"Twenty percent... I honestly don't know where he's bleeding, and the spinal damage just complicates matters..."

They exchanged a dreadful, knowing look. Both women had served as combat medics before – Ria had a few _centuries _of experience, although admittedly, Gina had more practise in working on _humans_, fifteen years of training and service compared to Ria's two years on Tyr. The point _was_, both of them had seen situations like this before, and they both knew how ruthless calculus worked. A fifty percent chance superseded a twenty percent one, it just _did_...

"Take him in," Gina muttered, finally. "I'll stay here, run the x-ray, and supply the blood intravenously. With any luck it should tide him over until you're done."

Dr O'Leiph nodded, biting her lip nervously as she did, and reached for the clamps that held Cash's bed to the wall – she pulled it away, disconnected the oxygen mask, and wheeled it hastily into the Cambrai's brand new surgical theatre, an addition they had both been rather glad to discover when they first boarded. It was the work of a matter of moments to clamp the bed into the pre-arranged sockets on the floor, disinfect her hands, and go to work.

The first order of business was to sedate the sentinel, before she started rooting around in him. She clamped another oxygen mask over his square jaw, and added the same mixture to the vaporiser they had used to anaesthetise Captain Murphy, weeks before – desflurane, and nitrous oxide. Once she was satisfied that the anaesthetic was coursing through his body, she set about 'rooting'. The first thing to check was his chest – the wound was deep, and livid, and she was rather inclined to prescribe a tetanus shot, but they had more pressing matters to deal with right now. The most important thing was that he didn't _appear _to be bleeding – a quick inspection, by hand, showed two intact ribs and a pulsating thoracic cavity, but no punctures, and no blood. The pericardium, the layer that protected his heart, was intact and undamaged. That was good, at least... she closed the wound with a dozen sutures, and set to work on his abdomen – she had decided that, like Colburn's spine, Cash's eye could wait until the bleeding was stabilised.

A quick incision along the centre of Cash's stomach enabled her to investigate. Just as she had suspected, _three _of his ribs were shattered, and the culprit of his bleeding was plain to see... The descending length of his aorta had been punctured by one of the ribs, and the dull _whump_ of arterial blood was seeping out, each pulse sending a fresh wave of blood over her hands.

A rare moment of panic passed over the doctor's faculties. She didn't have a heart-lung machine ready to go – by the time it was prepared, he could well have gone into cardiac arrest. But, cutting off the artery would also cut off the blood to, among other things, his legs and kidneys. That just left one option – sealing it as it was.

Reluctantly, she paced over to the edge of the surgical chamber, quickly preparing a needle for another suture, and grabbing a haemostatic – something to stop the bleeding... With these items in hand, she returned to the still-bleeding Cash, and took a deep breath, steadying her nerves...

As she did, however, her gaze drifted upwards, to the small window which joined the darkened surgical theatre to the brighter med bay. Through the glass, she could see a stomach-churning sight – Gina was pounding on Colburn's chest, making every effort to resuscitate him...

_Focus on the man bleeding in front of you, _her brain chided, and she looked back down to Cash. His face was going deathly pale, and blood was still flowing from his ruptured aorta. A quick application of suction removed the excess blood, and she dove in, trying her damnedest not to panic. Sealing up the artery was a rather difficult task – the aorta was pounding fiercely, and every second, a new jolt and a flood of escaping crimson shook her needle hand. She moved in the tiniest of fractions, nipping the needle in each time the artery relaxed, almost _timing _her stitches between the marine's heartbeats. It felt like an age, but the digital display on the wall recounted only three minutes between her starting, and tying off the final suture. Finally, she injected the haemostatic, a dose of chitosan, and took a step back. She told herself to wait for at least a minute, to check nothing else would rupture, before sealing the abdominal cavity too.

Sure enough, after a minute she checked the marine's blood pressure – it was no longer falling, but hung dangerously around seventy over fourty-five. It needed to be corrected quickly, or he'd go into cardiac arrest...

Suturing off the abdominal incision seemed damn easy compared to what she'd done prior, and took a matter of moments. Once it was done, she freed his bed once more – noting with undue pride that it had only taken her fifteen minutes to fix him up – and wheeled it towards the door.

"Blood transfusion and a tetanus shot," she murmured to herself, staying focused on Cash. She didn't really want to know what was waiting for her on the other side of the door...


	125. Operation Bloodhound Debrief

_**SSV Cambrai, Eagle Nebula**_

_**Day 1, 1100**_

_Wham_.

The screeching mech toppled to the floor, as Murphy planted a square punch across its face, shattering the crystalline canopy that covered the thing's glowing eyes.

Even as he kicked the first mech out of the sparring ring, there were two more hanging from brackets on the wall, and sure enough, one of them was released, coming to stand opposite him with a mechanical whir. He crushed the mech's knee with a powerful kick, then hurled it bodily to the side – it smashed into the wall with a shriek, and fell to the deck.

This wasn't exactly a _conventional _debrief, Murphy realised, as he looked around the cargo hold-come-training room. The third and final mech was just detaching itself from the wall, but had barely touched the floor before he smashed a fist into its head. To his surprise and consternation, the metal dummy's skull came clean off with a burst of sparks, leaving just a severed stump of wires and servos. The decapitated drone attempted to stumble forwards, swinging an arm at him, but he blocked it easily, and snapped the elbow joint with a brief twist – either these things were _made _of rust, or he was a lot angrier than he thought... A high kick to the chest sent the staggering mech crashing back against the wall, where it slumped and died, groaning with a synthesised voice.

As he backed out of the ring, nursing his now rather bloody knuckles, the captain was growling audibly. He needed a distraction. Something to _crush_. He had foregone the debrief. There was nothing to say, and no-one to say it to – Ryder, Gazix and Rafea were dead, Cash and Colburn were in the med bay, as was O'Leiph, while Tyco, Kan'Sura and Andersen had yet to return from Korlus. Only Manado was aboard and free, and she was sat in the mess hall drinking the strongest dextro liquor she could find...

"Really, captain?" a voice in the doorway sighed, quite to Murphy's surprise. "I have to repair those mechs in downtime..."

It was Rilum – the salarian was leaning on the doorframe, examining the captain with an almost _pitying_ air that greatly annoyed him.

"You shouldn't blame yourself, captain."

Murphy a blinked a couple of times at the salarian's bluntness, then retorted:

"Who says I'm blaming myself?"

Rilum simply looked down at the shattered mechs, and at the captain's bloody fists, and raised a condescending eyebrow at him.

"Alright, _yes_, I'm blaming myself," Murphy growled, "but why the hell shouldn't I? I gave the orders, I sent them down there, and they're dead because of me..."

"I disagree," Rilum muttered, pacing into the room and standing squarely in front of him. "Any number of other culprits, more _convincing _culprits. The attacker is the most obvious – whoever it was, _they_ killed your men, simple as that. Looking at longer-term causes... STG scouts failed to alert your men to the ambush, failed to fight off the assailant – their fault. Lieutenant Colburn advised you to save the Jericho, insisted his men could hold – his fault."

"Are you saying it's his own fault he's lying in the med bay, dying?" the captain snarled, furiously.

"Partially," the salarian replied, matter-of-factly. "Larger factors, though. You could blame the Jericho – failed to defend themselves, forced you into the choice, the mission would have been simple otherwise. The hijackers who _threatened _the Jericho are to blame, and behind them, so are the Reapers who indoctrinated them. The ultimate culprit, though... would be me."

"Bullshit."

"Is it? Without my intervention, the Cambrai would never have known about those scouts. We never would have come to Korlus. The Jericho would have been lost, but our company would be intact..."

"So, you're _blaming _yourself for the fact that we saved two hundred refugees?"

The salarian didn't reply, he just gave an arrogant little smile, and Murphy felt like beating his head against the wall. He was mocking the salarian for doing _exactly _what he was doing.

"Shouldn't blame yourself, captain," Rilum repeated, confirming Murphy's innermost thoughts. "We saved a lot of lives today."

"It'll never feel worth it, though, will it?" Murphy growled.

"No..." the salarian sighed, truthfully. He spoke with the air of a seasoned soldier, a man who had led far more men to their deaths than Murphy had...

"It's different to Benning," the captain continued. "When I was on the ground, I _knew _I was doing my damnedest to keep my men alive. But this? It feels like I'm some general playing on a war room map, tossing toy soldiers around a battlefield. I don't feel like I _deserve _to control their fates."

"Hence the self-harm, the exertion. Sub-conscious psychology – you can't reconcile being safe and detached while your men experience pain, so you inflict that pain voluntarily... It links to an interesting paradigm."

"A what?"

"A trend, a convention, a concept... Human and turian crews engage in ritual violence to 'vent' after stressful missions and experiences. Unique to those two species – krogan undergo casual violence in day-to-day life, no emotional significance; asari and salarians train for practical purposes only – lifespans too long and short respectively to fixate on regrets for long..."

"That's crap though, isn't it?" Murphy interjected, bluntly. "You're saying you don't regret stuff like this?"

"I didn't mean to suggest I _don't experience _regret," Rilum corrected, "I just process it more rapidly. A matter of hours, usually."

"And now?"

"Still processing. Unsuccessfully..."

The salarian looked to the floor, sheepishly. After a brief, awkward pause, Murphy spoke up:

"Then let's try the human solution. Turian solution. Whatever."

Rilum looked up with a wry smile, and stepped back so that he was on the opposite side of the ring to Murphy, fists raised in a boxer's stance. The captain was already weighing up the fight, and his opponent, when the two of them were interrupted – the door _swished _open once more, and a slight, female figure stepped in.

"Captain?" Gina murmured. She had a harrowed look in her eye, and her face was pale.

"What is it?"

"It's... Colburn, sir. He just passed."

"I see..." the captain growled, clenching his fists and avoiding meeting her gaze. "Thank you for telling me."

With a sheepish, consoling nod, she backed out of the room, clearly unsure what to say – Murphy could _feel_ the anger bubbling up through his cheeks, and knew his reaction had probably scared her off. Quite suddenly, he was back to the _crushing_ phase – he looked over at Rilum, and the two of them shared the briefest of nods.

Without further ado, he launched himself violently at the salarian, swinging a punch towards his head...


	126. Downtime 9

_**SSV Cambrai, Mass Relay Stream**_

_**Day 1, 2200**_

An ugly silence filled the mess hall that night. The whole crew had taken the day's events hard, but none more so than Bravo's members, who had been on the ground, who had found the bodies...

It was they who were now clustered around a table in the mess hall, drinking with reckless abandon. Only Dr O'Leiph was absent, working away in the adjacent med bay, while Andersen, Tyco, Kan'Sura and Manado resorted to the old standby – dulling the pain with alcohol.

They were heading back to the Citadel, Andersen knew, somewhere in the back of his mind. The Cambrai was escorting the Jericho to safety, and at the same time was delivering five caskets to the Alliance embassy, for their last rites. Murphy had also mentioned something about picking up new recruits, but they hadn't heard anything more from the captain in a long while – he and Rilum had ducked into the med bay a couple of hours ago, grabbing supplies to treat the captain's bloody knuckles and the bruises they both bore, but that was the last they had seen of either...

Now, Andersen was vigorously attempting to scrub his brain clear, with the aid of alcohol. He was on his seventh beer, and Tyco, at his side, was up to ten. Kan'Sura and Manado, sat opposite them at the table in the same dejected silence, were both drinking deeply from bottles of dextro wine. The turian in particular was taking the day's events hard, and Andersen felt a pang of sympathy for her – Gazix was the only other turian left on the crew, Rafea had been a good friend of hers since Benning, and now they were both dead.

"This is ridiculous," Tyco growled, breaking the awkward silence. "We don't even know who to hate..."

"What?" Kan'Sura replied, sceptically.

"We're sat here, stewing away, drinking ourselves into a fury, but we don't even know who to be furious _at_. We don't know who f-" he hesitated, then continued: "We don't know who did this..."

"Could have been more husks," Manado volunteered.

"Husks don't leave bullet wounds," Tyco muttered, dismissively. "Maybe the salarians wandered in, indoctrinated?"

"Indoctrination reduces intelligence and capability," Andersen pointed out, reciting from the field guides the Alliance had tried to produce for fighting Reaper troops. "Granted, they were STG, but do you really think they could overpower a whole squad? My money's on Cerberus..."

Tyco growled even at the _mention _of Cerberus, and an ugly silence replaced the previous, awkward one.

"If I ever catch up to the bastard, I'll stick this dagger through his heart," Tyco snarled, finally. As if to illustrate his point, he pulled the short combat knife from his shoulder plate, and began to play it against his thumb. Whether it was due to the alcohol or the anger, the sniper didn't seem to notice any pain, nor did he notice the bead of crimson running down from the blade's tip, staining his roughened skin...

"Great," Kan'Sura replied, sardonically. "Nice plan. Now how are you going to _find _said bastard?"

"I think I can help there..."

As one, the group at the table wheeled around, and Andersen was amazed to see Vimes standing a few feet away.

"Explain," he muttered, shortly. He wasn't quite sure what the C-Sec officer had in mind...

"We've been... preparing the dead," Vimes murmured, soberly. "Rilum also asked us to look for anything that identified the attacker, and, well..."

"You found something," Andersen concluded.

"Yeah," the former detective nodded. "Kodiak shuttles have had cameras installed to monitor operations since that fiasco on Bachjret Ward – a C-Sec pilot came in too fast on landing and killed three bystanders, as well as two of his own chalk who were trying to deploy on the ground. Ever since, VIs and cameras have been fitted to detect malpractice and negligence."

"And?" Tyco interrupted, bluntly. They were all a little impatient for Vimes' grand revelation...

"_And_, we found this in the Kodiak's archive. 1005, just after Bravo left the Jericho."

He swept his omni-tool over the desk, and a holographic image began to play. The beginning was full of static, no doubt from the damage the shuttle had taken, and the clearer picture began with a black-clad figure crackling out of nowhere.

"Active camo," Kan'Sura observed, quietly.

The figure slammed a palm into the control panel beside the cockpit door, went for his pistol, and Andersen winced as he put two rounds through the back of the pilot's head, without hesitation. The unfortunate man slumped to the floor without ever realising what had hit him, and the steady crimson trickle began to work its way across the floor, just as it had been when Tyco discovered it that morning. Then, the assailant swept around, the trail of his coat billowing slightly in the motion, and the bounty hunter growled at the sight of the Cerberus logo upon it. He was left staring into the camera, as Vimes froze the image.

He was a rather disturbing figure. Shaven head, piercing, _insane _blue eyes, and black garb, with a pistol in each hand and a crackle of energy that – along with the lump of an amp, previously visible on the back of his neck – marked him as a biotic. Almost instantly, Andersen was left in no doubt that _this _was the man who had wiped out Alpha...

"Who is he?" the engineer murmured.

"Christopher Creed," Vimes replied, almost _spitting _the name. "I ran across him while I was with C-Sec. The guy was a _serial killer_, more than twenty victims before we found him, and he injured half a dozen officers during the arrest."

"If you _arrested _him," Manado began, with an accusatory glare, "why was he on Korlus killing our men?"

"He was detained in a prison on Tayseri Ward, pending transfer to a max-security penal colony," he sighed. "That was about a week before the Battle of the Citadel. Sovereign decimated that whole region, and levelled the prison. Most of the prisoners were killed or wounded, but a few them escaped, including Creed."

"What do you know about him?" Andersen interjected.

"Not a lot that isn't obvious from Korlus," Vimes muttered. "He's insane, and _very _dangerous..."

"And he's with Cerberus," Tyco growled.

"Right," the detective nodded. "I thought that could be a bluff – he might have been hiding under their banner to excuse his killings – but Lisk was working on the shuttle with me. He says he recognises Creed."

"Where the hell from?"

"Omega. Apparently, Creed led a Cerberus strike team during the siege, while Lisk was with the Blood Pack..."

"Any idea how to find him?" the bounty hunter snarled, clearly wanting to make good on his threat, with the dagger in his hand.

"None whatsoever. I've sent a message to Kayla, asking her to dig up what she can from the C-Sec archives, but as far as clues are concerned, he just disappeared. Although..."

He hesitated, and Andersen prompted:

"Although what?"

"Whatever else he is now, he's still a _serial _killer. I don't think this is the last we've heard of him..."


	127. Downtime 10

_**Level 28, Tayseri Ward**_

_**Day 2, 1100**_

"Did you really _have _to punch that guy?" Vanyali was murmuring, "He was just a merchant!"

"Hey, I promised to blow up his _ship_," Tyco growled, "he got off easy..."

She rolled her eyes, and kept marching resolutely onwards. She wanted to get as far from the docking bay as possible, and leave behind the Jericho's captain, now sporting a black eye from the mercenary's right hook.

The two of them hadn't come ashore just to bludgeon unwitting ship captains. They were here to gather the new recruits. Murphy was still barred in his quarters, and according to Gina was in 'no fit state to deal with business', and Rilum was busy organising the ship for their departure that evening – the salarian was beginning to slide more and more effortlessly into the role of Murphy's XO...

"So, who are these recruits?" Tyco muttered, as they drew closer to the departure lounge that had been set as their rendezvous.

"Three of them are from Admiral Hackett," Vanyali began, "volunteers for the operations, like the rest of us. _But_, the group got a bit bigger when we arrived with the Jericho. Two of the refugees from the ship have military training, and enlisted to help this morning. There's also a three-man team of Alliance soldiers on the station. They transferred off the Belfast when they heard about operations – they said they could be of more use on the ground than on a cruiser."

"Just the three of them?" he answered, sceptically. "I'm sure they're good, but how much difference can three marines make?"

"They're N7s," she replied, with a smirk.

"Ah... _and_, that's why you're here."

"Exactly."

It was true – the N7 badge on her armour had been polished and cleaned, rather than dulled and hidden, like it usually was. Rilum had decided – and she had agreed – that greeting the N7s with one of their own would be a helpful move. By now, they were at the door of the departure lounge, and Vanyali opened it with a brief _swish _of her omni-tool. The door swung aside... and her jaw dropped.

A standoff was in full swing in the middle of the departure lounge. On one side, three humans, two men and one woman, were bracing weapons. The woman and one of the men had N7 badges adorning their armour. Opposite them, two batarians stood defiant, and Vanyali felt like banging her head against the wall as the words of the Jericho's captain, on the ship comms the day before, came drifting into memory: _"We're carrying refugees from Anhur, close on two hundred humans and batarians..."_

Clearly, the refugees were the latter. They both had weapons drawn, including a vicious-looking harpoon gun in one of their grips, and were meeting the three humans' challenge with a steely glint in their eyes. Between the two groups, at the back of the room, were three other figures – a quarian and an asari, and a third N7, who had a hand on his holster as if waiting for trouble to erupt. Before Vanyali could say anything, Tyco did it for her:

"Guns down, all of you!" he boomed, with a slight snarl in his voice. He was letting his own hand stray towards his rifle, threateningly.

"Sure..." one of the batarians growled. "Because we're _really_ going to trust the first two humanswho show up..."

Vanyali was about to splutter something in response, but quite to everyone's surprise, the other batarian dashed his Phalanx pistol to the floor, and turned to the other with a sardonic expression.

"Don't be an idiot, Hebat. We're here to work with them, not fight them," he glared. His voice was no softer than the other's, but it had a fine tone to it, a clear pronunciation that human brains associated with the upper class.

Reluctantly, 'Hebat' threw his harpoon gun to the ground, and after a fierce stare from Vanyali, the three humans did the same. Towards the back of the room, the neutral trio let their guard down, falling into far more relaxed postures...

"You're the refugees from the Jericho?" Vanyali murmured, finally.

"Aran Tur Akor," the fine-speaking batarian nodded, "Batarian Hegemony. At your service."

"And him?" she persisted, nodding to the other batarian, who was now sulking behind his fellow.

"Vor Hebat," he grunted.

"And where are the N7s?" Tyco queried, looking around the room. Two of the humans who had been facing off with the batarians stepped forward, as did the man who had been protecting the quarian and asari.

"Lieutenant Sarah Jade," the woman reported. She had a shock of red hair about her shoulder, matching the scarlet hue of her armour.

"Gunnery Chief Irving Wolfe," the man stood next to her nodded. He looked slightly older, clad in entirely black armour, and the left side of his face bore a series of terrible scars, which sent a shiver down Vanyali's spine.

"Corporal Alec Carter," announced the third N7, the one at the back of the room. He bore white and blue armour, and a fresh-faced look. Sure enough, he added, "Only just qualified, ma'am."

"What about the rest of you?" Vanyali continued brusquely, addressing the three remaining volunteers.

"Victor Cross," the last human growled, and his name rang bells in the back of her mind, although she couldn't quite figure out how... He wore an unusual set of armour, made up of sleek lines and fierce, sharp edges. It looked vaguely like the 'Terminus' armour she had once seen mercenaries using.

"Liselle V'Dorn," the asari near the back wall volunteered. Her suit was all-black, form-fitting like those of the asari on the crew, and her skin was a very odd shade, closer to black or grey than the usual blue or purple. Her features were... striking, and her eyes had an imperceptible gleam to them.

"Klara'Tseni nar Qwib-Qwib," the quarian murmured, last of all. She had a rather happy, bubbly air about her voice, even without the aid of her facial expression, which was obscured beneath her grey exosuit.

After a slight pause, Vanyali looked questioningly at Tyco. He bore an exasperated expression, but shrugged, and made for the door. Rather hesitantly, given the shootout that had nearly just developed, she turned to the assembled volunteers, and called:

"Alright, everybody with us! We'll take you to the Cambrai and find you a bunk. I'd _appreciate _it if no-one got shot on the way!"


	128. Operation Safeguard Briefing

_**SSV Cambrai, Serpent Nebula**_

_**Day 1, 2000**_

"Thank you for coming at such short notice," Captain Murphy muttered, to the five operatives gathered around the war room table with him. "I just received a rather... _odd_ mission."

He paused, and took a look at the crew assembled around him. He hadn't picked any of the new recruits – they had only arrived that morning, and were still settling in – and he had been reluctant to send the operatives from Korlus back out again, but Tyco and Kan'Sura were nonetheless at the table, and looked ready enough. Alongside them were Vanyali, Sam Vimes, and Kyra Tabris, all looking rather resolute, as the captain explained:

"This mission comes from Aria T'Loak" – that drew a few disbelieving stares from the operatives – "and is... unconventional, to say the least."

"Just spit it out, captain," Tyco murmured rather kindly, despite the harsh choice of words, "and we'll decide for ourselves."

"Very well... Aria has received intelligence that the CEO of Rosenkov Materials is under threat of assassination, from _Cerberus._ He's holding a social soiree at his estate on Illium, and information captured from Cerberus archives by Eclipse shows that a squad of Cerberus assassins are going to be paying him a visit..."

"So what's the problem?" Vanyali frowned. "The _mighty _Aria T'Loak can't deal with a few assassins herself?"

"The problem is two-fold," Murphy explained. "Firstly, this guy won't accept her help – Aria was pretty vague, but it didn't sound like they have much love for each other. He _is_, however, a supplier to the Alliance, so she passed the data on to us. Secondly, we don't know the nature of the attack. It won't be in force – Cerberus doesn't have the manpower to launch an attack like that any more, especially not on a busy world like Illium. But we don't know how the assassins plan to strike, or _who _they plan to strike – it could be the CEO, or his family, or they could just start killing guests en masse. It's a whole bunch of unknowns, all of which could have dire consequences."

"So what has this got to do with _us_?" Vimes persisted.

"Aria approached Admiral Hackett yesterday, suggesting that he might want to act on this information. He agreed."

"So _why us?_" the detective replied, in frustration.

"I'm getting there, damn it! Looking at it objectively, he needs to insert a team that's small enough and inconspicuous enough to blend in, yet capable enough to respond to an assassination attempt without a full arsenal. Whatever his reasons, he thought we were the best candidates to send a team in..."

"I hate to question your judgement, captain," Kan'Sura interjected, "but you didn't choose very well if you want a team that's inconspicuous... I'm a _quarian_, and Tyco's the least subtle man I've ever met. No offense."

"Much taken."

Murphy ignored Tyco outright, and murmured:

"You two won't be _blending in_, per se. Neither will you, Vanyali. The three of you are on the mission as infiltrators – you'll move into the estate, take over the security systems, and generally keep an eye on things from the shadows. Sam and Kyra will be doing the undercover work."

Kyra groaned at that, and Vimes didn't look too pleased either. As the former spoke up, however, the latter stayed silent – he knew damn well that his career as a detective was the reason for his selection.

"Why?" Kyra scowled. "We're _soldiers_..."

"You were also top of Colonel Hunter's list for undercover operations, and I'm not inclined to disagree with him. Now, the Cambrai will be moving out to recon for an operation in the Traverse within a few hours, so you'll have to leave us for the duration of the mission. One of Aria's ships is waiting for you on Level 24 – they'll take you to Illium, and provide you with everything you need in terms of shelter, data, and so on. Tyco, Kan'Sura, Vanyali, I'd suggest you ask Andersen or Rilum to run some upgrades on your tactical camo, and make sure you've got all the weapons you need."

"What about us?" Vimes piped up, gesturing to himself and Kyra.

"Get hold of some eveningwear," Murphy smirked, "and a bloody good sidearm."


	129. Operation Safeguard Part 1

_**Rosenkov Estate, Illium**_

_**Day 2, 1800**_

"Alright, run the alias again," the batarian muttered, as the skycar drew closer to the ground.

"Matthew Harris," Vimes recited, for the fiftieth time. "Husband of Sara Harris. Former captain of the Blue Suns in the Kepler Verge, left the company when they came under the control of Aria T'Loak citing personal reasons."

"And you're here because...?"

"Because we're applying for a supply contract from Rosenkov, to start up a private military company of our own. Sara has experience running the books, and I have experience leading the men."

"That'll do," his companion grunted, setting his eyes back to the narrow landing strip ahead.

The batarian, Narl, was one of Aria's men, the leader of the group that had accompanied them to Illium the night before. Aria's hospitality had been quite impressive, including an apartment in Nos Astra to act as their safehouse, and a myriad of information on the mission – everything from maps of the estate to biographies on the supposed target, Nikolai Rosenkov. In addition, the batarian and one of his fellows had agreed to play their part in the deception – as he sat in the driver's seat, steering down towards the island that bore Rosenkov's estate, he was wearing a custom-made suit of silver armour, the fictional uniform of the Harris' new mercenary outfit. The Blue Suns had even forged documents giving Matthew and Sara Harris a history in their Kepler Verge operations...

Behind them in the car were two empty seats, but Vimes – sorry, _Harris_ – knew that both Tyco and Kan were sat behind him, cloaked in case the estate's security was watching their approach. Andersen had worked wonders with their tactical camo, upgrading their armour to allow the camo to run for about half an hour, at the expense of shield integrity.

In the other car, he could just about see Kyra – or rather, _Sara_ – and another silver-armoured merc, who was driving. Again, he knew there was another invisible passenger, Vanyali.

Before he could quite finish his train of thought, they were landing on the small island that bore Rosenkov's estate. Illium was uninhabitable around the equator, with the surface hot enough to boil most liquids, but here, around the poles, it was cool enough for seas to form, and for colonists to live on the surface. Rosenkov's estate was a sleek complex which looked to have been built of white stone, but was probably a deceptive alloy. Sleek, grey window panes ran along the sides, and a spacious courtyard lay in front of the estate, with a landing pad filling one side, and a rather decadent statue dominating the other. From their brief study this morning, Vimes knew that the ground floor of the house contained the ballroom, dining room, and so on, while the second floor contained the bedrooms and studies. The third floor, crammed beneath the roof, was host to the security stations Tyco, Kan and Vanyali would be infiltrating.

As they touched down, Sam was already sliding the door open. He wanted to be out and off as quickly as possible, to allow the cloaked infiltrators to move out behind him – the longer they delayed, the more chance there was of their camo failing. He shot a last friendly glance at Narl, who nodded briefly to him, then clambered out and straightened up, glancing around the courtyard. There was the slightest brush of contact, as either Tyco or Kan slid out behind him.

Kyra's skycar had already landed, and she was pacing towards him, smoothing out the creases in her eveningwear. The usually tomboyish mercenary had undergone a rather rapid transformation, aided by Vanyali, just hours before. Her auburn hair had been tugged out of its usual, helmet-friendly ponytail, and fell around her neck and shoulders with the slightest of curls. A sleek black dress hugged her form, and made for a rather attractive alternative to her usual battle armour – nonetheless, it had taken the best part of an hour for her companions to convince her she didn't look 'ridiculous', nor did she look like a 'whore on a street corner', much as she insisted she did. What she _did _look like, was a rather beautiful young woman, not that he was particularly interested.

"Ready?" she murmured, rather nervously.

"Ready," he nodded. "Shall we, Mrs Harris?"

"Git," Kyra laughed, taking his arm as they advanced towards the great entrance. As they did, she swore under her breath, "This bloody dress..."

"It looks fine," Sam sighed, repeating his platitudes from the afternoon.

"It's not how it _looks_ that bothers me," his companion hissed. "It's that I can't feel my chest!"

He laughed, but avoided looking, for the sake of being a gentleman. They were approaching the entrance now, and he took a mental inventory of everything they had to work with. In Kyra's case, it was practically nothing – much as she complained about not being able to feel her bust in the dress, the more pressing problem was the fact that she couldn't conceal a weapon within it. She had nothing but an omni-tool to defend herself with. Sam fared slightly better. Like Kyra, he had an omni-tool inside the sleeve of his suit, but he also had a slim Predator pistol tucked into the inside of his jacket – Narl had assured him that security wouldn't hassle a man over a sidearm, not at a party full of arms dealers.

At any rate, they weren't really relying on their own arms to defend themselves, not in any sort of prolonged firefight. They were both wearing invisible earpieces, connecting them to the radio chatter of their three fellows, and were counting on _them_ for aid. As far as the plan specified, Kan'Sura was going to take over the estate's security, while Vanyali and Tyco used the ducts and the security gantries – usually reserved for Rosenkov's own guards – to provide sniper support when the moment came.

Sam's train of thought was abruptly derailed as they reached the doors, and the two security guards stepped up to accost them. Both had visible weapons – shortened models of Rosenkov Materials' own Viper sniper rifle – but were wearing formalwear, not combat armour. You couldn't rule out body armour, Vimes' training told him, but that was still inferior to a proper, shielded suit.

"Names?" the guard on the right grunted, shortly.

"Matthew and Sara Harris," Vimes replied, shifting his voice down a couple of octaves and fixing a firm expression over his face to fit the bill of mercenary captain.

The guard looked down, checking a rolling list on his omni-tool, then tapped two of the revolving names with his forefinger – they blinked white, then disappeared, and he looked up at the 'couple' once more.

"Go right in," he nodded, with a faux smile. Vimes shot him a nod in return, and they stepped over the threshold into the palatial entrance hall, while gave off a vague golden glow from every wall.

"Vimes," Tyco muttered, in his ear. "Just saw you go in. We're heading for the roof entrance. Get to work, mate, we've got your back..."


	130. Operation Safeguard Part 2

_**Rosenkov Estate, Illium**_

_**Day 2, 1815**_

"How long have we got left on the camo?" Vanyali muttered, urgently.

"About twenty minutes," Kan'Sura replied. "No pressure..."

Stood between the two of them, and just as invisible, Tyco was peering up the wall in front of them. It was a slick, white surface, and he wasn't quite sure if it was concrete or alloy... Scaling it was going to be tricky, they knew that already. The skycars couldn't drop them off on the roof because of security, and they also couldn't use grappling hooks, because the guards would see them. There was nothing so mundane as a drainpipe to climb, and the walls were slick, with no real handholds... Entering on the ground floor was out, too – it meant either passing through the main entrance, so close to the doormen that they would be visible, even cloaked, or forcing open a window, which would be tricky, given that they were reinforced, and there didn't appear to be any way of opening the locks from outside.

Eventually, they had decided on methods not unlike ice climbing – _somehow_, Kan'Sura had managed to produce an omni-tool program that generated hooked omni-blades, not unlike ice axes, and the batarian Narl had managed to buy three sets of spiked crampons from Rodam Expeditions, usually used for scaling glaciers.

Pulling the crampons over their boots was an... _interesting _experience, while cloaked, but eventually Tyco managed to strap them over his invisible feet, and straightened up, popping out the talon-like 'omni-hooks' with an imperceptible _swish_.

"Here goes nothing," he murmured, not even knowing whether his two companions were ready yet. In his mind, it was best if he went first – he was the heaviest of the three, and if the improvised tools could hold _his _weight, they could certainly hold the other two.

He checked his weapons for the last time: his sniper rifle was still resting on his back, and the Predator pistol the Blue Suns had given him was hanging on his hip – like those his companions bore, the pistol had been fitted with tranquiliser rounds, just in case they were caught by one of the guards. It was odd, really... they were sneaking in to _protect _Rosenkov, but to all intents and purposes he and his guards were to be considered as hostiles...

Finally, Tyco leapt up, hooking his right-hand tool into the wall. Quite to his surprise, the surface gave way, allowing the blade to sink in as if the wall were stone, not metal. He hauled his weight up, dug his now-spiked boots into the wall, and swung upwards with his left hand, dragging himself another few feet once the hook sunk in firmly.

It was a slow ascent, with Vanyali and Kan'Sura quickly following him up onto the wall. The first storey – which was actually as tall as the second and third combined, to accommodate the capacious and rather decadent ballroom and dining room within – was a long and arduous affair, and although he got into his rhythm by the second storey, his muscles were starting to protest at the exertion, willing him to co-operate with gravity, instead of fighting it...

All things considered, it took ten of his precious twenty minutes to reach the roof – as he did, however, he was astonished to find two pairs of hands pulling him up.

"What took you so long?" Kan'Sura teased, voice floating down from somewhere above his head. Vanyali was laughing, invisible at his side.

"Smartass," he growled, clambering to his feet. "What now?"

"Our entrance is just over there," the quarian muttered. Apparently, he had nodded or gestured in some direction, but his subsequent groan seemed to suggest he had realised the futility of the act, cloaked as he was. Tyco, however, had already spotted the angular doorway that led to the house below, and was striding towards it. As he did, he felt a rather unnerving sensation – he could _hear _the footsteps of his squadmates on either side of him, could _feel _the motion and the heat as they ran, but he couldn't _see _them...

"Get the door," he instructed.

"Already done," Kan replied, instantly. "The next... _three _doors are unlocked, working on the fourth now..."

"Good man," Tyco called, quickly trying to recount the maps and models from their briefings. "Head down, turn right, then follow the corridor to the end. That's the security room."

They sprinted through the door – which swung open at their approach, just as Kan'Sura said – and down the short ramp that led them onto the third floor. The door at the bottom gave way before them too, and they were quickly presented with a long corridor, stretching to left and right...

Right led to a dead end, with a door ahead and one each to left and right. The latter two were locked, but a glowing green roundel adorned the one at twelve o'clock, and they strode towards it, still cloaked.

"Security station," Vanyali muttered, from the right of the door – she seemed to be pressing herself into cover, and Tyco did the same on the left. "Non-lethal takedowns. These guys are on our side, they just don't know it yet..."

"Non-lethal? I'm out," Tyco joked.

"Alright, I've got this," Kan'Sura murmured, from somewhere between the two of them. "Just stand back – no friendly fire, okay?"

Without another word of conversation, the slightest shimmer in the air indicated the quarian's advance, and the door to the security room slid wide open.

As it opened, it showed them two rather stunned security guards. One was sat at the desk on the far side of the room, staring in confusion at the open door, and the empty air. The second was closer, and was reaching instinctively for the snub-nosed rifle on his back. It was this second man that Kan went for first – Tyco couldn't see the quarian's kick, but he _did _see the guard double over, clutching his guts, before a jolt of electricity from an omni-tool struck the back of his head, reducing him to a heap on the floor. The other guard had barely gotten to his feet – kicking his chair across the floor as he did – before a subtle _chink _marked the start of a tranquiliser round's flight. It hit him square in the chest, and he slumped back against the desk, unconscious before he hit the ground.

"Job done," Kan muttered, simply. "I'll lock this place down. You two head for the gantries, keep an eye on Sam and Kyra..."


	131. Operation Safeguard Part 3

**A/N: Okay, first things first - I am SO sorry for the recent lapse. Six days without updates is almost unprecedented, the most this story has had before is one. The reason for the lack of updates is that my computer was broken, which makes publishing *quite* difficult... At any rate, it's back now, and the backups of this story were all recovered (all 131 chapters...), so no harm done there. I'm updating now, and hopefully again this evening, to make up for tomorrow - I'm afraid there probably won't be an update tomorrow, because I'm heading to Liverpool for a university open day. After that, however, I'll be doing my damnedest to slot in some bonus updates to Galaxy at War to make up for the six days lost, and The Cambrai Files will be resuming, however briefly, to cover some of the new characters.**

**So, apologies again, and I hope you're all still reading!**

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><p><em><strong>Rosenkov Estate, Illium<strong>_

_**Day 2, 1825**_

"Vimes, we're in position. Kan's locked in the security room, all systems under his control. Vanyali and me are on the gantries, over the ballroom."

With Tyco's mutter resonating in his ears, Vimes gently turned aside, guiding Kyra on his arm over to a table on the right of the room. It was abandoned, so no-one would hear his reply to the bounty hunter, and they could act under the pretence of getting drinks.

"Alright," he whispered, as he picked up a glass of wine from the table. "What's the plan?"

"Remember the briefing," Vanyali murmured, in Tyco's place. "You need to get close to the targets, and keep an eye on them. We'll try to stop the assassins from here, but if it comes down to it, you're their last line of defence."

"Run over the targets again," Kyra interjected, at his side. "Where are they? _Who _are they?"

"There are two of them – they're both in the centre of the room, a little way from the bar. The most obvious in Nikolai Rosenkov himself. White male, slight tan, about six two. Black suit, white shirt. See him?"

"Yes."

"Well, he's your priority. Nikolai is the CEO of Rosenkov Materials, and the host of this little get together. He was also the one Cerberus' files named – if they were going to attack anyone, it'd probably be him..."

"Why?" Vimes asked, before he could stop himself. As he spoke, he was casting his eyes around, making sure no-one was drawing close, or listening in on his whispered conversation.

"Rosenkov is a large supplier to all sectors of the galaxy. In recent years, they've been supplying mercenary groups in the Terminus and the Traverse, and maintaining contracts with the Alliance at the same time."

"Which makes them a double threat to Cerberus," the detective concluded. "They're helping the Alliance crush Cerberus, and they're supplying mercenary groups like Aria's who want to kick them out of Omega and the Terminus..."

"Precisely," Vanyali confirmed. "Whatever their plan, whoever their target, those assassins will be aiming to cripple the company for a while, to cut the supply lines to Cerberus' enemies."

"You said there were two targets?" he added, questioningly. "Who's the other?"

"See that girl Nikolai's talking to? Five six, blonde, white dress that makes her look like a sl-"

Vimes winced, and Kyra merely rolled her eyes.

"Yup, I see her," the detective muttered, finally. In truth, she was a fairly hard figure to _miss_, stood in the middle of the room with her dress barely half way to her knees. "Who is she?"

"Lisa Rosenkov. Nikolai's daughter. If Cerberus wants to cripple the man without going through his bodyguards, they might go for her instead."

Slowly, trying not to arouse suspicion, Sam and Kyra turned and gazed in the direction of the father and daughter. A small crowd had gathered around them, and it was immediately obvious that they were having a fight – Nikolai was chopping hand across the other as if punctuating a list of _things _that were wrong with the world in general, and Lisa was staring at him, jaw hanging open slightly, with an indignant flare in her eyes. At Sam's side, Kyra took a sip from her glass, then used it to muffle her words as she spoke to Vanyali:

"They don't look too... _close_," she murmured.

"That doesn't mean he'd be glad to see her dead," the other woman replied, and Vimes could almost _hear _her scowl. "She's still his daughter."

"Even so," Kyra persisted, "wouldn't it make more sense to go for his wife?"

"That... would be difficult," Kan'Sura interjected – it was the first they'd heard from the quarian since arriving. "Remember the dossiers?"

Sam didn't, and the look on her face said Kyra didn't either. The two of them had spent most of their time learning their _own _biographies, not those of the Rosenkovs. In fact, with Tyco discussing arms and Vanyali helping plan their infiltration, only Kan'Sura had spent any sort of time with the dossiers – they had all briefly read Nikolai's, but the quarian had spent hours delving through the man's family, his company, even the files Aria's men had stolen from Cerberus.

"Alright, I guess I was the only paying attention," he sighed. "Nikolai's wife died years ago, when Lisa was two years old. So, frankly, they'd struggle to assassinate _her_, don't you think?"

"Okay, okay, we get it," Vimes frowned. "It's down to Nikolai and his daughter. What do we do?"

"Follow me," Kyra murmured, with the hint of an idea on her breath. As she set off towards the middle of the room, Nikolai and Lisa Rosenkov were breaking apart – the patriarch returned to his guests, massaging his brow angrily, while his daughter slunk over to the open bar, grabbing a glass that the bartender had had ready for her before she even sat down.

Still watching the two with an eye of curiosity, Sam found himself being led on towards the centre of the room, with Kyra guiding him by the arm, and as they went, the two of them made the pretence of small talk – admiring the grand ballroom, or discussing the fake details of their mercenary work. After a moment, however, and a quick check that no-one was listening in, Kyra turned to him, shot him a meaningful glare, then hissed, vehemently:

"You are _such _an idiot sometimes..."

Vimes recoiled slightly, shocked by the sudden change – her voice had gone scarily hard, and she was glaring at him with a look of contempt.

"What?" he staggered, with a mask of confusion.

"You just stick to leading the men, Matt, and let me handle the books. That's the way it works, okay?"

"You are _unbelievable!_" Sam retorted, catching on to the _'play along'_ look on her face. "If we weren't out there doing the _actual _work, you wouldn't have any books to bloody handle!"

"The actual work?" Kyra snapped, blushing a rather convincing red. "Do you want to say that again?"

"Yes, actually, I do! You sit behind a desk, look pretty, and charm any half-bit businessman who wants a job doing! I'm the one who has to lead men, train them, _fight _with them! You'd be nothing without me!"

"Oh, I could easily find some other knucklehead to shoot a gun!" she yelled, and by now, Sam was becoming aware of the crowd of onlookers staring at them. Even Nikolai Rosenkov was casting a curious eye over the pair of them...

"Well, you go do that," he scowled, rather more quietly. He reached to his left hand, to the fake silver band that rested over his ring finger, and prised it off with a firm, hateful glare still fixed on Kyra. "If the next one's willing to put up with you, then good luck to him and God help him."

With that – and a little victorious smirk, a fine piece of acting if he said so himself – he tossed the ring at her feet, swept around on his heel, and paced away, slipping between two of the onlookers as he departed. There was a confused hubbub as the argument ended, and if he had turned to look, he would have seen Kyra, acting perfectly once more as she faked a hard-suppressed tear, and a rather shell-shocked expression.

"Bloody hell," Tyco muttered, in his ear. "Never took you for an actor, mate... Kyra's going for Nikolai, getting in on the sympathy. Guess that means you should head for the bar – you know what to do..."

Sure enough, Sam wound his way through the incredulous spectators towards the bar, set in the side wall of the ballroom. With a resigned sigh, he ran a faux weary hand over his brow, and slumped down on the stool next to Lisa Rosenkov.


	132. Operation Safeguard Part 4

**A/N: Well, Liverpool went brilliantly, and I'm back earlier than expected, so it turns out there *will* be an update today... maybe two.**

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><p><em><strong>Rosenkov Estate, Illium<strong>_

_**Day 2, 1835**_

"Right," Tyco mused, as Sam drew closer to the bar. "Billionaire's daughter. Rich, spoiled, and from where I'm standing... pretty damn hot."

"Beats husks any day," Sam grinned, hiding the movement of his lips behind his hand, as he faked scratching at his chin.

"Have fun, buddy," his overseer laughed, and then he fell silent.

The argument had been a stroke of brilliance from Kyra, quite frankly. It gave them an excuse to separate, each going for one of the two targets, and Vimes had pushed it that bit further – discarding the ring – to make matters easier. After all, Nikolai and Lisa were both single – they were much more likely to enjoy the company of rebounding divorcees than fuming spouses...

He didn't head for the heiress right away – that would have been too obvious, he knew that much from tailing suspects with C-Sec. Instead, he sat two stools down from her at the bar, careful not to meet her eye.

"Single vodka," he muttered, reaching for a credit chit and already knowing what the response would be. Sure enough:

"They're on the house, sir," the bartender interjected, gliding over to him with the sinuous grace that seemed to be expected of a rich man's 'staff'.

"Ah. Best make it a double, then."

The barman nodded, and disappeared to the stacked rows of bottles and taps on the back wall of the bar. He returned a moment later, with a double-size shot glass filled almost to the top with glittering vodka. It was pearly and transparent, not the ridiculous blue it was usually dyed on the Citadel – that was a Presidium health and safety regulation, to prevent the accidental consumption of levo drinks by dextro drinkers, and vice versa. In Vimes' opinion – and the opinion of most human males on the Citadel – if a turian was stealing his drink, he _deserved _a few days of indigestion.

He raised the glass to his lips, supped it down in a single, grateful gulp, and savoured the slight burn on the back of his throat.

"Controlling bitch," he sighed, under his breath, but deliberately loud enough for those around him to hear.

"Tell me about it," a soft voice to his left murmured, and he suppressed a grin. _Jackpot_.

As he looked up to meet Lisa Rosenkov's gaze, a quiet mutter of conversation filled his ear. He knew, from the way the earpieces were designed, that no-one else could hear Tyco and Vanyali's discussion, but it was an odd sensation to have them chattering in his ear as he tried to have a conversation of his own.

"Start the clock," Tyco was saying, "and place your bets. I reckon ten minutes."

"I say five," Vanyali replied. "He's a good looking boy... More importantly, _she _looks like she'd sleep with anything that stands still long enough..."

"You really don't like her, do you?"

"Hello? Have you _seen _that dress?"

"_Yes_ _I have..._"

"Argh, you are _such_ a dog..."

"If you've quite finished having a domestic," Kan'Sura snapped, acting as the voice of reason, "you should probably shut up and let him get on with it. Vanyali, there's a guard moving your way – stay cloaked, and make sure he doesn't bump into you..."

The three infiltrators fell silent, and Vimes was left with his own thoughts once more, as he looked Lisa Rosenkov up and down – it was best, he decided, that he pretended not to know who she was, or to have seen her earlier argument.

"Oh?" he replied, finally, raising an eyebrow.

"My dad," she scowled. Seeing his blank expression, her brow furrowed, and she prompted, "Your host? I'm Lisa Rosenkov."

"Ah. Matthew Harris," Sam nodded, briefly. Then, he took a gamble, looking away as if to end the conversation.

"You don't have to go all polite just because I'm his daughter," Lisa admonished, scooting over to the stool next to him. "Hell, I'll go first – he's a pretentious, arrogant, controlling _bastard_, and if he tries to show me off to one more of his business partners' sons, I might actually murder him in his sleep..."

"Wow..." he chuckled, meeting her fiery stare. "There... really isn't much love lost between you two, is there?"

"None at all," she grimaced. "He controls everything in my life: where I go, what I do, who I'm allowed to see, but if I complain, he just rattles off this same old speech about how I'm living under his roof and taking his money. Then when I try and _leave_, get a job, make some money of my own, he forbids it, says it's too dangerous and I'm too young – I'm twenty-two, for God's sake!"

"Yikes," Vimes laughed, just nodding along. "That sounds familiar..."

"How so?"

"I run a mercenary band out in the Traverse. I say _run_, my wife – err, ex-wife – does the paperwork, I lead the men. Apparently being a good _accountant _qualifies her to boss me about on how to lead soldiers in battle..."

"_Ex_-wife?" Lisa murmured, curiously.

"_That's _what she picks out of that sentence?" Tyco interrupted, in his ear. "Good sign... you're in, mate."

"Yeah, _ex_-wife," Vimes replied, firmly. "You saw the argument?"

"I certainly did... it was quite impressive, really. The ring was a nice touch, by the way..."

"Glad you thought so."

"What was it about? If that's not... prying too much."

"We used to run things for the Blue Suns, out in the Kepler Verge, but we quit a few months ago. A... _difference of opinion_ with Aria T'Loak's new administration."

"You worked for the Blue Suns?" Lisa interrupted. "So you've... killed, I take it?"

"Would it offend your sensibilities if I said yes?"

"Not at all..." she purred, and Sam got the impression she was suppressing the cliché, _'I like a man with blood on his hands'_, as she continued, "But I'm interrupting... go on."

"Well, after we parted ways with the Suns, we figured we'd go independent. Set up a company of our own and take on some work from our old contacts. That's why we came here tonight – my wife had the _genius _idea of applying for a supply deal with your father, and she thought honeying up to him tonight might get it passed quicker. But, we had a..."

"Difference of opinion?"

"_Yup_... She seems to think I should sit back and let her run the show – after all, who am I to argue with the Verge's most accomplished _secretary?_" – Lisa smirked at that – "We were arguing all the way here, and she kept whispering her snide little remarks in my ear when we got inside... I just snapped."

"Makes sense," his companion nodded. "You're the one who has to do the _real_ work, you should get to make the decisions."

"Precisely..."

"Is she the redhead chatting up my father?" she continued, in her slightly clipped half-Russian accent. As she said it, she was turning to stare across the ballroom.

"Yeah, that's her..."

"Fancy pissing them _both _off?" Lisa purred, turning to him with a roguish smile.

"Always," Sam grinned, "but what did you have in mind?"

"I think you know..." she replied, leaning in and deepening that silky voice. "Wait ten minutes, then come up to my room – turn right, and it's at the end of the corridor. I'll tell the guards to let you through..."

She leant away, swivelled off her stool, and paced away across the ballroom, hips swaying as she did. Sam suppressed a grin, as Tyco muttered in his ear:

"Five minutes. Damn it. I mean, great work mate, but couldn't you have _waited _another five?"

Sam didn't reply – he simply turned to the bartender, ordering another double of vodka and gulping it down in an instant. Going undercover wasn't such a bad idea after all...


	133. Operation Safeguard Part 5

_**Rosenkov Estate, Illium**_

_**Day 2, 1900**_

"Ha! I wish I could have seen that!"

Nikolai Rosenkov seemed to be in very good spirits as Kyra chattered away with him – the host had moved over to comfort her after her very public row with Sam, as she had feigned being on the verge of tears. Now, they were talking about anything and everything – a brief discussion of work, following by the 'much more interesting' topics of art, culture, and the world in general. Born and bred on Omega, Kyra didn't have too much to say about any of those things, but she needn't have worried – for a start, Sara Harris was also a denizen of the Terminus, so her lack of knowledge fitted her cover, and furthermore, Nikolai was the kind of person who was quite happy just to _talk_. He was a kind enough man, but he did seem to love the sound of his own voice, and had spent the last ten minutes extolling the virtues of Illium over the Citadel. He hadn't even paused to notice, as Kyra had, the sight of his daughter departing upstairs, shortly followed by Sam...

"But, enough of this talk," Nikolai muttered, in his coarse, Russian-derived accent. "You came to discuss business, and I have waylaid you..."

"It's no bother," Kyra smiled, in the more sophisticated tone that she had been faking since the beginning. "You make conversation rather... fascinating, I must say."

"I'm flattered, my lady... Nonetheless, I would hate for this evening to be a total waste of your time. You were here about a... supply contract, were you not?"

"Yes. Half a million in weapons and armour, for a new... enterprise in the Terminus."

"Ah yes, the Terminus, the wild frontier... This deal, it was in your name?"

"Mine and my husband's, but I... think I'll be going it alone, from here. Will that hamper matters?"

"Legally, yes... But we could always set up a new deal, no? Between the two of us?"

"That would be a waste of your time, surely?" Kyra replied, willing a slight blush into her cheeks.

"Not at all... I'm glad to help," Nikolai murmured. "But, I see de Montfort waving to me... If you'll excuse me."

"Of course. Perhaps we could resume this discussion later?"

"Things will wind down around midnight... People will leave or move up to the guest rooms – find me then, and we'll discuss this deal."

"I'm looking forward to it."

Nikolai flashed a brief, handsome smile, then swept off across the room to speak to 'de Montfort', a portly man who looked like he'd had one too many good meals... Rosenkov moved with such imperious grace, she half envisioned a cape fluttering behind him. Then, she decided she _probably _needed to know what was going on – to ask, however, would mean speaking to the invisible voices in her ear, and she couldn't do that in the middle of the packed ballroom.

After a moment's hesitation, she wound her way towards the nearest of the women's bathrooms, on the far wall of the great room. She passed through a pair of socialites who were just exiting – gossiping fervently about Miss so-and-so's dress as they did – and slipped through the door.

Once inside, she was greeted with a rather hideous display of wealth, an array of polished wood, marble tiles and what appeared to be gold fittings. She moved over to the middle of the three sinks along the edge wall, and pretended to busy herself in the mirror, adjusting her makeup, while carefully trying to examine the rest of the bathroom for any other occupants – eventually, however, she gave up trying to twist her view through the mirror, and simply looked up at the security camera in the near corner, making a silent appeal to the quarian on the other end.

"It's clear," the quarian confirmed. "I'll warn you if someone tries to come in..."

"Thanks," she murmured, moving into one of the cubicles for an added layer of security. "What's the situation?"

"Sam's upstairs with Lisa Rosenkov," Tyco muttered. "No visual from out here-"

"Thank God..." Vanyali interrupted.

"_No visual,_" the bounty hunter continued, firmly, "but I'm guessing there's only one door in and one door out."

"Right," Kan'Sura chipped in. "I've got the corridor on camera – anyone tries to get in, I'll raise the alarm. Besides, Sam's armed, he'll be able to deal with any intruders."

"That just leaves Nikolai," Kyra mused. "I can't go up to him again, that'd look suspicious."

"No problem," Vanyali replied, encouragingly. "Tyco and I will keep an eye out from the gantries until you go to meet him. Besides, the assassins aren't going to attack now..."

"Why not? We don't _know _when they're going to strike."

"You heard Nikolai – at midnight, the guests will either be gone, or in the guest rooms. That means less witnesses, and less people to evade..."


	134. Operation Safeguard Part 6

_**Rosenkov Estate, Illium**_

_**Day 2, 2350**_

"Anything new?" Kan'Sura queried, for the fifth time.

"Nothing," Tyco muttered. "Sam's in Miss Rosenkov's suite, Kyra's milling around and socialising..."

"What about Nikolai?" Vanyali interjected. She was crouched at a crossroads on the gantry, cloaked and invisible, and bored out of her mind.

"In his office, alone. No-one's gone in or out in the last hour," the bounty hunter explained.

"I've got a camera visual inside his office," Kan added. "He's alone, just sat at his desk working."

"Alright," the female sniper considered. "Kyra, can you hear me? Nikolai's alone in his office – you might as well go and see him."

Kyra didn't reply, mingling as she was, but after a moment's delay she detached herself from the gaggle of guests she was talking to, and began to stride over to the door of Nikolai's office. As she did, Kan'Sura murmured:

"Assassins might well show themselves soon. Make sure you-"

With that, the quarian's voice dissolved into static, and Vanyali shot bolt upright. That was new, not to mention worrying. More troubling still was the sensation that _something_ had just passed very near to her – she was cloaked, invisible, so she hadn't been seen, but her nerves were jangling, her senses telling her that something was close. And then, out of the invisible air:

"This is Delta. Upper level is clear – move in, and go for Rosenkov. Keep the kill quiet."

Vanyali bit her lip to keep herself from yelling out, and shuffled slowly to her feet, covering her mouth with her hand to try and muffle her voice, as she muttered:

"Sam, Kyra, assassins are coming. Look out."

She was greeted with nothing but more static, and the dreadful sensation of a pair of eyes turning to stare at her cloaked form - she knew the stare was there, even if she couldn't see the eyes in question.

"Company," a low voice rumbled, and with a brief flash, a black and white form appeared out of nowhere, crashing a lithe kick against her face and knocking her down. A moment later, as her own camo failed, she found a strong hand clamping over the back of her head, slamming her face against the metal gantry rail.

Quite to Vanyali's surprise, that was the last of the assassin's attacks. Before she could retaliate, or brace herself for another blow, footfalls were ringing out across the steel gantries as he made an attempt to flee, his cover blown.

"He's running!" she yelled, to no-one in particular – her radio was still full of static. She was on her feet already, and pursuing the lithe form as he sprinted away. Well, she _presumed _he was a he – it could have been a voice changer, but his bass rumble of speech definitely sounded male, emanating from behind a recon hood of the type usually worn by Nemesis units.

Down below, in the ballroom, a few shrieks and screams were rising up to the rafters, alerted by the sounds of fighting, and Vanyali's shouts. A few of the guards were scrambling into action, reaching for their weapons, but they were far below, and Vanyali's tunnel vision was fixated on the retreating form ahead of her. The assassin was bloody fast...

And then, as quickly as he had set off running, he stopped, wheeled to the left, and _flipped _over the handrail, disappearing over the side. Vanyali stopped, hesitated for a moment, and then realised where the bastard had gone – he had cartwheeled over, dropping down onto _another _gantry about ten feet below.

Reluctantly, Vanyali ducked down, slid under the guardrail, and dropped for a few perilous moments before landing heavily on the lower gantry – the assassin was a _long _way ahead, but she set off after him nonetheless, resisting the urge to draw her rifle as she did. The problem, as she saw it, was taking a shot – not only would it alert everyone in the building who hadn't already heard them, but it was hard to take a steady shot with a Black Widow at the best of times. Sprinting along the gantry, her odds of hitting the fast-moving assassin were miniscule.

Even as she pondered that dilemma, she was lagging further and further behind the assassin – he was speeding up, accelerating towards the end of the gantry, which stopped dead as it reached a great glass pane on the edge of the second floor. Beyond the glass lay a perfectly flat stone ledge. The assassin hopped on one foot as he reached the glass, spinning around to take one anxious look at his pursuer, before whirling back around and slamming a biotic fist through the window. Twinkling crystal shards filled the air as the hooded figure bolted through the falling glass, executed a neat forward roll, and emerged onto the ledge. With a jolt, Vanyali realised that the sea – and freedom – lay over the precipice...

"He's getting away!" she screamed, abandoning all pretence of stealth.

"No he's not!" someone else bellowed.

Quite suddenly, and as if in slow motion, Vanyali became aware of a clatter of footsteps on the gantry above, the one she had jumped down from. Out of nowhere, a black form hurtled to its end, leapt, and passed straight through the adjoining window, which sat just above the one the assassin had shattered.

With a terrible roar and a cacophony of breaking glass, Tyco dropped out of the air, landing on the assassin's back and causing him to crumple to the floor. The startled assassin and his furious assailant rolled across the floor a little way, grappling, before coming to a stop just a foot or two from the tantalising edge, the assassin's route to freedom – Tyco had the man pinned between his knees, and as Vanyali stepped out onto the stone ledge, her companion dealt the assassin a savage punch, smashing his head against the stone before ripping his hood off.

"Bollocks!" Tyco roared. Vanyali couldn't see the assassin's face from here, but she could see Tyco's, and the expression passing over his features was a worrying mixture of anger and dismay.

"Quite..." the assassin growled, as Vanyali moved to Tyco's side, and came to stare at him. Her heart dropped as she saw the bluish face of a drell staring back at her.


	135. Operation Safeguard Part 7

_**Rosenkov Estate, Illium**_

_**Day 2, 2350**_

Downstairs, in Nikolai's office, Kyra was blissfully unaware of the events unfolding on the gantries above. In hindsight, she would realise that the assassins' jammers had rendered her earpiece useless, hence the 'uneventful' silence in her ear.

As Vanyali gave chase to the drell, Kyra was chatting away with Nikolai Rosenkov, who had been more than happy to abandon his paperwork in favour of continuing their discussion.

"I can have most of the merchandise you wanted out in the Traverse within fourty-eight hours," he was murmuring. "The small arms, armour, they can all come straight off the production line. The heavy weapons may take some more time..."

"How long?"

"Week's end?"

"Good enough for me, it'll take longer than that for me to get men together."

"Have you any contracts lined up?" Nikolai asked, curiously, taking a sniff of a glass of brandy that was sitting on the corner of his desk, before supping it leisurely.

"None so far," Kyra replied. "I was going to wait until I have the manpower and the firepower, then get in touch with some old contacts from my work with the Suns."

"I assume your husband won't be involved in the enterprise?"

"No, my _ex_-husband certainly won't be," she muttered, firmly.

"I see... well, if your work brings you this way, I could always use more security," Rosenkov mused, with yet another handsome smile – he was rapidly approaching his fifties, but he looked like a man in his early thirties. He continued, "Shipping escort, bodyguards, and so on..."

"Ha!" Kyra laughed, with a slight smirk. "Any excuse to keep me around, hey Nikolai?"

"Ah, foiled again," he chuckled, mirthfully. "I-"

Screams. Suddenly and surprisingly, screams were rising from the ballroom outside, and Nikolai Rosenkov's face went deathly pale. A dull mutter rose from the other side of the door, along with the whir of an omni-tool, and almost instantly the businessman was diving across the room, dashing his glass of brandy to the ground as he lunged onto the bed. Kyra's jaw dropped as he reached under the nearest pillow, and drew a Phalanx pistol from beneath it. He wheeled around, slid off the bed, and was just straightening up as the door whirred open, and...

No-one came through. Only empty air greeted them, as events continued to hurtle forwards at a dizzying pace.

Too late against that furious pace, Kyra realised that one of her own tools was in play – tactical cloaking. With a dull shimmer of blue light, three lithe, black-hooded figures appeared on the far side of the room, and every one of them had a Shuriken machine pistol levelled at Nikolai's head, even as the door slid shut, giving the impression to the outside world that nothing had happened.

Kyra couldn't quite say what made her step in front of Nikolai, but after a moment's hesitation, she did just that, coming to stand between him and the leering gun barrels with what she hoped was an intimidating glare.

"Step aside, human," one of the figures snarled, immediately. That oddity set the first alarm bells ringing in her head – why would a Cerberus assassin address her as 'human'?

Nonetheless, she stayed where she was, and she saw the slightest of falters in the assassins' grips. For whatever reason, they really _didn't _want to shoot her, did they?

Finally, the figure in the middle of the trio lowered his gun, stepped forward, and reached up to his hood – as he yanked it off, revealing a drell's reptilian face, the alarm bells became deafening sirens. Still, though, she stood between the guns and their target...

"Stand aside, human," the now-uncovered drell in the middle repeated.

"No."

"We act on behalf of the Illuminated Primacy," he growled.

"And I act on behalf of the Systems Alliance," she replied, throwing caution and her cover to the wind. "Operative Kyra Tabris, SSV Cambrai. This man is an ally – whoever ordered his death was misleading you, drell..."

"No, human," the drell replied, sombrely, "it is you who have been misled..."

Before Kyra could react, he gave some invisible signal to the figure on his right, and the other drell lunged forward, swinging a blaze of biotics in his right hand and hurling her aside – she slammed into the wall with a pained yelp, and slid down it to rest limply on the floor. A moment later, all was blinding white and crimson red.

_Bang. Bang. Bang bang._

The dreadful cries of gunfire rocked the room, and it took Kyra a few dizzied moments to realise that it was Nikolai who had begun shooting, not the drell. Almost instantly, two of the assassins lay dead, and the third, the one who had challenged her, was sprawled on the ground, choking his last few pained breaths through a bloodied throat.

A few feet away, Nikolai was stood, wide-eyed, hands quivering even as he gripped his pistol. He staggered back, finally, and dropped the gun to the ground as Kyra stumbled to her feet.

"I... oh God..." he breathed, and a wave of empathy passed over Kyra's senses. He was backing away towards the far wall, and she quickly followed, reaching out with a sympathetic hand.

"Nikolai, calm down..." she murmured. "It's fine, it's alright, this was self defence! We'll sort it ou-"

In an instant, Kyra cursed every ounce of naivety that had survived in her through the Omega days, because naivety had led her into this situation, and it was about to slap her in the face – in an instant, she found her outstretched arm snatched up by a firm hand, and twisted behind her back. The handsome smile on Nikolai Rosenkov's face gave way to an angry snarl, and before she knew it he was spinning her around, levering her into the wall and pressing her against it. To add insult to injury, she found her face slammed against the wall, before-

_Bang._

A blossom of pain spread over her abdomen, as warm blood ran from the trickling hole in her dress. Flecks of crimson had spattered onto the wall in front of her, and she left a bloody trail as she slid down it to the floor. Her vision was going hazy, and she could only just make out the conversation as two other men joined Nikolai in the room.

"Sir!" one of them called – a guard, presumably... "Are you alright?"

"Fine," Rosenkov growled. "But events have accelerated... Let me make this quite clear – the Alliance and the Primacy have infiltrated my home. They shot their way through the estate, and murdered my daughter. They attempted to take my life too, but you stopped them in time. Is that clear?"

"Crystal, sir."


	136. Operation Safeguard Part 8

_**Rosenkov Estate, Illium**_

_**Day 2, 2350**_

The events of the night were converging rather strangely – just as Kyra was entering Nikolai's office for the fateful exchange, Sam was looking over to the shapely form curled up at his side, and couldn't help feeling a little guilty. Sure, he was undercover, but... ah, sod it. There was nothing wrong with enjoying yourself once or twice. Granted, he might have been pushing his luck with _thrice_, but she'd enjoyed it...

He pushed himself over to the edge of the bed, despite the groan of protest from the blonde-haired head beneath his arm at his departure, and sat upright, reaching around for what remained of his suit. The pants were discarded by the side of the bed – with his earpiece surreptitiously tucked into the back pocket – and he slipped them on, leaving the earpiece where it was for now, for subtlety's sake. He took another few steps, recovering his belt from the end of the bed, and even as he was looping it through, he was pacing over to recover shoes and socks from the door. That just left his shirt and jacket, wherever they we-

_Click_.

Sam wheeled around in an instant, and his heart skipped a beat. Lisa Rosenkov had risen from the bed, tall and slender as always, covered with nothing but the bedsheets, which were drawn up to her chest, pooling on the floor at her feet. With her free hand, however, she was just dropping Sam's jacket to the floor – and his pistol was resting gently in her grasp.

"Explain," she murmured, icily, "why you have a _gun_."

"Whoa!" Sam spluttered, panicking slightly. In hindsight, Matthew Harris, mercenary captain, probably could have fabricated a good enough excuse. Like Kyra, however, Sam was gripped by panic, and threw his alias away in an instant. "Easy, easy! Lisa, put the gun down! I'm with the Alliance..."

_That_, however, didn't improve matters. Instead of dropping the pistol, she tightened her grip, keeping the nose hovering over his head as she muttered:

"Oh my God... Dad was right. You _are _after him..."

"What?" he coughed, in surprise. "What are you talking about? We're here to protect him!"

"You _really _think I'm stupid, don't you?"

"I'm starting to, _yes! _Your father's a supplier to the Alliance, why the hell would we attack him?"

"Because he's a _former _supplier," she retorted. "He withdrew the contracts two days ago!"

"He _what?_" Sam hissed. His head was a dizzying blur, and then:

_Bang. Bang. Bang bang._

The shots had come not from Lisa, but from somewhere on the floor below. Hindsight would later identify them as the sounds of Nikolai Rosenkov dispatching the drell. Moments later, they were followed by screams, and the noise of shattering glass, as Tyco and Vanyali took down the 'Cerberus' assassin. The whole night, it seemed, was descending into a chaotic maelstrom, and it wasn't finished yet...

Another loud _bang _rent the air, and after a minute or two's silence, in which Lisa stared down the gun and Sam stared back, there were footsteps in the corridor outside. _Someone _tried to open the door, but found themselves flummoxed by the lock. That wouldn't last long, however, and at the subtle noise of an omni-tool going to work, Sam's patience finally ran out.

"Lisa, give me the gun!"

"Why should I-"

"Give me the gun, you _stupid _girl!"

She blanched white, flushed a deep, indignant red, and then tossed the gun at his head. He caught it deftly, swung around...

And topped the first of Nikolai's guards to charge through the opening door. Sam's first shot cleaved straight through his head, reducing him to a limp heap on the floor. A second man, just behind him, was preparing an assault rifle as Vimes opened fire on him too – a shot found his chest, causing him to jerk painfully, and sending his spray of rifle fire off to one side. It raked over the dresser on the far wall, shattering the mirror on it and causing Lisa to shriek in panic. A moment later, however, Sam squeezed the trigger again, and a second round to the chest killed the man outright.

He rounded on Lisa with a furious glint in his eyes – gunfire was blasting through the air outside, and the ballroom was filled with a cacophony of screams, as his mind raced at fever pitch to work out just what was going on, and _who _the real enemy was.

"Stay here," he growled savagely, as the last mental pieces fell into place. "Take this pistol, lock the door, and shoot any of your father's guards who break in. They're here to kill you, Lisa."

With that, he tossed the pistol back to her, recovered his shirt from the heap at her feet, and slipped it on, pressing the communicator back into his ear as he did. Almost instantly, he became aware of his teammates shouting and bellowing amidst the noise of a dreadful firefight...

"What the _fuck _is going on?" Sam swore, violently – as he spoke, he moved to the door, grabbed an Avenger rifle from one of the fallen guards, and slipped a new clip into place. He was desperately hoping that his conclusions were right - that Nikolai had turned on them, and was trying to frame them for killing his daughter. If he was wrong, then he'd just killed two innocent men, and given a potential enemy a loaded gun.

"Sam!" Tyco yelled, gratefully. "It's all gone to shit! The assassins weren't Cerberus, the hanar sent them!"

"Makes sense!" Vimes replied, to his friend's apparent surprise. "I just found out Nikolai Rosenkov cut his links to the Alliance! He's gone over to Cerberus, you do know that, don't you?"

"I do now..." the bounty hunter growled. "What happened with Lisa?"

"Her dad's men tried to kill her. Probably planning to pin it on us – where's Kyra?"

"Dunno, we lost contact! Kan's got visual, but he's gone dark too!"

"What about you and Vanyali? What's your situation?"

"Pinned down on the ground floor! We've got one of the assassins helping us, he's a _bloody _powerful biotic, but we can't get to the exit!"

"Why are you heading for the exit?"

"Because that's where Nikolai's going! Must have a transport waiting outside!"

Advancing to the end of the corridor, Sam ducked his head around the corner, and was presented with a view of utter carnage. At least a dozen men in the uniform of Rosenkov's guards were at the far end of the ballroom, scattering shots at the three commandoes pinned down on the near side – Tyco, Vanyali, and a wounded drell. Most of the guests were clamouring to reach one of the exits, and sure enough, amidst the throng of people at the main entrance, Sam could just see Nikolai Rosenkov fighting his way out.

"Tyco!" he bellowed, making his mind up rather quickly. "Two of you need to dig in and hold off the guards while the third goes for Kyra – I think she's hurt!"

"What about Nikolai?"

"Don't worry about Nikolai – he's mine..."


	137. Operation Safeguard Part 9

**A/N: Yee-frickin-haw! After two or three months of being cautious, I stuck my neck out and tried the Resante fix for ME3's Black Hole bug - I'm playing as I type this, and it feels good...**

**So, enjoy the latest chapter, guys. I've got a galaxy to save.**

* * *

><p><em><strong>Rosenkov Estate, Illium<strong>_

_**Day 3, 0000**_

As midnight struck, Sam was pelting along the second floor landing, rifle in hand. He had forgotten his omni-tool, leaving it in Lisa Rosenkov's room, so his camo was out...

Luckily, he didn't _need _camo. The landing ran all the way along the side of the ballroom, stopping just short of the entrance hall, and carrying him easily past the line of Rosenkov guards now peppering his comrades with fire. As he sprinted, his mind was racing once more.

"Can't we call in Narl's men?" he yelled, still keeping his gaze fixed on Nikolai Rosenkov's retreating back.

"Already done!" Tyco replied, over the radio. "But they're coming from Nos Astra by gunship, ETA ten minutes! Nikolai will be _out of here _by then!"

"I'll stop him," Sam reassured his friend, as the landing finally ran out – he leapt, kicking feet off the ground, and enjoyed a brief sensation of weightlessness as he soared over the handrail, before plummeting down to the ground floor...

He landed hard, dropping into a roll to break his fall and smashing his shoulder as he did – nonetheless, he was free of the guards' attentions, and ploughed forwards, heading for the great entrance doors. Nikolai had already slipped through the throng of escaping patrons, but Sam found it rather easy to elbow his way through, thanks to the rifle in his arms.

Exploding out into daylight, he was presented with a dazzling sun, and was blinded for a moment, before his trained eyes began to take in the situation, reading it all in a split second. To the right, a guard was just crossing around the great statue that filled that side of the courtyard, blunt-nosed rifle in hand. To the left, a gunship was just coming to hover over the landing pad – it was fitted with a troop carrier compartment, but was by no means defenceless, bearing a rather lethal-looking cannon. Between the two, Nikolai Rosenkov was sprinting across the yard, making a beeline for the gunship.

Sam swung into action – he span right, and those guests who were trying to follow him out reconsidered _very _quickly when he began to fire. His first two rounds sprang off the statue's stone edifice, but the third hit home, spattering the flagstones with the guard's blood and brains as he crumpled to the floor.

That let Vimes swivel to the left, and fix his attention on Nikolai, not to mention that blighted gunship...

He blotted the latter out, and set his aim on Nikolai's retreating back. His shots were hurried, panicked, but the third managed to find his target, smashing into the back of his hip and causing him to crumple to the ground. No sooner had Rosenkov gone down, though, than he was screaming:

"Kill him! Kill him!"

With a dreadful lurch, the gunship abandoned the landing pad, rose a few feet, and the ugly cannon on its nose began to leer at Sam. A high-pitch whirred announced that it was spooling up, and all he could do was empty what remained of his rifle's magazine into the ship – the shots bounced ineffectually off, with two springing for the pilot but being blocked by the crystalline, bulletproof canopy in front of him. He dashed his empty rifle to the ground, and simply started to sprint across the now-chaotic courtyard as chaingun rounds began to follow him. He had half a mind to try and reach the entrance, to return to the safety of the house and hope Nikolai bled out...

Just as he set his gaze over the entrance doors, however, the great window above them shattered – not inwards, from the gunship's fire, but _outwards_, as though someone behind had punched it out. A blue form appeared out of nowhere, and instants later, the quarian's rifle was braced and ready, aiming over the courtyard.

_Bang._

Kan'Sura sent a single round from his Mantis whistling through the air, high over Sam's head – he wheeled around just in time to see the shot bury itself in the gunship's left thruster with a _chink _of bursting metal and a little flurry of sparks. The gunship swung around, spooling up the chaingun once more, hovering for a few fatal seconds, and then...

The gunship's engine _exploded _with a belch of smoke and eezo, and a hideous whining noise. It began to fall, corkscrewing through the midnight air, illuminating the night with a swirling trail of flames and glittering eezo dust – a few feet from the ground, the pilot seemed to regain control for a moment, before another blast shook the left wing, and his craft pitched forwards. With a scream from the pilot – and several more screams from the onlookers – the gunship smashed nose-first into the wall of the compound, and fell to the ground in a battered, burning heap.

"My work here is done," Kan smirked, over the radio. "Tyco and the others are finishing up inside, I'll go lend them a hand. Rosenkov's all yours, Sam..."

Vimes gave a brief nod and a growl, as he strode off across the courtyard. Around him, half a dozen or so of the guests who remained – most had fled, or had been caught in the crossfire – were panicking, scurrying off to find hiding places, or calling for their drivers to pick them up _immediately_. Scraps of metal and burning embers were still drifting down, carried across the yard by the cool night wind.

As he reached Rosenkov, he dug his foot under the man's wounded hip and rolled him roughly onto his back. Nikolai yelped and moaned as he did, but failed to stir any sympathy in the former detective. He strongly considered shooting him, but he didn't have a gun, much to his regret...

Instead, as Nikolai struggled to sit upright, Sam slammed him back down again with a punch across his jaw, and crouched over him, snarling:

"Why, Rosenkov? Why go to Cerberus?"

"You've seen the vids..." the businessman choked. "You're losing. Earth is gone. Arcturus is gone... It should be pretty damn clear by now that... the Alliance is losing... no, that they've _lost_."

"And of course, Cerberus has been doing _so _much better," Sam growled. "They failed on Sur'Kesh, on the Citadel, on Aephus... Cerberus is done, dead and gone."

"You'd like to think so... wouldn't you?"

"What are you talking about?"

"Oh, I'm not telling..."

"Then I'll beat you to death with my bare hands. How does that sound?"

"Brilliant. I'll see you in hell..."

Sam silenced Nikolai with a square punch to the temple, and stepped off the businessman's body as it fell into an unconscious heap...


	138. Operation Safeguard Debrief

_**Rosenkov Estate, Illium**_

_**Day 3, 0230**_

The sun was just beginning to rise over Illium's polar lakes, casting the midnight sky into a shimmering twilight. For all the chaos the night had wrought, Sam felt remarkably calm right now...

It had been a little over two hours since the fighting had broken out in the estate, and an order of sorts had been restored – ten minutes after Sam knocked Nikolai Rosenkov out, Narl and his men had arrived to save the day. Three gunships had swept the estate, while a dozen troopers under the batarian's command had taken on what remained of the Rosenkov guards – the guards had fought to the last man, ironic considering Rosenkov himself had been taken alive. Right now, he was being flown to Nos Astra Spaceport in one of the gunships, guarded by Narl and three mercenaries. The other two transports were taking the surviving guests and staff, including Lisa Rosenkov, to the safety of the mainland.

That left the estate rather sparsely occupied. Four of Narl's marines were left, and were laying out the dead in the grand ballroom - the guards were to be thrown ignominiously into the sea, but the staff and guests caught in the crossfire were to be taken away for proper burials once the transports returned, and the drell were to be returned to Kahje. Sam and his companions were left to their own devices – with the transports otherwise occupied, they were stuck here for the time being, and even if they _were _able to leave, they had nowhere to go. The transports would take them to Nos Astra, and from there one of Aria's ships would carry them back to the Citadel – there, they would have to wait until the Cambrai's own mission was concluded before it could come to collect them.

So now, they were sat on the edge of the great ledge that jutted out from the second floor. It was still littered with glass where Tyco and the drell had shattered windows in the chase, but the view was rather fantastic – the twilight was shifting over the stormy sea, causing the frothy waves to shimmer in the pale light.

Vimes himself was sat in the middle of the group. On the right, Vanyali and Tyco were sharing the remnants of a bottle of wine, taken from Rosenkov's stores after the battle, and beyond them was Kan'Sura. To his left was Kyra – the redhead was pale, and was clutching her medigel-soaked abdomen, but she was very much alive, and that was all that mattered...

A little further to the left, standing apart from the N7s, was the drell, Ekris, who was stood smoking a cigarette on the edge of the roof. They'd had a few hours with him now, and though he had spent most of it mourning for his dead squadmates, he _was _able to transform their muddled experiences into a big picture:

Just over a week ago, the hanar's intelligence networks had "acquired" rumours stating that Nikolai Rosenkov was planning to cut ties with the Alliance – further, more sinister rumours attached him to Cerberus, and were later confirmed by a leak from within the company. This presented the hanar with a problem – Rosenkov was an ally to Cerberus, but they couldn't reveal this without discrediting their comrades in the Alliance, at a time when public support was vital.

Their solution was an alarming one – to assassinate Rosenkov. The four drell had been sent to infiltrate his estate, entering his office his office at midnight and killing him quietly. While Ekris kept watch, the other three aimed either to sedate him, and use toxins to give the impression of his dying naturally his sleep, or else to kill him with no witnesses, allowing the old Illium cliché of "business rivals" to explain his murder. Kyra, however, had blocked both avenues by intervening, and this had led to their deaths – something which now wracked her with guilt, as far as he could tell from her demeanour.

The only unexplained piece of the puzzle was Cerberus' involvement, but Kan had cracked that after a little while – Cerberus had caught wind of the hanar's activities, spying on the spies so to speak, and had taken steps to prevent Rosenkov's assassination. They had told him to be vigilant, and he had clearly _known _the assassins would be hanar or drell – if he thought the assassins could be from _any _race, why would he have held a party allowing a hundred human guests into his home? As an added layer of protection, Cerberus had faked the documents of their own assassination attempt, and left them for Aria's men to find, knowing she would take it to the Alliance – were it not for the whole mess of events that had occurred, the Cambrai team might have gone through the whole night doing Cerberus' work for them...

"Heads up," the drell muttered, out of the blue. "Your men are back."

Sure enough, a lone gunship was hovering over the sea, downdraft parting the waves as it came in for landing in the estate courtyard, on the other side of the house.

"Best get moving, then," Tyco replied, clambering wearily to his feet. Sam did the same, before helping the pained Kyra to stand. Then, out of nowhere, the bounty hunter asked, "Are you coming with us, drell?"

"I presume so," Ekris murmured, drily. "I wasn't planning on being _stranded _here."

"Not what I meant," the human grunted, flatly. "Afterwards. Would you consider joining us?"

Sam's jaw dropped, and next to him, Kyra was looking on with similar incredulity. Had he really just asked that, out of the blue? The drell had spent the last few hours _brooding _over their part in the deaths of his comrades, and Tyco was asking him to join them?

"Why?" was his canny reply.

"You're a damn powerful biotic," Tyco shrugged, "and it feels like we're _collecting_ assassins, so why not one more?"

"You'd take me just because of whim?" Ekris said, raising a ridged brow. "Don't you think you need a slightly better reason than 'you're a good fighter'?"

"No, that's the _only _reason we need," the bounty hunter replied, firmly. "We've been picking up waifs and strays all over the galaxy – humans, turians, asari, salarians, krogan, _batarians_, even quarians..."

"What do you mean _even _quarians?" Kan'Sura interjected, with a tone of annoyance.

"What d'you say?" Tyco continued, ignoring him.

"We've got a few days on the Citadel before we go back aboard," Vanyali chipped in, "if you need time to think..."

"Yes."

"Huh?"

"Yes. If your captain will have me... I will join you."

"Well," Tyco muttered, with a brief nod. "That's that, then... now where's that bloody transport?"


	139. Operation Fortress Briefing

_**SSV Cambrai, Omega Nebula**_

_**Day 1, 0400**_

"Alright, thanks for turning out this early, everyone, but time is short," Murphy announced. "The Cambrai is approaching our target, and we need to be on the ground within the hour."

"No problem," Irving Wolfe growled. "But what the hell are _they _doing here?"

He was gesturing to the two batarians stood on the other side of the table – Murphy sighed, before muttering:

"Just hear me out, Chief..."

Wolfe grunted testily, and Murphy got the impression it was only his seniority that kept the man – along with his colleagues – from walking out. There were three of them, all human – more to the point, all N7s: Sarah Jade, Irving Wolfe, and Alec Carter. Opposite them were the two batarians, Vor Hebat and Aran Tur Akor, and of course, Lynus Rilum was next to him, ready as ever. He was coming to rely on the salarian more and more to fill the XO's duties – the duties _he _had undertaken during Colonel Hunter's tenure.

"We're in the Omega Nebula," he continued, stating what most of them already knew – their location had passed around via hearsay from the nav officers. "Approaching the planet Logasiri."

At that, just as he had expected, the two batarians stood a little straighter, their faces creasing into frowns – they recognised the name, and rightly so...

"That's a batarian world," Vor Hebat grunted.

"Right. A _mining _planet," Murphy nodded, stressing the middle word with a slight glare, because everyone around the table realised that _mining _was done by slave labour...

"There's a large outpost there, too," Aran Tur Akor interjected, presciently. "A hub for operations in the Terminus."

"How d'you know all this?" Sarah Jade put in, accusingly.

"I was a commander in the Hegemony," he sighed, "I made it my business to know _all _our worlds. I also happen to know that Logasiri was lost months ago, a few weeks after Khar'Shan fell..."

"Very good," the captain murmured. "The Reapers hit Logasiri colony in one swift strike, around the same time they seized the rest of the Omega Nebula. Since then, however, their numbers have thinned in the region."

"Why?" Alec Carter interrupted, curiously.

"Best guess?" Rilum muttered, answering in Murphy's place. "The Cerberus presence on Omega. Whether the Reapers are working with Cerberus or not, it is in their interests to leave Omega be. It promotes conflict in the region, and thus weakens the collective strength arrayed against the Reapers."

"What he said," Murphy concluded. "There might be husks on the planet, but actual _Reapers?_ None to be found in this whole system. Which presents us with an opportunity – a quick foray into the fortress in search of resources. Weapons, equipment fuel... anything we can use, we liberate."

"_Steal_," Vor Hebat corrected.

"Dead men won't miss their weapons," Wolfe interjected, harshly.

"If they were worthy of carrying them, they'd want them to be taken," Aran agreed. "To finish their fight..."

"Glad we're in agreement," Murphy called, putting on his best 'authoritative' voice. "The six of you will deploy within the hour – you enter under cover of night, and work your way down through the superstructure. Be sparing – if you can avoid a fight, _do_. Once you're done, the base needs destroying."

"_What?_" the two batarians interrupted, in unison.

"It's a breeding ground for husks," the captain reasoned. "If we leave it standing, the Reapers can turn it into a stronghold. Once you reach the lower level, you'll have access to the control room and the reactor core – open the central docking channel, and a second team will shuttle in to rendezvous with you. They'll be carrying a warhead – nuclear, the same spec our dreadnoughts usually fire. Haul it to a defensible position, set it up, then get the _hell _out before it blows. Are we clear?"

"Aye aye!" the human marines replied, while the batarians shot him brief, assenting nods.

"Arm up! You drop in an hour!"

They turned and filtered out immediately, but the salarian at his side hesitated, and stayed – a look of severe worry and _slight _disapproval was playing across his features...

"This isn't a good idea, captain."

"What do you mean?"

"You know _exactly _what I mean," Rilum frowned. "When we first met those operatives, they were holding each other at _gunpoint_. Irving was tortured at Torfan, Sarah lost her parents to the Skyllian Blitz... they'll tear the batarians apart if they get the chance, and Vor Hebat is just dumb and prejudiced enough to provoke them..."

"They're N7s, Rilum. They're professional enough to know that shooting their squadmates _isn't _a good idea, batarian or otherwise."

"True..." the salarian admitted. "And Tur Akor is surprisingly moderate, for a high-ranking official in the Hegemony. I don't doubt he'd shoot to kill, if pushed, but he's sensible enough to try and talk the situation down first."

"Exactly. Besides, why do you think I'm sending you with them? Keep them in line, Rilum, and they'll do just fine. N7s are some of the best."

"Aye aye, captain... by the way, you didn't say who our backup would be?"

"Well, they're taking the opposite approach to you, so I thought it should be obvious. You go in quietly, and by the book, and they... tear the walls down."

"So it's the krogan, then?"

"Naturally."


	140. Operation Fortress Part 1

_**Kher'Gan Fortress, Logasiri**_

_**Day 1, 0450**_

"Touchdown in three," Rilum murmured, paying close attention to the viewscreen on the shuttle's wall. It showed a gaunt, forbidding aerial view of the batarian fortress – the stone walls formed a dark pentagon against the obsidian-black surface of Logasiri, and there was a forbidding air about it. The middle of the pentagon was occupied by a great, circular hatch, which he knew shielded access to the central docking channel, a deep shaft that ran through the entire fortress...

"Have you checked the defences are offline?" Aran Tur Akor asked, from his side.

"What defences?" he replied. "You know this place better than the rest of us..."

"That I do... the fortress was built by slavers, so it had to be defensible. There's a defended gatehouse in the middle of each of the five walls, and an anti-air battery on each of the five corners."

"The Reapers tore through those defences," the salarian muttered. "I doubt they'd have seen reason to repair them, so we've got an easy approach."

"What were they defending _against?_" Alec Carter interjected, curiously.

"At first?" Aran replied. "Other slavers. Later, they turned the guns on competing factions in the Terminus. After that, they were preparing to defend against the Alliance..."

"Alliance wouldn't stray this far into the Terminus," Wolfe growled, suspiciously. "None of the Council races would."

"You have to remember, this was a good twenty years ago, a little time after humans arrived on the intergalactic stage. The batarian people didn't know _what _to expect, especially out here. The Council had been on the verge of war with the Terminus for decades, but they never pushed it over the edge because they couldn't be sure they'd _win_. Then the humans erupt through Relay 314 – a bunch of so-called primitives bloodied the nose of the mighty turians, and if the Council hadn't intervened, they might have given them a run for their money... So quite suddenly, we have 'the new turians' joining the galaxy. The guns of Shanxi start firing alongside each other, not against, and the Terminus craps itself – for a few years, it really looked like the Citadel was going to war. Imagine what it was like for a group of batarians slavers in the Terminus. The Council and the Alliance are looming over them – they hate the Terminus, they hate slavers, and there was a growing feeling among our people that they hated batarians in general. The slavers here were terrified that the Alliance fleets were going to bulldoze through everything in the Terminus, them included..."

"Thirty seconds," Rilum called, before anyone could offer comment on the batarian's monologue.

He was taking a quick mental inventory of his team and their weapons: Sarah Jade had a Paladin pistol and her biotics, Wolfe and Carter were both carrying N7 Valiant rifles, and the batarians were wielding squarer Argus rifles, along with deadly-looking Kishok Harpoon Guns, a batarian sniper rifle that was designed to produce as bloody a wound as possible. All in all, they had a surplus of firepower – four riflemen, far outnumbering biotic Sarah and tech Lynus.

Then, the shuttle hit the ground with a slight scrape, and the doors began to creak, hydraulics hissing as they prepared to open.

"Check your breathers!" the salarian shouted, over the noise – Logasiri's atmosphere was almost entirely CO2, so the squad had had to prepare as such. Irving, Alec and the two batarians were pulling on full combat helms, while Rilum and Sarah slipped less cumbersome masks over their jaws – his leadership role and her shielding biotics meant they needed their peripheral vision more than the 'point and shoot' riflemen.

Finally, the door hissed open, and the six of them thundered out into the long-abandoned courtyard of the fortress. A hard, CO2-rich crust crunched beneath Rilum's feet as he stepped out onto the planet's surface, and he was all too aware of the five forbidding walls around them, casting an ominous shadow over everything else in sight...

"We're heading for the north gatehouse. Keep it clean and precise," he ordered, as they fanned out from the landing zone. "Irving, Alec, you have point. Hold your fire until fired upon, we don't want to attract their attention until we absolutely have to. Vor, Aran, take the rear guard – keep those Kishoks handy for quick kills... Sarah, with me – we'll hold in the middle, and provide tech and biotic support as needed. Move out!"


	141. Operation Fortress Part 2

_**Kher'Gan Fortress, Logasiri**_

_**Day 1, 0510**_

The interior of the fortress was no less grim than the exterior. After tearing down the security around the north gate – the Reapers had somehow neglected to knock it in – Rilum and his squad had begun the process of advancing through room after empty room. They were curiously designed too, these rooms – they followed twists and curves that simply weren't present in the straight-edged exterior, and every few metres, a low wall jutted out into the corridor, to just below waist height. Furthermore, the lights were incredibly dim, making tripping over the aforementioned low walls rather easy.

"The top two floors were designed as a labyrinth, to be defended by batarians," Aran was explaining. "Our soldiers use rifles and shotguns, blades too – unless you're one of our few snipers, you do _not_ attack from range. Thus, our forces are most vulnerable to those who _do _– at Elysium and Torfan, the Alliance's snipers were the ones who killed the most, and that is no coincidence."

"So you like to get in people's faces?" Irving interjected. "On that we can agree..."

"These corridors are designed to give advantage to a batarian," the other man continued, ignoring him. "The curvature of the halls means snipers are useless – no line of sight. The low walls are designed to provide cover to the defender – he can hide behind them with a weapon, and mow the enemy down as he comes around the corner, unawares. If that wasn't enough, the doors have deadlocks, and there are turrets installed over every one of them. I suspect there are also a dozen different escape tunnels leading out into the wilderness..."

"Wait, hang on a moment," Sarah Jade urged. "_Turrets?_ How are we meant to deal with them?"

"We won't have to," Rilum muttered. "The power's down. I presume these lights aren't meant to be _quite _so pathetic under full power?"

"No..." Aran agreed. "They're running on the backups. If the reactor ever fails, the emergency generator starts up. It can't power the defences, or the deadlocks – it produces _just _enough power to keep the lights at a visible level, maintain radio systems and keep the oxygen generators from packing in."

"If the reactor is down," the salarian mused, "then it's fair to assume the Reapers were the ones who _took _it down. Stay sharp, everyone."

They journeyed onwards in tense silence, Wolfe and Carter leading, Tur Akor and Hebat taking the rear. Rilum found himself sandwiched awkwardly in the middle, with Jade at his side. Aran had been spot on when he described the upper floors as a 'labyrinth' – the corridors twisted and snaked, and the salarian's brain was telling him that either the corridors were on different levels, or they had just miraculously phased _through _a passage they had already walked down. In short, his brain was quite sure they had just turned back on themselves, and as that was impossible, it had to mean the twisting passageways were playing tricks on him...

Mercifully, however, they didn't _need _to keep track of directions – the labyrinth, however disorienting it was, was simply a _very _long, twisting corridor. There were no turn-offs or junctions, it just led them doggedly onwards – the design wasn't intended to _confuse _attackers, and get them lost in a maze, it was simply intended to maximise the amount of cover and fighting room the batarians could fit into a single corridor. After some indeterminate period of time – his omni-tool subsequently told him it had been twenty minutes – they reached the end of this corridor, an elevator which swung them lazily down...

And into another labyrinth, on the second floor down. The humans all let out exasperated groans at the prospect, and Vor Hebat was glaring angrily at the very walls – that glare was a permanent expression of his, it seemed – but the other batarian didn't seem fazed at all.

"It's fine," Aran assured them. "As long as we don't double back on ourselves, every path leads in the same direction – the elevators and the docking channel are in the centre, so the corridors must congregate there. The junctions are just a delaying tactic..."

That tactic worked. It took them another half hour to work their way through the maze. The first fifteen minutes constituted stumbling around and choosing directions at random, before they finally emerged right back where they started, at the elevator. After that, Aran had had yet another revelation – the corridors led straight to the centre, if you followed them directly: the turns left and right led off into other, parallel corridors which also led to the centre. It was an ingenious bit of psychology – an invader, paranoid about being trapped in the labyrinth, would think it 'too easy' to take the central path. He would choose directions at random, just as they had done, heading left or right at least once and getting lost. Meanwhile, every batarian in the garrison knew that the middle path would take you quickly to the centre, and thus they could outmanoeuvre and outrun their attackers.

Once they actually _knew _where they were going, they made rather quick progress, and ten minutes' journey along the central path brought them closer and closer to the centre. As they grew near, Rilum's radio began to crackle:

"Ground team, this is Captain Murphy, can you hear me?"

"We copy," the salarian muttered.

"What's the situation down there?"

"Inside now. The top two floors were a labyrinth – took us some time, but we're about to enter the real base."

"Any sign of hostiles?"

"None so far, but the reactor was knocked out – suspect Reaper activity. How's the backup team doing?"

"Dax is just loading the nuke onto the shuttle now. He says he's rigged it with a standard detonator, but he'll need your help configuring the remote once it's on the ground."

"Understood. Suggest you send another engineer with them, just in case I'm..._ indisposed_. Andersen would do, so would the quarian that arrived with the latest batch."

"Klara'Tseni? She's green," Murphy remarked, "I'm not sending her out with the krogan until we've seen her in combat."

"Probably a smart choice," Rilum nodded. As he spoke, he waved at his team, urging them to move on as before. "Send him down with the krogan, then."

"Will do," the captain replied. "They'll join you as soon as-"

"Holy crap!"

The captain's words had been interrupted by a hoarse bellow from the doorway ahead, and Rilum looked up to see a furious clash of movement, a flash of pallid blue, and an armoured form toppling to the floor.

Alec had opened the door, only to find himself charged down by a husk – he was on the floor, head pressed against the wall, grappling furiously with the hissing form on top of him. Rilum went for his gun with his free hand, but Alec's two fellow N7s beat him to it – Sarah lunged forward, swinging a blue-fired palm and tearing off him with a biotic throw. The husk flew away, smashed against the door frame, and made to get back up... but Irving was already clamping his boot over the thing's throat. With an angry growl, he put two rifle rounds through the creature's skull, and it slumped to the floor. Already, however, more hisses and shrieks were rising from the surroundings, filling the base with an eerie cacophony...

"You alright, kid?" Irving muttered, as he helped Alec up. The young recruit – according to the file Rilum had read, he had yet to formally graduate as an N7 – nodded shakily, and recovered his own rifle from the floor.

"Confirmed Reaper presence," Rilum told Murphy – the omni-tool radio was still resting in his free hand, his Locust SMG in the other. "We'll proceed, but the krogan need to be ready to deploy in a... _five _minute window."

"You got it," Murphy replied. "I'll have their shuttle hold steady over the base. Good luck."

The salarian nodded silently, switched off the radio, and looked back at his squad ponderously. Irving was by the door, guarding it with rifle in hand. Alec was trying to join him, although Sarah was fussing over him, insisting on checking that he was uninjured no less than _three _times. Behind them, the two batarians were looking on, their expressions a mixture of tension and bemusement at the situation, and the humans' reaction.

"Where now?" Rilum murmured aloud.

"Straight ahead," Vor Hebat grunted, and the salarian realised something for the first time – they had been asking Aran about the fortress thus far, because he was most forthcoming with his answers, but it was Vor who was actually more likely to _know _those answers... Aran might have been an official, a commander, but Vor had been a _slaver_, so of course he'd know this place... As the salarian concluded that thought, the slaver continued, "The elevators in the centre can you take you all the way down to the bottom floor, the control room. We'll avoid the majority of the horde that way."

"Right," he nodded. "Everyone, form up! Eyes sharp, guns ready – fire at will!"


	142. Operation Fortress Part 3

_**Kher'Gan Fortress, Logasiri**_

_**Day 1, 0610**_

"Elevator's just over there! Move, move, move!"

It was Irving bellowing – true to Rilum's instructions, the big marine was on point, leading the charge as they thundered out into the central chamber. The corridor opened out into a cavernous, circular hall in the shape of a ring – the transit channel in the middle was bordered by a waist-high wall like those in the corridors, punctuated every so often by a landing step. The _outside _of the ring was made up of a circular wall and a constant series of doors – half led out into the labyrinthine corridors, while those in-between them gave access to elevators, which moved up and down throughout the entire depth of the facility. The first two elevators had been no good – one was on the very bottom floor, and would have taken at least twenty minutes to reach them, while the second had been attacked: the Reaper troops had cut the cord atop it, sending it crashing into the depths of the earth.

As they got closer to the third elevator, a bevy of husks came sprinting out of the corridor adjacent to it – as Irving and Alec stepped up to spray them with rifle fire, a group of Cannibals began to fire from the opposite side of the transit channel, one shot bouncing off Rilum's shields and setting alarms screaming on his omni-tool readout.

He retaliated quickly, wheeling around and forcing the Cannibals back into cover with a vicious spray of fire – one of the monstrous forms took a shot to the... was that its head? Whatever it was, it splattered as it received a bullet, and the Cannibal dropped to the floor. A moment later, just as his current clip ran out, the two batarians stepped up – they had both grabbed their Kishoks, and in perfect harmony they sent a pair of screaming harpoons through the air. Moments later, two Cannibals went down, impaled by barbed steel spikes.

"Check the elevator!"

Rilum span into cover behind the low wall at the edge of the transit channel, ducking into it and reloading his SMG. Aran and Vor crouched either side of him, propping their Argus rifles on the wall and laying down a punishing wall of fire on the remaining Cannibals. A quick check back to outside of the walkway showed him the three humans. Once again, it was Irving who had just yelled – on his command, Alec sprinted towards the elevator, pressing his omni-tool against the panel on the door to check it. As he did, the older marine was putting down a trio of husks with rifle fire.

A moment later, his clip ran out – he ducked down, reaching for a new one, and Sarah stepped up without a moment's hesitation. With one hand, she was producing a curved shield of biotics which protected her two colleagues – with the other, she slammed two husks into the wall, shattering their skeletal bodies.

"Two floors down!" Alec reported. "Calling her up now!"

It occurred to Rilum that the three N7s worked with fierce loyalty and graceful synergy, far beyond anything he had seen outside the STG. Ironically, it _was _the same impression he'd gotten from his salarian colleagues while with the Group – elite soldiers, with bonds forged in fire and war, who worked in perfect harmony, not uttering commands but simply trusting that their allies would be in the right place, at the right time, doing the right thing. It was just a shame that harmony didn't extend to the batarians – the two of them were fighting fiercely with each other, but they were certainly separate from the rest of the group...

His attention snapped back to the fight as a pair of Cannibals approached – Sarah was shielding to the right, but they were moving in from the left... Quickly, the salarian jumped to his feet, raised his Locust in one hand, and sent a burst of fire at the approaching forms. The first one dropped dead almost instantly – the second took a round to the knee, stumbled, but raised its gun determinedly. Rilum finished the _thing _with a shot to the head, but it was too late. A grenade whistled free even as the Cannibal's body slumped, and it soared through the air, narrowly missing the salarian's head. It dropped towards the two batarians, was dashed against the wall before them, spun up into the air...

With remarkable precision and quick thinking, Vor Hebat sprung up, took one hand from the barrel of his rifle, and launched a vicious, back-handed swipe at the spiralling grenade. He swatted it away, and the shell bounced off down the transit channel, landing a few floors down before erupting violently into a burst of red flames. Drama aside, Vor dropped back behind the wall, braced his rifle in his arms, and continued to fire across at the Cannibals on the other side of the rift.

"Elevator's here!" came a yell, from behind them. Sure enough, Rilum turned to see the elevator doors swinging open. Irving and Alec were already diving inside – Irving smashed a husk's head against the door pillar with his omni-blade as he did. The two batarians sent off a last harpoon each, then sprinted for the elevator. Rilum followed, backing up so as to keep a gun on the approaching Reaper forces, and sending off odd shots to keep them on their toes.

Then, finally, his clip ran out with a subtle _click_, and he turned and bolted after the others. To his surprise – and somewhat to his relief – Sarah was waiting by the doors, a great biotic shield stretching around the whole squad as the Cannibals continued to pour fire upon them. She dropped it for a moment to allow Rilum through, before projecting the thing once more – a lone husk attempted to charge them, hit the shield, and seemed rather surprised to find itself _dissolving _mid-stride, turning into a mere blue haze in the empty air.

Rilum dove inside the elevator, an exhausted Sarah followed him, and then the doors were closing, as Alec hammered the controls and sent them whirring down into the empty gulf below. Personally, the salarian was just praying they didn't catch on and cut the cord. He didn't really fancy hurtling into the abyss at the whim of gravity...

"This base is big," he murmured. "It'll take at least twenty minutes to reach the bottom floor. Might as well settle down for the ride..."


	143. Operation Fortress Part 4

_**Kher'Gan Fortress, Logasiri**_

_**Day 1, 0625**_

"Everyone alright?" Irving muttered, turning to face Alec and Sarah.

"Just fine," Vor interjected, sarcastically.

"Not talking to you," the human grunted, pointing out the obvious.

Sat against the back wall of the elevator, Rilum couldn't help feeling a bit frustrated. Most of the squad was sensible enough to bury the hatchet, at least while they were fighting, but from the very beginning of the mission, Irving and Vor had been exchanging angry glances, as if they were each contemplating attacking the other. It wasn't so bad in battle, when they were distracted, but now they were faced with twenty minutes stuck in an elevator, and they were already at each other's throats. As far as the salarian was concerned, he would consider it an achievement if he could just stop them coming to blows...

"Sarah?" Irving prompted – the human female was sprawled against the wall, like Rilum, her eyes tight shut and her breathing heavy.

"Hmm? Yeah... yeah, fine," she murmured, unconvincingly. "Just a bit... tired. That shield was... harder than I thought..."

"Here, take these," Rilum sighed, reaching for his belt pack and tossing a small silver pack to the biotic.

"What are they?" she replied, catching them lazily.

"STG field rations," he explained. "Multi-purpose. Salarian metabolism is quick – ingestion provides feedback within a few minutes. Carbohydrates provide energy, proteins assist tissue repair, and so on... Nowhere near as effective on humans, but the calories should help recharge your biotics."

"Thanks... Wait, why do you have rations? This isn't a long deployment..."

"Expect the unexpected," Rilum shrugged. "The Cambrai's deployment on Benning was meant to be a matter of hours – they were stuck there for three days. No matter how long you go for, bringing rations and emergency meds is always good practice. Anyway,_ eat, _before you pass out..."

Sarah didn't waste a moment hesitating at the prospect of precious calories – she tore the corner from the packet and tipped her head back, drinking the mixture within with a fierce hunger which he had only ever seen in exhausted biotics.

"Tastes like chicken soup," she muttered, wiping a few droplets from her lips and discarding the packet on the floor of the elevator. The smell drifting up from the remnants was certainly appealing, although he didn't know what _chicken _was...

"Everyone have ammo?" Alec chipped in.

"Down to a mag and a half," Irving scowled. "Got a spare?"

"Sure," the recruit nodded, grabbing one from his belt and tossing it through the air to his fellow marine.

"Thanks... grenades?"

"Still got all three. You?"

"All _six_," the gunnery chief grinned, motioning to the grenade belts over his chest like a true pyromaniac. "Plus two incendiaries, just in case."

Silence followed, as Irving slid down next to Sarah and Alec, sweeping his brow with a frustrated hand. Like most riflemen, Rilum guessed he probably hated any sense of helplessness, and being stuck in a descending lift, surrounding by the Reaper horde – that constituted helpless, by most people's definitions.

"Aran, Vor," the salarian murmured, finally. "What kind of environment are we looking at when we step out of the lift?"

"Bottom of the transit channel," Vor muttered, as if he didn't _really _want to be having a conversation at all. "Round landing pad, walls up to the ceiling, three doorways leading off – one to the control room, one to security, and one to the reactor plant."

"Alright," Rilum nodded. "Here's the plan. We need to dig in, secure the landing channel, and hold the bottom floor long enough to install the nuke. The security station would also be a good place to check for salvage – if any equipment survived, it would be down here, in their armoury."

"Agreed," Aran interjected. "Going floor to floor for salvage is no longer an option. Whatever we find down here, we leave it at that, then see to the bomb."

"Right. The two of you head for the security station, grab what you can. Sarah, Alec, move into the control room and find the docking controls. Irving, you're with me – we'll try to bring the reactor back online."

"Why?" the marine asked, instantly.

"Because if we bring the power back on, the automated defences will be restored – those turrets ought to keep the husks at bay."

"Good plan," Irving grunted. "Are we looking at husks down there, too?"

"Not too likely," Aran answered, in Rilum's place. "The soldiers here would have died before letting them reach the control room."

"They _did _die," the human pointed out, bluntly.

"What I _mean_," the batarian frowned, "is that the Reapers would have required minimal manpower down here, and their troops probably would have had to move back up to deal with soldiers still holding out on the levels above. Expect a few lingering hostiles, but nothing more."

"Got it..."

Irving went for all of thirty seconds, before his fidgeting reached the point of yelling:

"Christ! Doesn't this thing go any faster!"

"It's an elevator," Vor scowled. "It only has one gear – just sit back and shut up, human."

After five minutes, the silence was broken by Sarah, who piped up with:

"I... have a question, although I know I might not want to know the answer."

She was looking at the batarians as she spoke, and predictably it was Aran who murmured, "What is it?"

"Why are there husks here?"

"Are you _stupid?_" Vor snapped. "They come with the Reapers!"

"That's not what I meant," Sarah retorted, sneering at him. "I mean, why are there... _human _husks. The Cannibals I get, they're made from batarians... the original troops overran the garrison, they were turned into Cannibals, and they were left behind to guard the place. But the humans?"

"I already told you," Aran said, firmly. "This was a slaving hub."

"And out in the Terminus, the only colonists are batarians... and humans," Irving snarled. "The slaves died and became husks."

"Correct."

"One question, then," the marine continued. "Did the Reapers kill them? Or did _you?_

Neither of the batarians deigned to answer – they seemed to think the question was contemptible, the answer obvious. Rilum recognised the accusation though, and it made sense given Irving's pre-disposed suspicion of batarians. The human was wondering if the slavers had forced their prisoners to fight for them, and killed those who refused...

They passed the rest of the journey in awkward silence after that, occasionally checking their weapons or their omni-tools. After fifteen more minutes of grinding slowly downwards, they were rewarded by a subtle _clunk _as the elevator reached the bottom of the shaft, followed a few seconds later by the _swish _of opening doors.

The commandoes were all on their feet before the doors opened – as they did, a startled husk swung around to stare at them. Aran was closest to the door, and dispatched it not with a loud gunshot, but with the quiet _whoosh _of a harpoon, which smashed through the creature's head and killed it instantly.

"Alright..." Rilum murmured, absent-mindedly and automatically switching to shredder rounds. "Move out, everyone."

He preceded onto the empty landing pad, and quickly made his way towards the passageway on the right – the various hazard signs and the writing above the door, translated by his omni-tool, marked it as the reactor plant. He took one last check of Irving – the marine was two steps behind him, rifle in hand – and then set off on his way...


	144. Operation Fortress Part 5

_**Kher'Gan Fortress, Logasiri**_

_**Day 1, 0650**_

It was probably wrong of him to say it, in the midst of an operation, but Irving Wolfe was _bored_.

He was stood at the entrance to the reactor plant, half-sheltered behind the frame of the door and keeping his rifle at the ready. Behind him, Rilum was doing the tech-y stuff – fiddling with his omni-tool, swiping at the three control consoles around the room, and generally flitting about like a hyperactive toddler. Well, a toddler with an extensive knowledge of engineering, anyway...

"How long's this going to take?" he called, over his shoulder.

"Not long," the salarian replied. "Reapers didn't damage the core, the batarians just activated failsafes."

"Why would they do that?" Irving asked, in a tone of confusion. "I thought you said switching off the reactor switched off their defences?"

"It does – did, even... But it also switched off the anti-air batteries on the surface. The last few batarians in the control room _knew _they were going to lose, so they powered down the reactor and the defences. _They _died, but they made sure any ship that came to investigate wouldn't be shot down by the AA guns."

"Right... They made it easier for us to clear the Reapers out."

"Easier to avenge them, yes."

"I ain't doing this for the batarians, Rilum. Frankly, I'm glad they're dead."

"Where does this hatred come from, Wolfe? Torfan?"

"You know about Torfan?" Irving frowned, turning to face the salarian.

"Naturally," Rilum replied, over his shoulder – he was still working on the reactor as he spoke. "Read your file before the mission – always read squad's files before a mission."

"Is that so? Gettin' inside our heads?"

"More to do with tactics. Understanding strengths, weaknesses – what skills you have, where those skills came from... Example – you're a rifleman. Lots of people on the Cambrai know how to fire a rifle, but their training differs. You were trained by the Alliance – you confirm your targets, you count your shots, you make every round matter. By contrast, someone like Uthar Vresh learned as a krogan warrior, and then as a mercenary. He places far less stock on precision – he fires from the hip, exhausts his clips quickly, and aims to overpower an enemy by sheer force. Two riflemen, two very different skill sets... On an open battlefield, in a long deployment, your tactics would win out. In urban combat, a short assault, Vresh would be a better pick."

"Alright, I get it... how long till the power's back on?"

"Sixty seconds."

Sure enough, after fifty-_eight _seconds – Irving was bored, and was counting them on his omni-tool – the reactor began to roar into life, sending tremors through the walls and almost blinding them as the lights returned to full strength.

"Power's back," Rilum chattered, into the radio. "Sarah, Alec, open the transit channel. And deactivate the anti-air guns before they come back online!"

"Done and done," Sarah replied, after a moment's pause. "Signal the krogan."

"Aye aye... This is ground team to Cambrai, what's the situation on our reinforcements?"

"Delivery team is holding steady over the base," Murphy replied."

"Alright, tell them to get in here," Rilum muttered. "Transit channel's open, and the landing pad's clear of husks for now."

_Just _as the salarian said that, a low rumble caught Irving's attention. Was that the reactor? No, the reactor was an ever-present drone in the background, this was a single... was it a growl?

His train of thought was derailed by a snarl, this time much louder and _definitely _not from the reactor. _Something _crashed against his back, his shields flared angrily as they died, and he was dashed to the floor. In his peripheral vision, he was a red-brown form dash past, a hefty foot smacking into his head as it passed, and then-

_Bang. Bang._

Rilum had his gun drawn, but he wasn't the one who'd fired. The Cannibal, having just knocked Irving to the ground, had stopped and taken two vicious shots at the salarian – he crumpled, coughed, and then collapsed to the floor.

The red mist took over from there. Irving scrambled to his feet, snatched his rifle in one hand, and charged headlong at the Cannibal's back. A great leap carried him onto its back and he began to tear at anything he could reach, smashing with his rifle butt, scratching with the gauntleted fist... Finally, his fingers found what passed for an eye – he dug in deeply, the thing screeched, and a great, painful yank sent them both to the floor once again.

Irving scrambled to his feet in an instant, spurred on by adrenaline and rage. The Cannibal was trying to stand, trying to raise its gun to aim even as one of its four eyes bled – a blue-grey mixture which _couldn't _be blood. He kicked the barrel of the gun away, then brought his rifle down in one hand, pressing it against the recognisably _batarian _skull...

Five rounds later, the Cannibal's head was an unrecognisable mess of dead flesh and cybernetics. Irving didn't linger to look at it – almost instantly, he was darting over to the wounded salarian, who was trying and failing to struggle to his feet.

"Rilum!" the marine barked, as he reached him. "Are you alright?"

"Fine, fine..." the salarian muttered, feebly. "Can still fight. Pass me my gun."

"Don't be an idiot! You're bleeding..."

It was true – two livid wounds had been punched into the salarian, one over his shoulder and one just to the side, over his chest, perilously close to his throat. Acid-green blood was trickling out of both, and it panicked the marine in a way crimson, human blood wouldn't have.

"In my pack," Rilum grunted through the pain, gesturing to the little steel case on his belt. "Medi-gel syrettes. Stop the bleeding."

Irving followed his instructions silently, taking out a syrette of gold before removing the cap and gently guiding the needle into the larger of the two wounds. Rather than wince or shut his eyes in pain, as some humans might have done, Rilum remained stoic as ever, _watching _as Irving withdrew the needle, and applied the second half of the dose to the other wound – both were quickly covered in a layer of transparent, solid-setting gel. Rilum looked like he was in a great deal of pain, but at least the bleeding had stopped. His neck and chest still looked a mess, charred by the Cannibal's shots and streaked in his green blood...

"Come on," Irving murmured, helping the salarian get shakily to his feet – despite the medi-gel, he still looked a little weak when he was forced to stand, probably from shock and blood loss. Irving was used to dealing with fellow marines who got shot, but he didn't quite know how the salarians – who looked slimmer and a great deal frailer – were supposed to react.

"We should go," Rilum agreed, and he sounded like he was speaking through clenched teeth, as if simply _standing _were an effort. "Reapers are smart, they'll know what we're planning. Should plant the bomb and leave, before they stop us..."


	145. Operation Fortress Part 6

_**Kher'Gan Fortress, Logasiri **_

_**Day 1, 0705**_

"Christ!" Sarah shrieked, "What happened to you?"

As far as the biotic was concerned, her surprise and concern were both well-justified. Irving had just staggered into the room, supporting a bloody, battered Rilum on his arm.

"Cannibal jumped us in the reactor room," Irving explained. "Rilum took a couple of hits."

"No shit, Sherlock..."

Irving scowled, and helped Rilum stumble over to one of the seated desks of the control room. The salarian reluctantly allowed himself to be sat down, although he still clutched his SMG in one hand, aiming over the desk at any would-be attackers.

"Where the hell are the krogan?" Sarah muttered into the radio, speaking to no-one in particular. She was starting to panic at the increasingly chaotic situation...

"Right here, lady," a gruff voice answered. "Touching down now, where do you want this bomb?"

"In the control room," she decided, instantly – this was the most defensible room, which had to count for something. "Take the west door, and follow the passage to the end."

"Got it. Two of us are going to stay with the shuttle, guard the LZ – from what we saw on the way down, you've got husks climbing down the elevator shafts to get to you..."

"Damn... Aran, Vor? Have you found anything in security?"

"Shitload of weapons," Vor Hebat grunted, in reply.

"The shuttle just arrived," she informed them. "Drop the weapons off inside, take anything you think you can use, and meet us in the control room."

"Understood," Aran murmured.

The radio fell silent, and they had to wait another five minutes for anyone to arrive – for _everyone _to arrive, rather, because they came in one big group. At the front was a burly krogan in maroon armour, who had a nuclear shell slung over his shoulder as if it were a lump of wood, and was swinging a Revenant machine gun in his free hand... Behind him was Andersen, a human engineer she had been briefly introduced to a couple of days ago, and who seemed to be an old hand on the Cambrai. Finally, bringing up the rear, were Aran Tur Akor and Vor Hebat – Sarah was astounded to note that the latter was carrying a _flamethrower_, apparently taken from the armoury...

"Alright," the krogan muttered. "Let's get this done and get the _hell _out of here."

'Getting it done' was a surprisingly short process. The krogan dropped the thing down – so roughly that Sarah feared it would _go off_ – at the back of the room, hidden behind the top desk, and Andersen went to work on it, setting the trigger and the detonator with a few minutes' work on his omni-tool. By the end of those few minutes, however, Sarah was... rather worried. Howls and shrieks were starting to reverberate through the walls, and the occasional shot rang out from the krogan back at the landing pad. Finally, after minutes of suspicion without confirmation:

"This is Vresh, the husks are here! We're holding them off for now, but there're more on the way!"

"I'll go," Dax muttered, after a slight pause. "Might buy us a little more time."

No-one challenged that, and the krogan dashed back out of the room, cradling his machine gun in anticipation. Back _in_ the room, however, the atmosphere was a lot more tense. Andersen had just finished working on the bomb, but everyone's attention was distracted by a sombre exchange of looks between Aran and Rilum.

"Rilum..." the batarian murmured. "You know what I'm going to say, don't you?"

"Presumably... the husks will crawl all over this place. Someone has to stay."

Stunned silence met that. After a moment's indecision and disbelief, it was Alec who spoke up:

"Why?"

"The husks will swarm in here once we leave," Rilum pointed out. "They'll start tearing at the bomb."

"You think those things are smart enough to disarm it?" Irving growled, disbelievingly.

"No, but they're definitely _dumb _enough to set it off..." Aran reasoned.

"...before we're clear," Sarah sighed, finally understanding. "We'd be caught in the blast."

"We don't _know _they'd set it off," Andersen murmured, with an air of desperation. "They might not..."

"Can't take the chance," the batarian commander grunted. "Six in our squad, four in yours, plus the pilot... eleven lives lost if we risk it. Only one lost if we don't. I volunteer."

"No, _I _volunteer."

"I'll stay..."

Awkward silence filled the air.

"Alright, I can see where this is going," Aran muttered. "All who volunteer, raise your hands."

Every hand in the room rose upwards, just as they all expected. It was the first dictum of being a soldier – you had to be ready to die for the cause, and for your comrades.

"Well, we can eliminate a few," the batarian sighed. "Rilum, you're leaving."

"No," the salarian objected. "My mission, my command. My duty."

"You're needed on the detonator."

"Andersen can do it."

"Alright, Andersen can do it, but you're still wounded!"

"Exactly. Wounded, less of a loss..."

"_Or_, put it this way: you're wounded, you might not be able to hold them off for long enough."

The salarian didn't seem to have much of an argument for that, and fell silent. Aran, still presiding over the dreadful choice, turned to Andersen next:

"Human, it's like he said – you're needed on the detonator."

"Aye..." Andersen murmured, reluctantly.

With that, the engineer paced over to Rilum, helping him out of his seat and moving him to the door in preparation. Five were left – the three N7s, and the two batarians, all of whom were staring at each other in tense silence.

"My turn on the eliminations," Irving interjected, finally. "Sarah, Alec, get your bloody hands down."

"Are you giving me orders, gunnery chief?" Sarah retorted, trying to pull rank – and failing, given his reply:

"Damn right I am. Wouldn't be doing my job if I let you stay, ma'am..."

That took another one out of the running, but it didn't take the two Irving intended out. Alec was bristling, and soon piped up indignantly:

"I'm the youngest, Irving. I'm not even an N7. I'm staying, no matter what you say."

The older marine sighed, but before he could try and convince the young recruit to change his mind, Aran interrupted.

"That makes four," the batarian muttered. "Vor, have you got smokes?"

The slaver nodded, and to Sarah's surprise he reached for a cigarette box on his belt. He seemed to understand his fellow batarian's meaning already, and thumbed four little white sticks out of the box, before handing them to Aran. In turn, he held them out to Sarah, who stared at him with a mystified expression.

"Snap one, please," Aran instructed, "then hold them out."

Sarah's stomach jolted as she realised that these were the straws - short or otherwise - which would decide someone's fate... She took them, broke one in half, then turned her back on the four 'contenders', shuffling the cigarettes around in her palm and arranging them so that the ends poking out were all level and identical. When she finally turned around and held them out, she found her hand was shaking...

Alec was first to step up – clearly the others wanted to give the youngest man the best chance of 'winning'. He plucked the left-most cigarette out of Sarah's hand, and:

"Crap."

It was long, and he tossed it to the floor in irritation, before moving to join Andersen and Rilum at the door.

Vor Hebat approached next, and tore one of his cigarettes out of her hand. She felt bad saying it, but it was to her disappointment that he held a long cigarette. He let out a little growl of tension – or perhaps relief – and quickly flicked the thing into his mouth, reaching for a lighter as he moved to the door.

That left Irving and Aran – the batarian waved the human forward, and the big marine came to stand opposite her with a sad, lopsided smile. She couldn't quite bring herself to meet his gaze... In a brief moment, his hand brushed against hers, and then withdrew, claiming a white stick as it did.

A _long _white stick. Irving seemed to sigh and grumble at the same time, and finally Sarah found it in herself to look at him, her smile a similar contradiction – it was both thankful and apologetic.

"Which leaves..." Aran murmured, stepping up and plucking the last white end from her hand. "The short straw. Good. Vor – your flamer, please..."

The other batarian nodded solemnly, tugged the flamethrower's carrying cord from around his neck, and slung the hefty weapon through the air – his commander caught it, hefted it into his grip, and then stared silently around at the others.

"Go on, then," he muttered, expressionlessly. "Get out of here, all of you... I'll see to the bomb."


	146. Operation Fortress Part 7

_****_**A/N: To those of you who read this chapter earlier and wondered why you were in Thedas, apologies. The latest chapter of The Return is right below this one in my Document Manager, and I accidentally clicked the wrong one. Blame sleep deprivation. Anyway, here's the *real* chapter :**

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><p><em><strong>Kher'Gan Fortress, Logasiri<strong>_

_**Day 1, 0715**_

The squad was silent as they billowed out of the control room. Andersen had sealed the door behind them, to buy Aran a little more time to prepare, and now the rest of them were heading for the landing pad, running with a vengeance.

Sarah had effectively taken command – Rilum was in no state to lead, hobbling along on Irving's arm as he was – and as they grew closer to the sounds of fighting, she began to bark orders, forming them as best she could from the textbook training she remembered:

"Andersen, we need you safe and on the detonator! Take Rilum, and get the two of you into the shuttle ASAP!"

To her right, Irving swapped his charge onto Andersen's shoulder, and proceeded with renewed gusto as he drew his rifle. After a moment's pause, Sarah continued:

"Irving, Alec, stack either side of the shuttle door! Vor, get to the krogan, give them the signal!"

Before she could issue any more orders, they plunged into the central chamber once more, and all was chaos. The three krogan were a way away from the shuttle, clustered together and pumping an ungodly amount of ammunition in their surroundings – every elevator shaft seemed to spewing husks and Cannibals and random intervals, and as they passed into the room, the one nearest to them on the right opened and sent three husks sprinting at their flank. Sarah turned, hesitated for a moment to let Andersen and Rilum move out of her line of fire, then swept out an arm, dashing all three husks against the wall with a biotic shockwave. Her attention distracted with that task, Sarah didn't notice another husk lunging at her back – it slammed into her, she faltered, a clammy hand was reaching towards her...

Quite to her surprise, the hand was smashed away by the butt of a rifle, and moments later Vor Hebat had decapitated the husk with a glowing enforcement gauntlet. He didn't stop to check if she was alright, or to take her gratitude, he simply bounded off into the melee once more.

Turning around, Sarah saw Andersen and Rilum finally cross over the shuttle's threshold – the human engineer set his salarian comrade down inside, then appeared at the door, clocking off shots with a pistol as Irving and Alec came to stand either side of him, guarding the door and sending off bursts of rifle fire.

Sarah made a beeline for the shuttle as, on the far side of the hall, Vor finally reached the krogan. He tapped the leader – a big, burly red specimen – on the shoulder, the krogan turned to look at him, and realisation dawned over the warrior's face. His hoarse bellow was indistinguishable over the chatter of gunfire, but his comrades seemed to catch his meaning, and all three krogan began to back up with Vor Hebat, moving slowly and determinedly towards the gunship.

"Ma'am, get inside!" Irving yelled – before Sarah could react, the marine grabbed her under one arm, and yanked her aside.

A husk, which had been plunging towards her as she stood in ponderous reverie, was suddenly faced with empty air, and moments later it was shot to pieces by a combined volley from Irving and Alec. The former pushed her inside, then waved for Alec to join her, and then finally span through the door to join them.

They had to wait all of thirty seconds for the rest of their squad, dispatching the occasional husk – the main body of the horde was piling towards the krogan and lone batarian, while the rest began to thunder down the corridor towards the control room...

Finally, the others reached the shuttle – Vor sprang inside, dispatching a Cannibal with a harpoon as he did, and the three krogan followed him in, _still _backing up and firing on the encroaching swarm. The big krogan who had delivered the bomb was to last to join them, and he continued to fire his machine gun right until the moment the door slid shut.

The adrenaline didn't stop pumping then, as it usually would. For one thing, husks were still battering on the door – Sarah suppressed dark laughter as the last krogan punched the _inside _of the door, trying to frighten them in return – and for another, they knew there was an active nuke just a hundred metres from where they were sitting.

"Take us up!" one of the krogan bellowed, and the shuttle sprang into the air almost instantly. It lurched, swung, and began to rocket upwards – Sarah couldn't see, but she imagined the floors of the base were _whizzing _past as they climbed, upwards, onwards, towards the light which was equally invisible from in here...

The shuttle lurched again as they reached the very top of the base, exploding back up onto the surface. Still the pilot kept his foot to the floor, and they were rocketing away about as fast as a shuttle could go, desperately putting miles between themselves and the base.

Andersen was checking the range on his omni-tool, and after a few tense minutes, he looked up, and nodded sombrely. He raised the omni-tool, drawing up the radio panel, and called:

"Tur Akor, can you hear me?"

Silence followed.

"Count of thirty," Rilum muttered, from the seat next to Andersen. "Only detonate if he doesn't answer after thirty. Shouldn't kill our own man."

"When did you get sentimental?" the other engineer replied. "I thought you were all about ruthless calculus..."

"Probably the wound," the salarian chuckled, mirthlessly. "Running a slight fever..."

Thirty seconds came and went, however, and Andersen shook his head wearily as he worked on his omni-tool once more, searching for the detonator sequence. All eyes were on him, except for Vor's – he was sat right next to Sarah, and she heard him murmur something that sounded remarkably like a prayer... She was the only one who heard it, however, and moments later, it was drowned out by Andersen:

"Cambrai," he hailed. "Need a second opinion – confirm we're out of the blast range?"

"Got you on the radar," a male voice replied – the co-pilot, Yurai, was it? "You're just leaving estimated range now. Is everyone out?"

"All but one. Aran Tur Akor stayed to guard the bomb."

"Understood... is he still...?"

"No response. He's gone. Let's blow that place sky high..."

With a grimace, he slammed his palm against a panel on his omni-tool, and the effect was almost instant. The viewscreen, which had been showing an aerial view of the fortress, was consumed by a bright white flash. The air around them was filled with a deafening scream, the likes of which Sarah had never heard before, and from the noise, it seemed as if the very ground were rending apart. Another look at the viewscreen showed that that wasn't too far from the truth – as the white veil faded, all that remained of the fortress was a great crater in the earth, utterly decimated, with deep rifts and cracks spiralling outwards into the black rock itself.

"Confirmed," the voice from the Cambrai murmured, quietly. "Target destroyed. Come on home, everyone..."


	147. Operation Fortress Debrief

_**SSV Cambrai, Omega Nebula**_

_**Day 1, 0735**_

As the ground team gathered around the control room, Captain Murphy couldn't help noticing that their moods were all very different. He'd already heard about Aran's death, and the reactions from the squad were alarmingly varied. Sarah, Alec and Andersen all looked somewhat perturbed, almost shell-shocked. The krogan, who apparently hadn't been present at the moment of choice, looked grim but not upset, having no emotional stake in the matter. Rilum was grimacing darkly, although that might have been more to do with his injuries than the situation – he had refused to go for medical treatment until they were debriefed, and was being held upright by Irving, who seemed utterly indifferent to the batarian's fate. Finally, Vor Hebat stood a little way from the others – he didn't look sad or upset, more... _bitter_, and he was casting dirty looks at Irving in particular.

"I'll keep this quick," Murphy began, "because _someone _needs to get his green ass to the medical bay."

He looked very pointedly at Rilum, and the salarian scowled back at him, before he continued:

"We lost a comrade today – most of us didn't know him well, but he fought with us, and that's what matters. In the end, he chose to sacrifice his life to save the rest of you, and that's the finest judge of character I can think of."

There was a slight, awkward silence. None of them knew what to say. There wasn't much _to _say, not without annoying at least _one _of the varied opinions in the room. If he continued gushing about Tur Akor, Irving would probably disapprove. If he said anything negative, Vor looked like he might start shooting...

"Where are we headed now, sir?" Hei Yui chipped in, finally breaking the silence.

"The Cambrai's running short on fuel," Murphy replied, grateful for the change of topic. "There's a surviving fuel depot in the Caleston Rift, the Balor system. We make a stealth run there, refuel, and then head for the Citadel. We'll arrive on Tayseri Ward in about two days' time – by then, Tyco's team should have finished their mission and caught a ship back to the Citadel to meet us."

"Caleston?" Andersen murmured, sceptically. "I thought that was in Reaper territory now..."

"It is," the captain nodded. "Hence the stealth run. Dismissed, everyone!"

They all turned and filtered out, except for one – Rilum, despite his still-bloody wounds, came staggering over to Murphy with a concerned expression on his face.

"I thought I told you to go to the med bay?" Murphy scowled, as the salarian reached him.

"Needed to debrief you first," Rilum muttered.

"We just _had _the debrief," the captain retorted.

"Will you just shut up and listen?" the salarian hissed. It was the first time he'd ever broken his polite, stoic manner in front of the captain, and Murphy flinched slightly – it was strange, to have the usually calm Rilum yelling in his face. He also couldn't quite be sure whether he was _deserving _of the anger, or if the pain of Rilum's wounds was seeping into his mood. The salarian made to continue, but as he did, he clutched his chest, and managed little more than a pained gurgle.

"Christ..." Murphy sighed. "Look, Lynus, meet me half way here. If you walk to the medical bay with me, you can tell me on the way, deal?"

"I... deal," Rilum nodded.

The two of them set off, moving out around the war room table and limping into the CIC – Murphy hooked his arm under his friend's to help his progress, and they wound their way slowly towards the elevator. Only when they stepped inside – and were ensured some privacy – did Rilum begin to speak once more:

"You need to keep an eye on Irving and Vor," he blurted out, finally.

"Wait, that's it?" Murphy frowned. "_That's _what you wanted to tell me? I _know _they don't like each other, Lynus. Vor doesn't like humans, Irving doesn't like batarians – he's not the only one, either..."

"You know the problem," the salarian grunted, "but you haven't seen the scale. Those two were at each other's throats down there, during the mission – the others kept their feelings out of it, but Irving and Vor? They were spoiling for a fight the whole time, you could see it in their eyes – the only thing that restrained Vor was Aran, and now he's dead..."

"He's got nothing holding him back," the captain concluded. "I still don't think it's _that _bad, though..."

"It is," Rilum assured him – he was speaking quickly, evidently aiming to make his point before the elevator stopped, and they were joined by others. "Trust me, captain, if you don't keep an eye on those two, they're going to fight, and one day, they'll decide not to hold back – one of them is going to _kill _the other."


	148. Downtime 11

**A/N: Double update for you guys today... Firstly, the last chapter was a bit short, being a debrief and all, and secondly, I'm off to Cambridge for another open day tomorrow, so I might not be able to upload. Anyway, I figured this would be quite a nice, if tense chapter to leave you with, so enjoy!**

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><p><em><strong>SSV Cambrai, Caleston Rift<strong>_

_**Day 1, 0750**_

As he strode into the training room on the engineering deck, Irving quite fancied smashing something – be it a training dummy, or a wall. He didn't have a grievance in particular - the batarian's death hadn't exactly been _hard _on him - but he always liked to work off stress after a mission, burning off what remained of his battling adrenaline...

To his surprise, however, the room was already occupied, and by the one person he _didn't _want to see. Vor Hebat was stood at the firing range, battering a circular target with rounds from a training pistol. The batarian hadn't noticed him – he emptied what remained of his clip into the wall, found the gun _click_ing empty, and growled angrily. With a yell that caught even Irving by surprise, he whirled around and hurled the pistol at the opposite wall – almost hitting the marine in the face as he did.

"Hey, watch it," Irving snapped.

"_So _sorry," Vor murmured, sarcastically. "You see, some of us actually _care _when a crewmate dies..."

"Oh, I care when it happens," the human muttered. "But I'm not calling a batarian my crewmate... So, no worries."

"No worries?" the batarian echoed, aghast. "No _fucking _worries?"

Quite suddenly, the batarian was opposite him, fists clenched, glaring angrily. The two of them were round about the same height, and they were both still wearing their battle armour – Irving even had his helmet on, and was peering at Vor through the solid visor and breather.

"I'm not cracking up over a batarian," Irving goaded, and rather harshly added, "I would have killed him myself, given the chance..."

"And me?" Vor growled.

"Damn right. I'd break your neck without a second's hesitation. The moment you're not working with us – you're dead, batarian. I guess it is a shame, though..."

"_What's _a shame?"

"That we lost him. At least he didn't have his head up his arse... why couldn't we have lost you instead? Or both of you – win win!"

He wasn't quite sure when his argument had turned into a death threat, but he knew he had pushed it over the edge when Vor Hebat slammed a fist into the side of his helmet, leaping at him with a furious snarl.

In an instant, he was in a warring mindset – he dropped back, allowing the two of them to fall and tearing Hebat off-balance as he did. They crashed to the ground, and he made sure to slam the batarian's head against the steel floor with an ugly crunch. A hefty fist smacked against his stomach, he struck another blow, cracking Vor's shoulder –

The two of them tumbled, rolling over and scrambling to their feet. Irving went for the batarian's shoulder again, trying to slam home the earlier, bruising blow, but Vor was quicker – he smashed his left fist into the human's face, and he was dismayed to find his visor shattering into twinkling, crystalline shards, such was the batarian's rage-fuelled strength. Even as blood began to trickle down along the edge of his eye socket, he hurled himself forward, throwing a punch to the batarian's gut before head-butting him, knocking him heavily to the floor...

While Vor was down, Irving ripped his helmet off to check his injuries – he swept broken shards off the side of his face, wiping the blood away. As he did, he caught his scars, and a surge of anger and pain filled his being.

"Why do you hate us this much, human?" the batarian smirked, as he got to his feet. Still wiping the blood from his cheek, the _human _already had his reply ready:

"Your people did _this _to me," Irving snarled, pointing at the ragged scars over the left side of his face.

"_Your _people killed my crew, stole my ship and left me for dead on some forsaken moon!" Vor replied.

"You were a slaver!"

"And you were a murderer!"

Silence followed, as the human fixed him with a furious, accusing stare.

"What the _hell _are you talking about?" the marine growled, half contemplating lunging in and attacking him once more.

"I've heard you talk about those blessed scars of yours," Hebat snapped. "You got them at Torfan! They were fair reward for a butcher of families!"

"Torfan was revenge for Elysium!" Wolfe yelled, stepping up so that he was shouting right in the batarian's face. "We killed God-forsaken slavers, not families!"

"Yes, you're all _saints_," the batarian hissed, sarcastically. "The Alliance and its so-called mercy – you only killed husbands, brothers and sons, so suddenly you're the good guys... You didn't kill families, but you ripped their hearts out – did you ever consider the wives and daughters you left to starve?"

"You killed families on Elysium. Sarah's evidence enough of that – you killed her parents!"

"And we were honest about it. Not like you. The Alliance was _begging _for war long before the Skyllian Blitz – you provoked us into the attack on Elysium, and what did you do in response? You executed a bloody massacre of our people, then, and _only_ then, you ran to the Council proclaiming yourself the victims! We were exiled from the Citadel – my people were left starving and alone because _your_ people couldn't honour their mistakes!"

"That is utter-" Irving spluttered angrily, but the batarian wasn't finished:

"I respect your value as a soldier, human. Your Alliance is a formidable machine of war – what I cannot abide is that it pretends to be an instrument of peace. Your people are like rats – they step on toes and bite tails, they snatch and they grab, and when inevitable retaliation comes, they weep and play the victims, and those they antagonised take the fall... You did it to the turians the very first time you set foot in our galaxy, and you did it to my people not two decades later... Who next, human? Have the asari been unfair to you? Were the salarians _rude? _I pray to all that is holy that you bite off more than you can chew, and your next enemy puts you in your rightful place – the dirt at the heels of those who are centuries superior..."

"Superior? Bullshit. Know this, _batarian_. Once we're done here – once your use is at an end – I _will _kill you."

"Oh, how frightening..." Vor snarled. "You say it like I've never faced a soldier before. If you want to go toe-to-toe, I'll be happy to oblige, _rat_."

"You think I'm the only one on this ship who wants you dead, Hebat?" Irving hissed, almost to the level of a tense, dangerous whisper. "Don't flatter yourself into thinking you're _valued_. I'd blow your brains out now if we didn't need cannon fodder. When the time comes, I wouldn't be alone. Sarah would pull the trigger, you _know _she would. So would Cross, and Thorne, and Klara'Tseni... The batarians are well-hated, and it's about time they became extinct."

"Run away, human," the batarian growled. "That's what your people do – insult and goad and provoke, then run to shelter and fake your tears. Make your empty threats when you're ready to follow them through. I'll wait till then to cut your throat..."

The human marine just laughed, drily and derisively, then made for the door. As he did, he murmured:

"Watch your back, batarian. I'd hate for the Reapers to kill you before I get _my _turn..."

* * *

><p><strong>PS. The vibe I was going for with the end of this chapter was kinda like Jack and Miranda's fight in ME2 - did it work?<strong>


	149. Downtime 12

_**SSV Cambrai, Serpent Nebula**_

_**Day 3, 0900**_

It had been a hectic couple of days for Murphy, since the debrief over Logasiri. Their trip to the fuel depot at Caleston hadn't been a total success – despite the Cambrai's stealth systems, they had still had to duck out of the system to avoid a Reaper patrol, with the fuel tanks only half full. He would have to try and requisition some from the Alliance embassy on the Citadel, or if all else failed, buy some from one of the hoarding merchants on the wards...

To make matters worse, Rilum, who usually helped him keep up with the sheer _amount _of organising the ship's compliment required, had been in and out of the med bay. He refused to be consigned to a bed – and at any rate, the two doctors had both agreed he was probably well enough to be on his feet, after the first few hours of pain relief – but he had to return regularly to top up his painkillers, and allow them to check for signs of infection or blood poisoning.

Rilum wasn't the only one visiting the med bay, either – Irving Wolfe had made a rather suspicious trip there a few hours after Logasiri, with bloody cuts along the side of his face. He claimed it was a souvenir from sparring, inflicted by one of the mechs, but Murphy couldn't help noticing that he and Vor Hebat were even more hostile than before, to the point where one would leave the room if the other entered, and one of the batarian's four eyes was blackened and bruised.

All in all, the captain was grateful for the prospect of a brief shore leave on the Citadel – once off the ship, the crew could get as far away from each other as possible, and find some way to relieve their stress.

They were just passing through the Serpent Nebula now, in fact, and Murphy was sat at his desk, going over the docking forms one last time. Everything was in order, and a berth was ready for them on the lower levels of Tayseri Ward-

So _of course _a message was about to pop up on his terminal, informing him that they were being rerouted to Shalta Ward...

"Err... captain?" the yeoman called, timidly, not a moment later.

"I see it," Murphy growled. "Tell Erika to change course. They'd better have a bloody good reason for this..."

Even as he spoke, the captain became aware of a dancing symbol in the bottom-right of his terminal, a series of pulsating rings which seemed to taunt him with the promise of explanation. He tapped it quickly, and the little symbol bloomed into a full-size comm panel, filling his terminal. As the static finally cleared, a turian face bobbed in the viewscreen, and let out a sigh of relief at the sight of him.

"Captain..." the face murmured – he looked familiar, but from where? The shoulders of his armour were blue, as was the collar, and his face paint was a series of black swirls, denoting some minor colony that 'integration' training hadn't covered. Then, Murphy realised he was calling from the Citadel, and it all clicked.

"Gabriel?"

"Ha," the turian laughed, "I think it's Commander Marin on official channels, captain."

"Commander?" Murphy muttered, raising an eyebrow. "You're moving up in the world... Still with Special Response?"

"Yes... at any rate, I consider the promotion temporary," Gabriel scowled. "My predecessor was shot by a krogan in the refugee camps. _His _predecessor died when Cerberus attacked. Nobody's lasting long in C-Sec these days, apart from old Bailey in the Embassies."

"Let's cut to the chase, commander," the captain interjected. "You're the one who re-routed our ship, right?"

"Yes," the turian admitted. "We've got a situation here, and I thought it might be prudent to seek your advice..."

"Of course, it's not like it was _my idea _or anything," another voice interrupted.

Commander Marin frowned good-naturedly, and shuffled aside to let the other speaker join him in the panel. To Murphy's intense surprise, that other speaker was a grinning Sam Vimes...

"Morning, sir," the former detective nodded. He had ditched the Illium formalwear, and was now clad in C-Sec armour, blue and black – his 'real' combat armour was still on the Cambrai – with borrowed weapons on his shoulders.

"Sam," Murphy muttered, in surprise. "I take it Illium went to plan?"

"Not at all, sir."

"What?"

"It's... a long story. Nikolai Rosenkov was with Cerberus, sir. The assassins Aria found out about? They were drell, sent by the hanar to take him out..."

"Damn..." was about all the captain could manage. "What happened?"

"Like I said, long story – I'll debrief you properly once you're here, if that's alright. Long and short of it, though? We arrested Rosenkov, recruited the only drell who made it out alive, and Kyra got shot."

"Is she alright?"

"She's fine, relatively speaking. She spent half a day in hospital on Illium, then they transferred her here – she's in Shalta General, just like Ethan."

"Good, good," Murphy replied, distractedly. "At least she's alive. We'll be on Shalta Ward in ten – where do you need us?"

"C-Sec's Shalta HQ," Commander Marin answered, in Vimes' place. "I arranged it so your docking berth is just opposite. Bring a squad."

"What? You're going to have to give me a bit more of a brief than that, commander..."

"Just get who you can," Vimes interjected. "Tyco, Kan and I will be waiting at HQ. I'd recommend Zya and Vanyali, at least – infiltrators, assassins, snipers... Anyone who can survive and fight in an urban environment."

"Understood. Maybe Mac'Tir and Thorne, too?"

"Good idea, we could do with a couple more biotics... And, captain?"

"Yes?"

"Whoever you bring, make sure they're armed to the teeth..."


	150. Operation Blackout Briefing

_**C-Sec Headquarters, Shalta Ward**_

_**Day 1, 1100**_

"Commander Marin? The squad's here."

"Excellent. Thank you, offi- Sam..."

As Murphy and his assembled squad traipsed into the C-Sec control room, he couldn't help noticing how _deadly _the assortment looked. Aside from himself, Murphy had brought Mac'Tir, Vanyali, Thorne and Zya from the ship – they had been met by Tyco, Vimes and Kan'Sura from their Illium team, as well as the new drell recruit, Ekris. From what the others had told him, Murphy got the impression the drell was a formidable, destructive biotic as well as an assassin. Good, that fitted the pattern... Every commando assembled was what his old instructor would have called a 'one-shot wonder' – someone who could strike a single target with a single, devastating shot, and bring them down instantly, be it by means of bullets, biotics or blades.

He had already been briefed on the events of Operation Safeguard – it was a mess, frankly. A major arms contract was up in the air, a couple dozen people were dead from the firefight, and one of their own was in hospital, nursing a gunshot wound. That said, they had recruited a new member for the team, and had a Cerberus agent locked up – that said, why had Sam looked anxious every time he mentioned Rosenkov's incarceration?

"Gentlemen," Commander Marin began, then, upon seeing Zya and Vanyali, hastily added: "and ladies... We have a situation here, and quite frankly, C-Sec needs your help."

"What's this _situation?_" Murphy muttered – he was already suspicious: the HQ had been empty, as if every C-Sec officer was deployed elsewhere...

"_This_," the turian continued, moving over to the central table and drawing up a hologram. "Is penitentiary K-1."

"A prison on the Citadel?" Tyco grunted. "That's new..."

"It's only a holding site," Marin explained. "You're right to be surprised – most of our prisoners are detained and questioned in C-Sec cells, then moved off to prison ships or penal colonies. _But_, we have to wait for ships to reach us and transport them, and that's where sites like K-1 come into play."

"The force calls them 'limbo stations'," Vimes nodded, taking the commander's flank. "You've arrested a prisoner, you've got all the information you need or want out of him, and then he's left in _limbo_ until a ship arrives to take him away. So you stick them in a holding cell and wait for them to show up."

As the two officers spoke, Murphy was examining the hologram of K-1. It was a rather unremarkable building, a white steel block with a hollow centre – that middle square played host to a landing pad, for shuttles presumably. It ran up for some four stories, and the few windows that were visible on the outside were barred – and probably electrified, he guessed. As seemed traditional, there was only one entrance, and one exit...

"So, let me guess," the captain sighed. "They got tired of waiting?"

"How ever did you know?" replied the turian, sarcastically. "K-1 was almost to capacity last night. Twenty minor offenders waiting to be shipped off to a colony for labour – they weren't much trouble, just pick-pockets and con artists who were being sent off for a fresh start somewhere _else_. The next twenty, though? They were trouble – all members of a local gang, taken down on a drugs bust. About half of them were junkies, and most of them knew how to use a weapon..."

"What species?" Zya interrupted, clinically.

"The gang were all human. The other offenders? Well, _mostly _human, with a few turians, asari, and one very belligerent krogan on an assault charge..."

"Very good," the assassin nodded, and she looked as if she were considering his words.

"The last prisoner at K-1," Marin continued, gravely, "was Nikolai Rosenkov."

"_What?_" Murphy hissed, icily.

"We extracted all the information we could on his dealings with Cerberus – it didn't boil down to much, just anonymous messages and disguised contacts – then sent him here. He was going to be transferred to Alliance custody, but before your ships arrived to take him... the prisoners rose up. We're not sure if Rosenkov inspired it, or if he was just lucky, but about two hours after he was locked up, a group of the gang members launched an attack in the transfer corridor. They were being taken from one block to another – they rose up, strangled two guards, and broke out of their restraints before acquiring weapons."

"K-1 was lightly guarded," Vimes added. "It isn't usually host to so many convicts, so the watch force was... not really appropriate for a full-scale breakout. They took down a dozen guards in total, as well as three officers from Enforcement who came to check out the distress call. Then, they scattered off into the ward..."

"And you've got no idea where they are?"

"On the contrary," the turian interjected, taking up the narrative once more. "We know exactly where they are. We set up a square security cordon around K-1, about a mile in radius, and tried to evacuate every civilian we could before locking it down. None of the prisoners got in or out of the cordon."

"And now you're going to sweep it?"

"No... now _you're _going to sweep it."

Murphy looked at the turian incredulously for a moment, before replying, rather petulantly in hindsight:

"Why don't you do it? It's your job!"

"My dear captain," the turian sighed, "think about it. I have fourty armed convicts inside that cordon, and an unknown number of innocent civilians. I also have more than a dozen dead or wounded officers, a holding station lost to the enemy, and possible Cerberus involvement – who do you _think _organised the breakout that so fortuitously took Nikolai Rosenkov to freedom? You know that the logical, safe response is-"

"To kill them all," Zya concluded, suddenly. "The four cordon lines advance through the streets, kill any convicts in their way, and meet in the middle."

"Smart girl," Marin nodded, gravely. "Now, I'd happily kill the gangers _myself_, those bastards deserve nothing less, but the others? They're just petty thieves and pickpockets. Your men have the opportunity to take them down non-lethally, a luxury my officers wouldn't be able to afford."

"How do we know which are gangers and which are minor offenders?" Tyco pointed out. "Everybody looks the same in prison slims."

"If they're shooting at you, and they're shooting straight," the commander grunted, "they're gangers. Furthermore, captain – I assume you'll want to take Nikolai Rosenkov alive?"

"Right," Murphy muttered, then turned to his rather large squad of infiltrators and assassins. "Rules of engagement, don't fire unless fired upon – wherever possible, take the convicts by surprise and restrain them for C-Sec to pick up later."

"I take it that's a 'yes', then?" Marin chuckled.

"Yeah, we'll do your job for you," the captain replied, teasingly. "Anything else we should know? Other friendlies, other hostiles?"

"I've got a few C-Sec officers wandering around inside the cordon," the turian mused. "If you find them, send them back to the line, or _bring _them back, if you can. Other than that, it's just a matter of... proper conditions."

"Oh?"

"We're cutting power to the district. The convicts have been ruling so far, but everything on the wards is artificial, even daylight. If we plunge the block into darkness, your men should have an advantage – assassins and snipers are used to working in the dark, drugged-up gang members aren't."

"How long are you cutting it _for?_" Murphy asked, intuitively. "I doubt your bosses would let you take power from a whole district indefinitely..."

"No, they wouldn't," the turian grimaced. "I've got approval from the Executor, but he's only given us six hours. If it gets tight, I can push it for maybe another hour or two, but after that, he'll want to send in the troops. Do whatever you can in six hours, captain, then get the hell out of there before the crossfire starts."

Murphy nodded, and moved off to one side, still considering things in his head. This whole situation was a mess – no proper reconnaissance beside Marin's second-hand account, no real objective, just a vague series of hypotheticals... it was exactly their style, wasn't it? He was increasingly beginning to realise that the Cambrai never did _anything _conventional, and their work rarely went to plan. A night-time romp through a block full of convicts? That must look like a playground to the trained killers in his squad.

"Alright," he called, turning back to his men. "You heard everything I heard. We go in, kill or capture every convict we see, and try to track down that bastard Rosenkov – I want him alive, you hear?"

"Got it, chief," Tyco replied. "How are we doing this? Small teams, large teams, one big happy family?"

"Pairs," Murphy decided, after a moment. Going alone would be too dangerous, but going in a large group would be too slow – working back-to-back with someone else was the best compromise. "There are-"

"Nine of us," Zya interrupted, presciently. "I volunteer to go alone. I work better that way..."

"Noted. That leaves eight of us – now, let me see... Mac'Tir, Ekris, I assume you two have similar trainings and tactics, and you're both biotics. You two will go together. Tyco, Vanyali, you work well as a team, so make that another pair... Kan'Sura and Thorne, you can complement each other well-"

"So that just leaves us, sir," Vimes nodded.

"Right," Murphy replied. "You know the mission. Move out!"


	151. Operation Blackout Part 1

_**K-1 Security Zone, Shalta Ward**_

_**Day 1, 1200**_

"Commander Marin, we're entering the zone now. Cut the power."

"Affirmative. Six hours, captain. Get it done."

With a single, pathetic flicker, every light along the street went out, leaving Murphy and Vimes bathed in darkness. The lack of light wasn't a problem – Murphy had already memorised the basic layout of the area from the hologram back at C-Sec. The whole zone was a grid of streets built on a flat area of Level 20, and the buildings ran upwards uninterrupted for six levels – after that, a plain metal ceiling formed the floor of Level 26, and was played across by artificial lighting and weather. Now that those artificial effects were gone, the whole block was almost pitch-black – the only light came from the C-Sec barricades, which glowed in a rough square for a mile around.

"Blackout confirmed – the zone's dark. All units, use your flashlights, thermals, night vision – whatever you've got, _use it_. Remember the plan. Murphy out."

The plan was fairly simple. The four pairs had each deployed on a corner of the square zone – Murphy and Vimes to the northwest, Tyco and Vanyali northeast, Ekris and Mac'Tir southwest, and finally, Thorne and Kan'Sura to the southeast. From there, they would move towards the centre, neutralising any convicts in their path and ensuring civilians were safe. With any luck, their routes would cover the majority of the troubled district, and they would converge on K-1 at the centre.

While they dealt with the convicts, Zya would move over the rooftops from the west, taking the quickest route to the prison and taking down any gunmen on the roofs as she did. She would arrive at the centre ahead of the others, recon the prison, and look for any sign of Rosenkov before the others reached K-1. Once they did, they would either join the search, or follow up whatever leads she had uncovered.

"Status?" he muttered, taking one last check.

"Moving in now," Thorne replied, first of all. "I'm moving in at close range, the quarian's tailing me from a distance with his rifle."

"We are beginning our task now," Mac'Tir rumbled. "Ekris and I have night-vision gear. Let the hunters become the hunted."

"I concur," Zya chipped in. "Moving onto the rooftops now."

"We're moving up," Tyco grunted, finally. "Thermal tracking enabled. You sure you're going to be alright here, captain?"

"Your concern's touching," Murphy scowled, "but I'm not some desk-bound officer, I 'm a soldier."

"Exactly," the other man laughed. "You sure you soldiers wouldn't like to leave this to the mercs and assassins? You know, the professionals?"

There followed the sound of a rather hard _slap_, and Tyco yowled:

"What was that for?"

"Just for being you, really," Vanyali remarked, drily.

The radio crackled into silence, and the two snipers were left alone in the lonely street. Murphy unhitched the Viper from his back – he and Vimes had both opted for the semi-auto rifle for urban fighting, as opposed to the slower, more punishing Mantis – and flicked the flashlight into life, sweeping the white beam along the rest of the street. It was empty for another two blocks, and he suspected most of the streets were. Anyone, trained fighter or not, would surely be smart enough to head inside during a blackout, rather than fumble around in the open streets, wouldn't they?

"Contact," a filtered voice muttered, in the depths of the radio's static. It sounded like Kan'Sura.

"He's down," Thorne's husky drawl announced, mere moments later, and Murphy was certain he could hear an axe blade being cleaned... "He's one of the gangers."

"How the hell do you know that?" Kan hissed. "He didn't fire a shot!"

Murphy felt a flare of annoyance that Thorne had ignored his rules of engagement, but it was nullified by the biotic's explanation:

"Only a career criminal would have prison tattoos like these. He's got them all up his neck – this guy did time in the Terminus..."

"What's his armament like?" Zya chipped in – her breathing sounded elevated, and the soft clatter of running footsteps filled the background of her transmission.

"Prison shiv," Thorne grunted, "and a rifle – an Argus."

"The M-55," the female assassin mused. "Standard fare for C-Sec guards, especially on high-security assignments."

"Makes sense. I bet K-1's armoury's full of these things, for suppressing breakouts. You can see how well _that _worked."

"Hush up," Murphy interrupted. "Or they'll hear you half a bloody mile away."

"Aye aye," Thorne droned, boredly. As his radio faded, he could be heard to mutter: "Hey, quarian, bet I can take the next one bare-handed..."

With the comms silent once more, Murphy and Vimes moved silently onward, rifles drawn and flashlights searching the street ahead. The houses and shop fronts seemed empty – anyone living or working here was close to the C-Sec line, and would probably have made a dash for evacuation rather than digging in. Further in, however, he expected that to change.

"Can anybody hear me?" a somewhat familiar voice shrieked, suddenly and unexpectedly. It was liberally laced with static, and was coming from a short-range transmitter, not their own squad's comms...

Murphy froze mid-step as the crackling radio filled his ears – at his side, Vimes had stopped dead, and his eyes were bulging in the darkness, visible only by the infinitesimal amount of light from the flashlights the two of them held.

"I repeat, this is Officer Kayla Weston, we need help! _Now!_"

The two men exchanged another, enigmatic glance, each bearing a mixture of panic and acceptance. Quite suddenly, they were both sprinting off in the direction of the signal.

"I've got your back," Vimes sighed, with a hint of mock reluctance. "But you and her are bloody well naming your first-born after me!"


	152. Operation Blackout Part 2

_**K-1 Security Zone, Shalta Ward**_

_**Day 1, 1220**_

"Argh, it stings..."

"Well if you'd just knocked her out in the first place, she wouldn't have _bitten _you, would she?"

"Oh, I'll knock 'er out, I'll knock 'er bloody brains out!"

"Don't. We need her alive."

"Why? I wanna smash the bitch's head in!"

"And _that, _knucklehead, is why I'm in charge. I'm aware it hurts you to try, but just _think_ about it. C-Sec have cut the power. Why would they do that?"

"To make it dark?"

"Oh, give me strength... Why would they make it _dark?_"

"So we can't see nuffin'."

"And why would they do _that? _God, it's like interrogating a three-year-old..."

"Err... so we can't shoot straight?"

"_Good boy_. And why does it help them if we can't shoot straight?"

"Because..."

"Come on..."

"Because... ooh, because then we might hit each other by mistake!"

"I give up... They've made it dark because they're about to _attack_, and we won't be able to bloody see them!"

"Oh. Tha's not good."

"No shit..."

"So, why'd we need the bitch? She ain't gonna help us fight them..."

"No, she's not. But the only way we're making it out of here alive is if we have a _hostage_ to bargain with."

"Ohhh... Tha's clever, that is."

"Yes, well I do _try_."

"But, why'd it have to be _her?_"

"Because you _killed _the other two, remember?"

"Heh, yeah... That was fun."

"Yes, smashing skulls is fun. You really are wrong in the head, you know that?"

As he surveyed the scene through the broken window of a furniture store, Sam couldn't help thinking that the two goons' discussion would have been funny, in any other circumstance. As it was, however, he was staring intently at the two convicts outside. They had set fire to a waste bin in the corner of the little alley square, and it was in this flickering light that Sam could see them.

The rather stupid grunt who wanted to smash his captive's face in was a hulking figure. His orange prison garb, with sleeves ripped off, had been supplemented with the stolen blue shoulder plates and boots of a C-Sec officer's armour, and he had an assault rifle in his arms. The second man was a rather wilier figure – his hair was slicked back neatly, and there was a sharp look in his eye. He had a pistol looped through his belt, but looked very much as if he let the other thug do his fighting for him...

They had a third colleague, but he was... no longer a problem. He had stepped away to keep watch and smoke a cigarette – no doubt stolen from one of his jailers as he died – and had wandered right into Sam's path inside the building. The infiltrator had made him swallow his own cigarette with a punch to the jaw, and had subsequently silenced the man, clamping his mouth shut before smashing his temple against the wall. He was still slumped at the foot of that wall, head bloody, heart quiet.

Now, Sam was watching the man's two colleagues debate the fate of their captive, and he was rather panicked as he did so, because the captive in question was Kayla – his former partner was sprawled on the ground outside, unconscious or _faking _unconsciousness, and things didn't bode well for her, given how two of her colleagues were piled dead a few feet away. They had been dead long before Sam reached them, killed by gunshot and dumped by a wall to one side.

Then, quite suddenly, the two thugs snapped to attention, as a new figure paced in from the far alleyway...

"Right on time," Sam murmured to himself. Murphy looked a daunting figure in the firelight, clad in black armour, with his rifle pointed squarely at the two convicts before him.

"Woah!" the smarter convict challenged, whipping out his pistol and levelling it at the captain's head. "Stay where you are!"

"Why?" Murphy growled, taking another defiant step and deliberately challenging the men, goading them towards the response they had planned for:

"Grab the girl!" the leader hissed to his grunt of a companion. Predictably, and just as they had planned, the big man swept over, grabbed Kayla by the scruff of her neck, and dragged her up until she was hanging limply in his hand, feet dangling a few inches from the floor. Now she was _definitely _awake, and her blue eyes roved over her surroundings in a startled manner, as he continued, "Drop the gun, or we kill her!"

"Don't be a bloody idiot," the captain admonished. "You kill her, I've got no reason to let you live."

"Oh?" the other man crowed, as if he had just won an intellectual victory – in reality, he was stumbling still further into the commandoes' trap. "But if we keep her alive, you do... _Drop the gun_."

"Or?"

"Or we hurt her... don't worry, we'll keep her alive, seeing as you asked so _nicely_. But there's plenty my friend here can take besides her life... her fingers, her pretty face, her dignity."

Sam growled almost inaudibly, and braced his rifle on the inside of the windowsill, barrel pressing against the glass. He set his eye to the scope, and set the scope to the big thug's torso – he was holding Kayla to one side, allowing Vimes a clear shot at his unguarded back...

"Gun down," the leader of the two repeated, sharply.

Murphy spat angrily, and dashed his rifle to the floor. A moment later, his adversary advanced towards him, still gripping his pistol tightly.

"Game over, mate," the man smirked. "You're unarmed, _she's _unarmed..."

"_He_, however..." Murphy growled.

Sam took that as the signal to fire – he squeezed the trigger once, twice, thrice, and three bullets sprang through the window. He was showered in shards of breaking glass, but in the alley outside, the big thug of a man had taken all three rounds to the back – his prison jumpsuit was torn wide open by three ragged holes, all seeping crimson, and he lurched forward. Kayla dropped out of his grip, hitting the floor with a yelp, and the big man toppled to the floor.

The other convict, now alone in a decidedly _hostile _environment, was nonetheless still armed. His attention, distracted for a moment by the shooting of his companion, snapped back to Murphy-

And the captain smacked him in the face. He recoiled, swearing colourfully and bleeding profusely from a shattered nose. Murphy snatched the barrel of his pistol, wrenched his arm forward, then twisted it around and broke it in a single, fluid motion. A quick shove to the convict's back and he staggered away, then _bang_. A single round through the back of the head, fired from his own pistol, brought him down.

Sam was already clambering through the broken window as Murphy tossed the gun aside. The two thugs were slumped dead on the floor, blood pooling beneath them, and a dazed Kayla was getting shakily to her feet. As Sam approached, Murphy was already next to her, and helped her to stand. Her response, however, was rather surprising:

"Bloody hell!" she swore, angrily. "Why do you _never _run into me when I'm busting a smuggling ring, or taking down a gunman? No, it's always when I'm the _bloody _damsel in distress, isn't it?"

"Easy, Kayla," Sam murmured, as he reached her. "Are you alright?"

"Fine," Kayla nodded, firmly. She always had hated looking vulnerable...

"Commander Marin," Murphy called, tapping into the radio once more. "We've found one of your missing units. Officer Weston is alive. Her two squadmates weren't so lucky... I'm sorry."

"Damn it..." the turian sighed. "Hostiles?"

"All down."

"There was a third one," Kayla interjected, hastily. "He went into the-"

"_All down_," Sam confirmed. "I smashed that guy's skull, no way is he getting back up..."

"Alright," Marin replied. "Thanks for letting me know, captain. Could you direct Kayla back to the barricade?"

"I'll do one better – Sam, escort her back."

"_What?_" Sam and Kayla cried, in unison.

"Just do it, Sam," Murphy sighed. "Make sure she gets back in one piece."

"I'm _right here_," Kayla scowled. "And I can look after myself!"

"And more importantly, _you _can't!" the former detective added. "You need backup, sir..."

"No I don't," the captain argued – actually, it was less _argue_ and more _inform_. He was fixing Sam with a very hard, very meaningful stare, and Vimes couldn't help relenting under his CO's pressure.

"Aye aye," he murmured, finally. "Kayla, with me, let's get you out of here. Captain... good luck."


	153. Operation Blackout Part 3

_**K-1 Security Zone, Shalta Ward**_

_**Day 1, 1240**_

"All units, this is Murphy. Sam's escorting a C-Sec survivor back to the cordon. I'm solo from here on out."

"Do you need backup?" Zya called, pausing on her rooftop perch to answer the radio. Privately, she was hoping she _wouldn't _have to go and act as his second – she much preferred solo work, and was rather gratified by his reply:

"No, it's fine – you need to keep punching towards the prison. How's it going so far?"

"I'm about half a mile away. The prison's not far, but there are gangers in the building below. How should I proceed?"

"Take them out, quick and quiet," Murphy instructed. "Make sure they can't hurt anyone else..."

"Understood," Zya murmured – she let the radio die, and leapt sideways in a graceful dive, plunging through the already-shattered skylight in the roof as she did.

She fell through it, cursed inwardly at the slight _crunch _as she landed on broken glass, and rolled away into the shadows, finding cover in the crook of the nearest wall. After a moment's pause, she decided no-one had heard her entry – no-one was coming to investigate, anyway – and began to slink along the wall, following the flicker of firelight that was passing around the corner, and the low mutters of hidden voices...

Rounding the corner, she found herself looking at what had once been a living room, now ruined by a firefight – a plush sofa was overturned, riddled with bullets, and a host of ornaments and trinkets had been dashed around the room by the fighting. The house's former owners were dead – a man was dead at the side of the door, evidently killed as the thugs stormed through the entrance, and a woman, presumably his wife, lay bloodied against the far wall, still frozen as if clutching at it for an escape.

The convicts ruled the place now. They had made a small fire in the centre of the room, and were using it for both warmth and light. Zya didn't dare get closer, lest the flickering strands of orange cast light on her position, but she could make out four forms around the fire – three humans, and one distinctly non-human.

"C-Sec's gonna be coming," one of them was muttering. Zya could just hear the little _click _of a rifle's safety punctuating his words as he toyed with it. "What do we do when they get here?"

"If they don't find us, we can slip out behind them," another pointed out.

"And if they _do _find us?"

"We paint the walls with their blood."

"Ha, I'll drink to that, Johnny-boy..."

There was a little _chink _of glass, and Zya saw the silhouette of a wine bottle being raised to one convict's mouth – it had presumably been stolen from a shop, or from this couple's kitchen...

"You want some, turian?" the drinker asked, turning to the non-human figure. _Turian_, Zya noted. "You look a mess."

"I can't, I'm dextro," the turian rasped in a low, haggard voice. "And I look a mess because I _feel _a mess! You're talking about killing C-Sec officers!"

"Course we are," another convict growled. "Them or us, ain't it?"

"For you, maybe! I'm only in here for Hallex possession! I'm not a cop killer!"

"_You are now_," the human snarled, firmly. "We're all in orange, turian, and we can't have any cowards holdin' us back – or shootin' our backs!"

"Right!" a second voice agreed. "Either you kill them, or we kill you."

"Alright, alright..." the turian murmured, and she could _hear _the note of fear in his voice. "I'm with you."

Zya made a mental note to just knock the turian out, rather than killing him, and shimmied along the wall a little, still sticking to the shadows and keeping her eyes firmly set on the group around the fire. The first order of business was to get rid of that damn firelight... She drew up her gun, and examined it quickly in the faint light. It was a Tempest, a sub-machinegun she was familiar with, but she had asked the engineer, Andersen, to make some tweaks. He had successfully fitted an internal silencer and muzzle flash reducer – the gun appeared as normal, but sound and light were channelled into the heatsink. The thermal clip wore out faster, firing just ten shots in its silenced mode, but those shots were silent and invisible, an invaluable asset for stealth work.

She had already loaded incendiary rounds, and all that remained was to take aim – she peered down the little holographic sight, also added by Andersen, and centred it over the fire burning in the middle of the room.

_Tap tap. _Two rounds shots silently out of the gun's barrel, leapt through the air, and plunged into the heart of the fire.

It took mere moments for the inferno to erupt, and a collective bout of yelps and screams met the explosion that resulted. Flames spread outwards, licking at the convicts' feet, and were immediately met by cries of:

"What the hell?"

And:

"Put it out! Now!"

After about a minute of running around like headless chickens, the convicts finally got round to _putting it out_. They stamped at the baying flames, kicked and stomped, then decided to try beating them out with a cushion from the fallen sofa. That worked, amazingly, and after another minute's effort, the fire finally flickered and died, bringing with it a terrible revelation for the convicts:

"Buggar. We just put out the light."

"Yes you did..." Zya murmured. She swept forward through the darkness, acute senses picking up the tiniest flickers of movement where theirs only saw darkness – she swept out a leg, dealt a hefty kick to the right, and felt a squishy form – human, then – crumple under her blow. She swung around, searching, found the man's neck, and-

_Snap._

"Christ!" one of the others screamed, as the corpse clattered to the floor. As they dashed around, fumbling for weapons, Zya had ample time to pace to the side of the room and search for another target. Her eyes were just beginning to adapt the light, and she could make out the body of a rifle...

_Bang. Bang. Bang._

"Argh!"

"Oh, shit!"

The assassin had to struggle _very _hard to keep from laughing – one of the convicts had drawn his rifle, fired at the 'attacking' form in front of him, and had shot his own comrade.

"You're bleeding!"

"_I know!_"

The two men were making a hell of a din, and they were loud enough for Zya to determine where they were, roughly at least. She grabbed her Tempest once more, aimed towards the yelling, and fired, _tap._

A single round whistled out, and with the aid of luck buried itself in the wounded man – it burned into his side, he screamed and died, and in the faint flicker of the burning incendiary, she made out the last human's form, took aim-

_Tap tap tap._

He dropped to the floor, dead and smouldering. With any luck, that just left the turian. Zya swept forward, slipping her SMG back to her hip, performed a neat forward roll, and straightened up, standing, she hoped, in front of the turian.

_Wham._ A hard fist crashed into her face, and she swore inwardly – in her excitement, she had forgotten that turians, ever the predator, could probably see in the dark a good deal better than she could.

The turian followed up his punch with a dive, trying to land on top of her – Zya, however, was too quick. She rolled away, leaving his face to crunch painfully into the floor, then leapt to her feet, pinned one of her boots between his shoulder blades to keep him down, and dealt a savage kick to his head with the other boot.

His plated face was hard, and her foot smarted even through her boot as she kicked him, but it had had the desired effect – the turian slumped unconscious, breathing shallow, but still present. Now she just had to find something to bind him with...

"Captain," Zya murmured, drawing up the radio as she began to search. "Four hostiles down – three dead, one incapacitated."

"Good," Murphy muttered, over the airwaves. "Now head for the prison – we need you on recon before the rest of us arrive."

"Aye aye, captain..."


	154. Operation Blackout Part 4

_**K-1 Security Zone, Shalta Ward**_

_**Day 1, 1400**_

"Contact up ahead. How do you want to do this?"

"You move in and work your magic. I'll cover from the rooftop."

"What, you're not going to help?"

"I'll help _from a distance_. Last time you went charging in, I ended up in the med bay with a suit rupture, remember?"

"You are _never _going to let that go, are you?"

"I could have _died!_"

Thorne fell silent, rolled his eyes, and reached for his weapons. He and the quarian had been pouncing on convicts all over the zone, and they usually followed the same pattern he would illuminate and daze his target with a flurry of biotics, then dive in with his axe, or step aside to let Kan'Sura shoot the man down. It had worked against two groups of gangers so far, and had been invariably more effective in the last hour, after Kan had taken a break download and install a new program – his suit's visor was now scanning the battlefield in glorious night vision, allowing him to guide Thorne with utmost precision.

The two of them had been tracking this latest quarry for a while now. Whoever it was – be it he, she, _it _or they – had left a trail of bodies in their wake, most of them hideously mauled, and had ruined row after row of shop windows and homes, unloading shotgun rounds into the world at large. Half an hour's pursuit had brought Thorne and Kan'Sura to what couldn't be more than a hundred metres away, just around the corner from their target.

"Ready?" the human muttered, checking his axe one more time. The blade was sharpened to a terrible point, but a few flecks of blood had hardened on the edge, souvenirs from the last convict he'd killed. He weighed it slowly, decided that it was just as usual, and then drew up his omni-tool on his other wrist, readying the omni-shield program that was already loaded...

"In position," Kan'Sura announced after a moment. Seconds later, however, he added: "Wait, no!"

"Make your bloody mind up," Thorne snapped.

"Looks like trouble," the quarian continued, ignoring him. "Krogan's pulled his gun..."

Then, quite slowly, as the sniper's voice faded away, Thorne began to hear the heated discussion that was billowing around the corner to his ears:

"Bring on the next one!" a bass voice was growling – the krogan, presumably.

"There is no _next one_," another voice sighed, exasperatedly. "You killed everybody on this street-"

"Then we go to another one!" the krogan rumbled.

"Easy, big boy," a third convict interjected. "No need to get carried away..."

"No need, just _want_," the reptilian snarl persisted. "I _will _test my strength!"

"Back down!" one of the others retorted, harshly. "You'll get us all killed-"

_Bang._

"_Shit..._" Kan'Sura swore, under his breath. The other convict's reaction was much the same:

"You just shot him!" he cried, pointing out the bloody obvious. "What the hell was that for? What the hell's wrong with-"

_Bang._

Thorne couldn't see the scene unfolding, but the shotgun blast reverberated through the wall behind him, and he heard a body dropping limply to the floor...

"Keelah... the krogan just killed both of them in cold blood," Kan explained, as if explanation were needed. "I think it's blood rage... want to abort?"

"Nah... I could do with some sport. Besides, we can't let him go on a rampage. We take him down here."

"Got it," the quarian replied, with a hint of anxiety. "How do you want to do this? He's about fifty metres down the street, crouching over the bodies with his back to you..."

"Okay... go in, disarm with biotics, then go for the throat with an axe blow. If he starts getting the upper hand or going for his gun, take the headshot."

"Right. Good luck..."

That was all the prompting Thorne needed – he wheeled out around the corner, and set his eyes towards the dark bulk in the middle of the street which _had _to be the krogan. He swept his hand back, felt the dark throb of biotics, then let rip, hurling a glistening bolt forward...

It wrapped around the shotgun, enveloping the solid bulk of the weapon, and sent it shooting off along the street – or at least it did for a few moments, before Thorne realised the krogan _still had hold of it_. He was clinging on desperately, but clinging on nonetheless, and the dull thrumin Thorne's blood died as the krogan regained control of his weapon and spun around, shotgun gripped in one hand-

_Bang. Bang. Bang._ Three shots, punctuated by the quick _chink _of the Katana's pump action, came flying out of the shotgun's barrel to race at Thorne's head.

Only his omni-shield saved him, summoned at the last moment to stop the buckshot – the first two rounds bounced away, causing flickering pulses to dance across its surface, and on the third, it flickered and died altogether. The krogan brought his gun around again, ready for another burst of fire, and then-

_Bang. _An altogether louder, almost _deafening _shot rent the air, and the krogan looked at his weapon in stunned surprise. Precise as ever, Kan'Sura had buried a single Mantis round in the top of the weapon. Thorne – and the krogan, for that matter – only realised it was a disruptor round when the shotgun began to crackle with arcs and sparks of electricity. The krogan slammed it to the ground in dismay as jolts of static stung at his hands, and that left him weaponless...

In unison, Thorne and the krogan looked up at each other, and both narrowed their eyes at the other, growling ever so slightly in the dark – speaking of the dark, the street was now illuminated in pallid light from the trailing wisps of Thorne's biotics.

The krogan lurched forward clumsily, making to charge headlong at the biotic, but Thorne was ready – a quick burst of biotics, and the krogan was hurled sideways like any other lump of meat. Closing him down at this range was practically suicide while he had his limbs intact, but without time to reach his guns, Thorne did the next best thing – as the krogan scrabbled to his feet, the biotic took aim, using his omni-tool's torch for light, hefted back his axe, and then sent it spiralling through the air, straight between the big reptile's eyes.

He fell back with a yowl, but stubbornly refused to die. His time was short, however – he made another, angrier attempt to charge at Thorne, but Kan'Sura had reloaded by now, and the quarian put a round through his knee. The simple prison garb offered no protection, and the round sank deep, spattering dark blood over the floor and causing the big figure to stumble and drop onto one knee.

That was all the opportunity Thorne needed – with the krogan incapacitated for a moment, he dove in, darted to the side to avoid a vicious swipe from his opponent's muscular arm, then grabbed the handle of his axe, still buried in the krogan's brow, and wrenched down hard.

The krogan's brow plate cracked and shattered with a hideous _crunch_, and he screamed in a maddened cocktail of anger, fear and pain. He was silenced soon after, however – Thorne took a slash at his pin-prick eyes, then buried the axe blade deep in the krogan's soft neck...

"He's down," the biotic grunted. "Somebody tell Marin we took out his krogan..."

"I expect he'll be pleased," Kan'Sura murmured. "Now if you've quite finished, can we get on with the mission?"

"Gladly," Thorne growled. "Bring on the next one..."


	155. Operation Blackout Part 5

_**K-1 Security Zone, Shalta Ward**_

_**Day 1, 1530**_

"Commander Marin, this is Tyco, reporting in."

"Finally! We haven't heard from you lot in hours..."

"Kinda busy down here, turian... We've got a hostage situation in the making?"

"Go on..."

"Convicts have broken into a large, one-storey building, looks like a store of some kind. I see two guys on the roof with stolen rifles, and more guys inside with various small arms... 'bout a dozen hostages, probably dragged out of the houses on this street."

Tyco and Vanyali were looking directly _at _that one-storey building, lying face-down on the roof of a store on the other side of the street. Their rifles were jutting over the edge, thermal scopes boring into the packed store opposite as they communed with the C-Sec commander.

"Sounds like they're preparing..." Marin mused.

"Yeah, for you," Tyco replied, bluntly. "They've seen the cordon, and they know you're going to attack – they're takin' hostages to try and get out of that attack alive."

"Damn it. How many hostiles inside the building?"

"Four in the front room... maybe two in the back."

"Maybe?"

"Thermals are getting some signatures, but it could be from heating systems..."

"The power's off, human. No heating."

"Oh, right."

"_Idiot,_" Vanyali smirked, from his side. He merely glared at her, and continued:

"Advice, commander? We're in the centre of the zone, closing on the prison."

"Well outside our range, then," the C-Sec officer concluded. "Is it just the two of you?"

"_No_," another voice interjected, quite to Tyco's surprise... It was low, and tinged with an almost indeterminable quaver, at the very edges of human hearing.

"Mac'Tir?" Vanyali asked.

"Affirmative," the voice replied, and this time Tyco could easily recognise the drell's subtle murmur. "Ekris and I are approaching the rear of your building. How should we proceed?"

"Sneak in the back, and take out those guys waiting in the wings," Tyco's fellow sniper instructed, effortlessly taking over the command duties. "And do it _quietly_, we don't want to alert the rest."

The drell didn't respond. Tyco merely saw two more blips approach on his thermal scope – they were a good deal cooler than the convicts, and the two bluish spectres edged over closer to the two red blurs in the back of the building. Tyco saw them split up, each positioning themselves behind one of the convicts, and then everything became a blur – the rasp of a blade was whispered over the airwaves as Mac'Tir took his target down, and a moment later, Ekris followed, knocking his man dead with a dull _whump _of biotics.

"Both down," the drell confirmed, and Tyco looked to Vanyali, deferring to her Alliance-bred tactics for direction...

"Alright," she murmured, finally. "Position yourselves by the door. There are two men just beyond it, on either side of the doorway. Another two are in the middle of the room, with the hostages. The last two are on the roof..."

"Can't you take them down?" Ekris muttered, sceptically.

"We're not using silencers," Vanyali frowned. "Black Widows can't really _be _silenced. The moment we fire, they know what we're up to. You two need to take on the guys inside, then we'll fire on the roof guards..."

"Understood," Mac'Tir replied – the drell was quiet, business-like even, and almost instantly he and Ekris could be seen sidling into the door way, standing ready on the other side.

"On my mark, breach. Tyco, once they're in, we take the guys on the roof, okay?"

"Okay," he nodded.

"And... _breach_."

True to form, the drell even breached a _door _with style. A violent rush of energy ripped it off its hinges, blotting Tyco's scope with livid red, and two smaller flashes rent the air as Ekris darted through the door, crippling targets to left and right with his biotics. Mac'Tir swept through, heading for the hostage-takers in the middle of the room, and Tyco saw the flash of a blade take one man's throat apart.

_Bang. _With a livid cry from her rifle, Vanyali opened fire, and one of the rooftop guards slumped dead, his silhouette growing cold and blue on Tyco's scope. The mercenary made to aim upwards, for the second guard, but as he did, he saw Mac'Tir bound towards the second of his targets, leap into the air-

And take a solid crack across the jaw from the man's rifle butt. The drell smashed back down to the floor, dazed, and the rifleman swung his gun down.

At that moment, the convict and Tyco shared a harmonious moment of indecision. He was deciding whether to shoot the grounded Mac'Tir or one of his hostages – Tyco was deciding whether to shoot _him _or the roof guard.

After that lone moment of hesitation, he made up his mind – he let the scope drift downwards, squeezed the trigger, and watched with satisfaction as the last hostage-taker crumpled to the floor.

That satisfaction dissolved as a loud _crack_ filled the air, Vanyali yelled in surprise and horror, and a warm feeling began to seep through his shoulder...

Thick blood began to seep out from beneath his armour, which had been punctured by three well-aimed rounds from the roof guard. A jolt of pain paralysed his joints, and he dropped his rifle – it clattered down on the roof, and Vanyali was left to mow down the riflemen with another Widow round, as Ekris broke the neck of the last man inside.

"Christ..." she breathed, moving to his side – she was reaching for omni-gel, but was interrupted by a chatter of conversation from the radio. Tyco waved her off, rolling onto his side to alleviate the pain in his shoulder, and began to listen in:

"Can anybody here this?" a female voice inquired – it was Zya's synthetic burble, and she sounded rather less serene than usual...

"We hear you," Vanyali muttered, instantly. "Where are you?"

"In the prison," Zya replied, quickly. "I've got documents."

"Already?"

"Don't complain, just listen. Cerberus was involved."

"Knew it," a new voice growled – was that Murphy?

"They used a double agent inside the prison," Zya continued. "One of the guards transferring the gangers _let them out _and shot his partner. Cerberus gave them their freedom, in exchange for helping break Rosenkov out..."

"Figures... you've got proof?"

"I've got the double agent's omni-tool, and all the calls recorded on it... Cerberus were smart enough to order his death, but not smart enough to wipe the files."

"Any clues where Rosenkov is now?"

"Seems the plan was to take him to Kasera Tower. It's an office complex-"

"I know," Murphy interrupted. "Tallest building in the zone. I'm only a block away, diverting now."

"We'll rendezvous-" Vanyali began, but the captain cut her off:

"Negative. Stay where you are, find the nearest convicts, and _raise hell_. I need a distraction."

"Aye aye..."

Murphy faded into static, and Vanyali turned to Tyco – the face beneath her visor was concerned and annoyed at the same time.

"He's gonna get himself killed," Tyco muttered.

"I know he said not to help-"

"Sod it. His pride'll heal a lot quicker than his wounds. Go help him out."

"What about you?" she said, brow knitting into an expression of concern.

"I'll be fine," he assured her – rather unhelpfully, his shoulder chose that moment to flare up and provoke a grunt of pain from the big merc. Then, he added, over the radio: "Mac'Tir, Ekris!"

"Yes?" the drell rasped.

"Go with her. Kasera Tower, quick-sharp."

"Affirmative..."

"What about me?" Zya interjected.

"Are you safe in the prison?"

"I... uncertain. There's a gang closing, but I can probably take them on..."

"Don't take chances. Kan'Sura, Thorne! Can you bloody hear me?"

"What is it?" the biotic grunted – a few shots echoed in the background. "We're tracking a couple of convicts right now."

"Abort," Tyco replied, firmly. "Zya needs backup at the prison, _now_."

"Understood," Kan'Sura murmured – Thorne merely growled frustratedly.

"Move quickly, everyone," the bounty hunter instructed, reaching for his rifle and rolling back onto his front, despite the burning pain now spreading now his arm... "I think this is about to get interesting."


	156. Operation Blackout Part 6

**A/N: Apologies for the lack of an update yesterday. I ended up going on a trip to Oxford uni at short notice, and didn't have any chapters in reserve, so when we got back late, I was sort of stuck. Anyway, enjoy today's chapter (and the cliffhanger that comes with it...):**

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><p><em><strong>K-1 Security Zone, Shalta Ward<strong>_

_**Day 1, 1540**_

As he traipsed into the lowest level of Kasera Tower, there was quite a lot Murphy hadn't told his comrades. He could hear them chattering in the dark, but he didn't fancy sharing his suspicions, all of which could be neatly summarised: Cerberus didn't _make _mistakes. If they had left a trail, it wasn't through sloppiness, especially in such a dangerous game as this. Furthermore, the dead man on whom the evidence was found was Cerberus' only contact with the convicts – if Cerberus had ordered his death, that order would have had to come through _him_. Unless there was another agent, another contact... so who was it?

The captain couldn't quite tell why, but he already had an inkling who it was, who had killed the Cerberus agent, leaving his radio log as a convenient trail to be followed... Whether he was right or wrong, however, the only way to _reach _him was to follow his trail – right to Nikolai Rosenkov.

With that decided, he set his eyes back to his surroundings – Kasera Tower was a bizarre mixture of opulence and chaos, the two intertwined and weaving through the corridors... The walls were polished steel, and the corridors were lit by sweeping, elegant white lights – here and there, a gleaming bulb had been shot out, a memento of the siege this building had evidently endured. Two convicts lay dead by the door, weapons abandoned, but the trail of civilian corpses leading inside seemed to suggest that a few more of the men in orange had made it through, possibly with their new accomplice in tow...

Murphy shouldered his rifle – he had swapped his Viper for a burst-firing Vindicator, which was altogether more appropriate at close range – and moved through to the stairwell, an old-fashioned square spiral of steel which rose through the entirety of the six-storey building. As Murphy began to climb, stepping around the lifeless form of a human businessman, his eyes were tracking the bullet scars on the walls, criss-crossing and pock-marking the walls.

More worryingly, there were great dents in the walls, streaked with stress- and scorch-marks, and he wasn't sure if they were from heavy weapons, explosives, or... something else?

He continued climbing, passing the second floor exit and taking note of the civilians slaughtered inside _there_, too... Whoever had attacked this building, they had certainly been thorough. He checked his rifle once more, making sure it was ready to fire at a moment's notice, at whatever fiends might be here...

"Thorne, watch your flank!" a chattering voice cried, over the radio.

"Shit!" The sound of a biotic _thwump _filled the airwaves, a convict screamed, and then Thorne's weary voice continued: "Thanks for the heads up, quarian. Getting tired now. Calories are burning down..."

"If we pass a shop front, get foraging," the quarian urged. "I'm not carrying you if you pass out."

Murphy tore his attention away from his squad – he shifted his rifle to one hand, and tapped away at his omni-tool with the other, until a subtle _beep_ signalled his disconnection from the comms. He was surrounded by silence, save for the crackle of fires in the distance, and the occasional burst of staccato gunfire.

He was level with the fifth floor now, and only the sixth remained. A little holographic floor map on the wall – illuminated by pale light from the torch on his rifle barrel – showed him that the sixth storey was made rather small by the taper of the tower's walls, which leaned inwards to give it a rather cramped feel. The entirety of the sixth floor was occupied by a 'function room', and his torch beam, sweeping upwards, showed that the door to it was shut, unlike any other so far.

When the captain finally drew level with the door, he paused – even to the most uneducated of rookies, this reeked of an ambush, but if his assumptions were correct, then it would not be a fatal one. Nonetheless, he checked his rifle, popped in a new thermal clip, just to be safe, and loaded disruptor rounds – if someone _did _jump him, he could jam weapons and cripple shields in a matter of moments. He prepared a tactical cloak program on his omni-tool, a button's press away, and finally swept through the door before him, clutching his rifle low and to his hip as he did.

There was no attack waiting, however – no flash of gunsmoke or shot. Bathed in blue light, the room was almost entirely empty – _almost_, save for an orange-clad figure kneeling by the far window, looking out over the pitch-black city block below. The security zone cut a perfect black square in the ward's skyline, and beyond its borders, the Citadel glittered as fervently as usual beneath artificial sunlight.

"Rosenkov!" the captain barked, hefting his rifle to his eye and staring down the scope at the convict kneeling on the other side of the room. The shifting blue light that was dancing around this room illuminated a slender, fit form, and sleek brown hair that had once been handsome, but was now slightly matted from confinement.

There was no reply, and he edged closer...

"Rosenkov?" he growled, uncertainty taking over for a moment. Was it even the right man? No, it had to be...

It certainly was – unfortunately for Murphy, he only _confirmed _it was Rosenkov when the magnate's body tipped backwards. Only as he fell back across the floor, body splaying wide, did the captain spot Nikolai's gaping mouth, terrified eyes, and the sliver of crimson across his neck. His throat had been cut as he knelt by the window, and the slightest draft had now knocked him limply to the floor. The blue light that filled this room was dancing across his still body, and – _ah, shit_.

Murphy had just realised _where _the light was coming from in this powerless district, and at the very moment he realised, the two swirling singularities were sucked out of the air, plunging the room into darkness once more.

"Good afternoon, captain," a loathsome voice growled, in the black. "You're right on time..."

A pair of vivid blue eyes flashed in Murphy's darkness-stunted vision, disappeared, and then-

_WHAM!_

The room erupted in azure blue, as a tidal wave of biotics exploded from the centre outwards, hurling Murphy off his feet. Every window in the room shattered in perfect harmony, and the captain found himself hurtling towards the precipice – he was weightless, feet kicking at nothing at all as his arms flailed, and his rifle shot out of his grip, lost to the maelstrom of flying glass and raging blue fire.

He yelled aloud, a powerful _crunch _signalled the impact of something hard between his ribs, and then everything fell silent.


	157. Operation Blackout Part 7

**A/N: Right, extra-long chapter coming up. It's well over 2,000 words, and I haven't written anything that long since Benning. Consider it my way of making up for missing a day... Anyway, it's a climactic one, so enjoy!**

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><p><em><strong>K-1 Security Zone, Shalta Ward<strong>_

_**Day 1, 1555**_

Murphy's head was spinning, but at least it was still attached...

Hurled off his feet by the biotic tidal wave, Murphy had been sent spinning towards one of the empty, shattered windows that led to the six-storey drop beyond – luckily for him, one of the window _frames _had been in the way. He had smashed against the steel beam, shattering two of his ribs – judging by the pain in his side, at least – but falling at the base of the window, still inside the function room. It had been pitch black, but he had scrabbled for his omni-tool nonetheless, activating the upgraded cloak Andersen had given him. That gave him five minutes, albeit five minutes with his shields reduced to minimum strength...

Now, he was surveying the scene, even as he staggered shakily to his feet. His assailant had lit the room once more, making Murphy quite glad of his cloak, and a single, glowing blue singularity filled the ceiling, dragging all sorts of debris towards it like a messy halo.

"This is Jackal," Creed hissed, holding up a radio to his mouth. "The lips are sealed, the interference is gone."

Murphy knew damn well what that meant. The 'lips' were Rosenkov's, silenced to prevent him giving anything away during interrogation. The 'interference' – that was him, and if Creed thought he was broken and lifeless on the streets below, that made things a fair bit easier...

He crept around the edge of the room, keeping one eye on Creed and one on the precipice behind, careful to edge himself over the abyss. The biotic in front of him was toying with a switchblade. The weapon wasn't military – it looked more like something Rosenkov would have carried, for self defence, and from the streak of red across its blade, Murphy had a horrible feeling the double agent had been garrotted with his own knife.

Besides that knife and his biotics, Creed possessed an omni-tool, no doubt with some blade attachments on file, and two lethal-looking pistols, one on each hip. They were both Paladins – a paramilitary variant of the Carnifex that had been designed for undercover agents in peril, prioritising stopping power over clip size. For such little pistols, Murphy knew they packed a hell of a punch – they only carried four rounds, but each could easily kill an unshielded target. He did some quick arithmetic – if allowed to draw his guns, Creed had eight rounds, and with Murphy's shields drained for cloaking, he would only need to land two or three on target to badly wound the captain. Of course, he _could _just break his neck with biotics... Whichever way he looked at it, Creed was bloody deadly, and he wasn't – both of his rifles had been knocked out of his grip and hurled into the abyss during the biotic's storm.

"Jackal, this is Reach," another voice replied, as Murphy started to creep towards the middle of the room, and Creed's invitingly unprotected back. "What happened up there? What was the _interference?_"

"Their captain, Murphy. He came looking for Rosenkov..."

"And?"

"I knocked him off the top floor. He's all over the sidewalk now. Ha!"

"Get a grip, Jackal, this isn't funny."

"Oh, it's _very _funny," Creed whispered, under his breath.

"I'm coming in to pick you up now," the voice continued, ignoring him. "C-Sec's mobilising air and ground forces, and your fireworks just lit up the whole district. We need to be out of here before they come to investigate the blast... Out of curiosity... did you confirm the kill?"

"Why would I? He fell six bloody storeys, he'll be flat as a pancake!"

"Always confirm your kills, Jackal," the other man chided. "_Especially _men like Murphy. He's good, always was..."

Creed opened his mouth to reply, but he didn't get the chance – Murphy had reached his back, and had lunged for the biotic, clamping one arm around his throat as he went for one of his pistols with the other. He grabbed the weapon, yanked it from Creed's belt, and was about to press it into the biotic's back when-

_WHAM!_

Another biotic explosion rent the air – it was smaller than the first, but was still sufficient to knock Murphy down and smash his newfound weapon from his hand. Creed staggered back, breathless and shocked, but that didn't last long. After a moment's pause he was barrelling forwards, biotics flowing over his skin, swirling around his fists-

_BOOM!_

Just as Murphy recovered from Creed's _biotic _explosion, a rather more fiery one filled the air, tearing Creed off his feet and tossing him a few feet to the left. The heat slammed out in shockwaves, knocking the air from Murphy's lungs and causing him to fall flat against the floor. A deafening roar was filling the air, and he could make out a shuttle hovering in his periphery. That was the other Cerberus agent, then. Shi- wait, why was it _blue?_

"Fire in the hole!" an irate voice shouted – as his vision cleared, Murphy could make out a turian form in the shuttle's open doorway. Commander Marin was wielding a grenade launcher one-handed, and punctuated his yell by sending another round whistling towards Creed – it pulverising floor and roof alike, exposing the pipes and circuitry beneath, and lighting up the blue-tinted air with a hint of flame. The biotic cursed in the foulest language and darted away, putting up biotics barriers – rifle rounds were pouring down on him as the turian reloaded, fired by Sam Vimes' angry trigger finger at the commander's side.

Then, events continued at their disorienting, whirling, breakneck pace. Just as quickly as it had arrived, the C-Sec shuttle _exploded_. A cannon round, fire from above, smashed through the top of the vessel and left smoke and flame belching out of the wounded steel. Marin's weapon was knocked out of his hands, plummeting to the ground, and the turian had to lunge on his belly to stop Sam tumbling after it. With the two men hanging on for dear life, the shuttle seemed to lurch, and a second, high-pitched scream above it signalled that another ship was moving in. This time, it _had _to be Cerberus.

"Go!" Murphy bellowed. "Get the hell out of here!"

The pilot obeyed, dipping the nose and swinging the ship downwards – Murphy, however, wasn't sure whether he was obeying voluntarily, or simply _crashing _to the ground. The shuttle and its passengers disappeared from sight, and were replaced by a black-and-white article – a man was hanging out of the side, pumping snipers rounds into the retreating C-Sec shuttle from what _appeared _to be an N7 Valiant...

_Thump_.

With a painful cracking sensation in his side, Murphy realised he had taken his eyes off the fight for too long. Creed had just slammed a biotic cannonball into his shoulder, and it felt like the damn thing had been shattered by the impact.

He looked across, and saw the Cerberus biotic preparing another glistening blue shot – as this one thundered towards him, he dove flat on his stomach to avoid it, and was rewarded by an angry yell as Creed almost hit his comrade in the shuttle. Murphy didn't look back, however – his eyes were set firmly on one of Creed's Paladin pistols, the one he had tried to steal just moments earlier. It was about a foot away across the floor, and both men's eyes shot to it with steely realisation.

Murphy scrabbled that last foot, feet and arms pushing futilely against the slick steel floor - he found some speed, reached the gun, set a grateful hand around its handle and stumbled to his feet-

Just in time to see Creed grab the second pistol from his belt and take aim. Both men were darting to avoid the other's shots, and both had four rounds:

_Bang. _Moving quickly, the two opponents both missed their first shot – Murphy saw his own round fly wildly to one side, a shameful error, while Creed's only _narrowly _skimmed past his head.

_Bang. _Creed was aiming properly now, and landed a shot to Murphy's hip. His shields crackled, but held, even as his own round landed in the steel beside Creed's head, missing the biotic once more. He slowed his stumbling run, taking aim properly now for the third shot:

_Bang. _The Cerberus agent hit him once more, to the shoulder, and his weakened shields failed and died. Murphy, however, landed his own shot right in the centre of Creed's chest, and the biotic yelled in fury as his barriers died, crumpling inwards and stinging his nerves with the feedback.

_Bang. _The final rounds tore through the air – Murphy felt a burning sensation in his leg, and toppled to the floor, his gun exhausted. Across the room, he saw his own shot streak towards Creed – it missed his chest, but sliced a bloody trail of crimson under his arm, and caused him to yowl in pain. He had failed to _finish _him, however, and now Creed had his biotics to play with-

"Jackal!" the figure in the shuttle cried. "Come on, we need to _go!_"

"In a minute!" Creed snapped, petulantly. "I'm going to break this bastard-"

_Crash_.

Quite to everyone's surprise, the door to the room – which Creed had locked, as Murphy only just realised – was caved in by a rush of exploding force. A figure raced into the room, and then yelped aloud, dropping to her knees to avoid a sniper's round from the man in the shuttle – it buried itself in the doorpost, perilously closing to snuffing out her life.

"You!" Vanyali yelled, as she became visible through the smoke, and Murphy could only assume she was referring to Creed. "You-"

A second sniper round shot through the air, this time heading straight for her face, and only a friend's intervention saved her. Mac'Tir, charging into the room in Vanyali's wake, somersaulted through the air to land in front of her. At the last second, a biotic barrier billowed out of his hands, blocking that second shot, and moments later, the third of his three-round clip.

As the sniper cursed at his now-empty clip, Ekris barrelled into the room behind the other two – he leapt, Mac'Tir's barrier dissolved to let him fly through, and the drell immediately began to cast around, hurling off explosive bolts of biotics at every enemy he could see. One smashed against the side of the Cerberus shuttle, causing the sniper to dive for cover, and a second forced Creed to throw everything he had into a barrier – it worked, but as he dropped it to counterattack, a third projectile slammed into his chest, knocking him away across the floor.

"Creed!" the sniper in the shuttle bellowed. He had dropped the biotic's code phrase, using his real name for the first time. "Get in the _fucking _shuttle or I'm leaving you behind!"

Creed seemed to hesitate as he clambered to his feet. He shot off a billowing, rippling burst of biotics – Ekris blocked it between his palms, but that seemed to have been Creed's plan, because a slashing motion from the Cerberus biotic's hand a moment later sent the drell flying to one side, smashing him against the back wall of the room.

"_Creed!_" came another furious roar, and this time the biotic paid notice. He threw a rather weak warp attack – by his standards at least – and Mac'Tir parried it easily, as Creed turned and ran for the edge of the room. He leapt at the precipice, tumbled through the air, and fell through the already-closing door of the shuttle, next to his sniper colleague.

Vanyali seemed to half-consider firing, and was taking aim with her Widow, but the sniper in the shuttle had reloaded now, and forced her to dive away with a quick trio of shots, all of which clattered harmlessly into the floor as the shuttle door slid shut.

Then, the shuttle was gone – it rose over the skyline, engines screaming, and silence fell over the room. Creed's singularity finally faltered and broke, dropping a carpet of debris to floor, and plunging them back into darkness...


	158. Operation Blackout Debrief

_**K-1 Security Zone, Shalta Ward**_

_**Day 1, 1630**_

Murphy and his squad were arrayed one of the C-Sec barricades, and for such an easy mission, the captain couldn't help thinking there were a lot of injuries... Everyone was receiving treatment for their various ailments: Thorne was wolfing down a ration pack to recover his energy; Ekris was pressing an ice pack to his head, which was throbbing where Creed had thrown him against the wall; Zya was staring suspiciously at the bandages around a stab wound on her arm, sustained in a fight at the prison; Tyco was trying to stave off the _fussing _of a C-Sec medic, who insisted his gunshot wound needed to be seen to, and another medic was treating Vimes, who had some rather horrendous burns along his arms from the shuttle crash. Thankfully, he had survived, as had Commander Marin, who was stood a little way away having his broken collarbone fixed – Kayla was watching on, astonished, as the medic _snapped _his bones back into place, and the turian didn't give so much as a whimper.

The captain himself had already received the medics' treatment, being the most severely injured. The bullet wound in his leg, treated with medi-gel by Vanyali at the time, had been cleaned out and properly bandaged, along with a fresh and altogether cleaner application of surgical-strength gel. Anaesthetic had been applied to his shattered ribs and shoulder too, to tide him over until he returned to the Cambrai's surgery.

The zone beyond had been restored to normal, for the most part. The power had been switched back on, and C-Sec officers were sweeping through, street by street, building by building. The dead were being cleared out, and the living were being either evacuated or arrested, in the case of civilians and convicts respectively. Half a dozen gunships were sweeping over the skyline, ready _just in case _the convicts had any holdouts left, or any civilians needed an airlift out.

"So..." Tyco muttered, breaking the busy silence. "Creed got away. Again."

"He _retreated_," Mac'Tir pointed out, from the other end of the barricade. He was one of the few who had escaped the day without injury, and looked calm as always. "And he didn't manage to kill anyone. Given what happened on his last appearance, that is a marked improvement."

"I guess," the bounty hunter nodded, sullenly. Murphy understood his discontent – the captain wasn't the only one who'd been wanting a shot at Creed after Korlus, and Tyco had been the most vocal of all about it.

"He had an accomplice with him," Murphy called. "Commander Marin, you need to find out how two Cerberus agents got onto the Citadel with a shuttle and military-grade weapons... We know they had a double agent within C-Sec, so start there."

"A double agent?" Marin echoed. "Spirits... _who?_"

"Edward Dempsey," Zya volunteered. "I found his body in the prison, and his omni-tool was packed with Cerberus communications."

"He's dead?" the turian murmured, sounding rather disappointed. "Then interrogating the bastard's out... shame. Regardless, I'll see what I can do, captain."

"Much appreciated. And thanks for your assist, back at the tower."

"Thank your men. They called me when you stopped answering the radio, told me you'd gone to Kasera Tower. We were already on our way in the shuttle when the place exploded... Tell you the truth, I didn't you were going to be walking back out of there..."

"Neither did I," Murphy laughed, darkly. "Creed's good. Not much you can do against biotics like that, other than pump as many rounds his way as possible."

At that very moment, Murphy was struck by beautiful revelation. He didn't pursue it for now, however. Instead, he continued:

"The Cambrai's being lined up for another operation with the fleet, but we have a few days before we depart. We'll be going for shore leave on Tayseri Ward – if you find anything, send it my way."

"Understood," Marin nodded – at his side, Kayla was smiling imperceptibly to herself.

"Squad," Murphy called, "Grab your gear and get ready to move. I'm calling in the Cambrai to pick us up..."


	159. Shore Leave Tayseri Ward 1

**A/N: Right, I thought I'd give a couple of shoutouts here. Galaxy at War has a phenomenal reader base, and the fact that we're well over 800 reviews is testament to just how great you guys are. I thought it was about time I returned the favour to those reviewers who are making their own forays into Mass Effect fics, so I'd strongly recommend you at least give these writers a look:**

**DC 4213 - Mass Effect: Aces High is a great fic along similar lines to this one. It hasn't been going long, and could really do with some support. I think thus far I'm the only reviewer on it, which is criminal because it has some of the most realistic, detailed battlefield scenes I've seen in another fic.**

**ConvictionSC - I've been reading Conviction's two fics for a while, Second in Command and Metamorphosis. Both feature an iteration of Colburn from this fic (although he's a good deal more badass) and SiC deals with the whole ME3 storyline alongside Shepard, while Metamorphosis acts as a prequel. I'd strongly recommend reading both, but if Second in Command seems like a bit of a slog, you can stick to the prequel and then visit SiC later.**

**InsidiousAgent - Mass Transcendence: Old And Future Gods. Insidious seems to have stopped updating, which is a shame, because this fic looks brilliant. However, I've also had suggestions that he might be starting a fic about our own Malcolm Thorne, so keep an eye on his profile for updates.**

**BlackBox Inc - BlackBox is actually a writer's *group*, and they have no less than four ME fics on FanFiction, two of which are still updating (or at least, they did yesterday...) as well as three upcoming stories in other genres. Check them out!**

**Well, now the shameless plugs are out of the way, enjoy today's chapter! It's going to be an important one, so pay attention:**

* * *

><p><em><strong>SSV Cambrai, Tayseri Ward Docks<strong>_

_**Day 1, 1900**_

As he traipsed through to the Cambrai's war room, Captain Murphy had quite a lot on his mind... again.

For a start, there were the Cambrai's travel arrangements – they had only made a short hop from Shalta Ward to Tayseri Ward, but in the six or seven hours their business with C-Sec had occupied, the stupid bureaucrats in the docking authority had given their berth away to someone else. Murphy had managed to wrangle a berth from another Alliance frigate, the SSV Falkirk, which was departing early, and once he was actually ashore he could get the Alliance's embassy staff to sort out the technicalities with docking control.

His mind was also fairly occupied with the members of his crew who were in hospital on the Citadel. Cash, Kyra and Arrete were all in Shalta General, and the latter two would be returning to the Cambrai in time for their next operation – it would be the salarian's first time on board the ship, too, after he was wounded chasing Palmer. God, that felt like years ago... More to the point, however, he would have to arrange transport for the two returning commandoes, not to mention bringing them back up to speed with recent events.

'Recent events' had also given him a fair few worries. In the hours since leaving Shalta Ward, he had been in almost constant contact with Commander Marin, who was personally overseeing the investigation into his double agent. Murphy, for his part, had been making preparations, just in case they bumped into Creed again... For a start, he had told the biotics on the crew to look into upgrading their amps – back in Kasera Tower, Ekris and Mac'Tir had proved most effective at fighting the Cerberus agent – and he had told _everyone _to try and upgraded shields, barriers, and so on. Dax was working on upgrading the armoury's stock, as usual, and he had Andersen in the science lab, working on some more _specific _tech – namely, biotic dampeners.

Most worrying of all, however, was the comms number displayed in glowing red on his omni-tool. The file had uploaded itself mere minutes after the fight at Kasera Tower concluded, and like the peskiest of viruses, it had refused to go away. It had taken him about an hour to realise it was a contact number, and as soon as the ship was empty – everyone was either packing or filtering off to the Citadel – he had made for the terminal in the war room.

Finally, as he reached the console, he tapped in the gothic scarlet numbers that were still emblazoned on his wrist, and waited for a moment as they were processed. Then, quite suddenly, a shimmering blue figure appeared atop the terminal – it was pixellated, half-formed, and he couldn't see any details, but he could make out a blurry human silhouette amidst the shifting blue...

"Captain Murphy," a familiar voice chuckled, and his stomach dropped. "Nice to see you're solving my clues. Following the trail. Playing the game. Jumping through the little... _hoops_."

"Fuck off, Creed," the captain growled, derisively. "I've got nothing to say to you..."

"Really, captain?" the hateful voice murmured. "I'm hurt... after all my work, you don't have_ anything _to say? I'll have to set my sights higher – was four not enough?"

"Four's all you're getting," Murphy snarled.

"We both know that's not true, captain... I would have made it five today, if your little friends hadn't crashed the party."

"And if you hadn't run away, my 'little friends' would have torn your heart out."

"I don't think so," Creed chuckled, although he was struggling to hide the note of anger in his voice – the captain had finally struck a nerve, it seemed... "They all looked so... _fragile_. Bones to be broken, blood to be spilt... Rather like that pretty little detective, now what was her name...?"

Murphy didn't reply, but the little growl that escaped his lips was all the more telling, and his enemy's voice took on a victorious tone:

"Ah, captain... how cruel is love? I wouldn't know..." Then, quite suddenly, Creed's voice took on an altogether harsher tone, less sing-song, more menacing. "But at any rate, she's safe _for now_. The Citadel is on alert for me, and that ridiculous turian will be keeping his beady eyes open. I might have one of our agents pay him a visit... Anyway, to business – I just wanted to let you know, you're going to lose. Because however _tough _you might be, my fearsome captain, _you don't know where I am_. You're stumbling in the dark, without a clue where the thread begins. I can pick your men off at will, _Zachary_,and you can't do a thing about it."

"Wrong," Murphy growled, and the hologram's became a little clearer, twisting into a distasteful snarl as the voice snapped:

"Oh? How so? I could be anywhere, captain, and all you know is my name. A _dead _name, I might add – Christopher Creed ceased to exist some time ago, if you believe the _official records_."

"I _will _track you down," the captain asserted, glaring at the shapeless figure in front of him.

"How?" Creed repeated, scornfully.

"By going through the middle man. You shouldn't have brought backup to the Citadel, Creed."

"Yes, yes, it was unfair and I'm a bad man! Get to the point, Murphy."

"I know about Reach."

Silence reigned. Creed's face, suddenly clear through the static, was contorted into a mask of – what was that? Fear? Rage? A hellish mixture of the two?

Murphy let a victorious smirk play across his lips, and closed the channel. The red numbers had faded from his omni-tool, and the mental image of Creed's hateful, fearful stare was burned satisfyingly into his memory. He turned, saw the way back to the CIC was still empty, and set off, whistling as he went.

What he failed to see, however, was Andersen's form retreating around the corner some thirty seconds before, trying rather hard to make sense of what he had just heard...


	160. Shore Leave Tayseri Ward 2

_**SSV Cambrai, Tayseri Ward Docks**_

_**Day 1, 1910**_

"Err, guys? Got a moment?"

"Yes, actually. We've just taken a break from saving the galaxy."

"Ha sodding ha, Kan," Andersen scowled. "I just saw Murphy in the war room..."

"So what?" Vimes shrugged. "He's always in there, he _happens _to be the captain."

"Dear God, why does everyone on this ship think he's a comedian? If you'd let me finish-"

"No."

"Oh, now you're just being bastards!"

Even as the engineer felt himself go red in the face, his two friends broke helplessly into laughter – Sam was doubled over, roaring with laughter at Andersen's reddening face, and the quarian next to him was chuckling away, voice filter lighting up with each burble. They were high and merry at the prospect of shore leave, but Andersen was all the more grave. He wasn't _quite _sure what he'd just seen...

"Listen!" he snapped, as the laughter began to grate. His two friends stopped, suddenly, and frowned at him as if _finally _realising he might have something serious to say. Now he had their attention, Andersen continued, "Murphy asked me to go and see him once I'd got a working prototype for the biotic dampeners. I found him in the war room... and he was talking to Creed."

Their jaws dropped.

"You're shitting me," Vimes swore.

"It was him, I swear! I recognised his voice from the Korlus footage."

"You're _absolutely _sure it was him?" Kan asked, sceptically.

"The captain had me go over that footage for hours," Andersen muttered, dismissively. "Besides, it was obvious from the conversation they were having – it was him."

"Why would Murphy be chattering away with Creed?" Vimes murmured, voicing the trio's collective thoughts. "You don't think...?"

"No, I don't," the engineer interjected, firmly. "They were trying to kill each other a few hours ago. Besides, it wasn't exactly a _friendly_ conversation – I didn't hear all of it, but they were slinging threats at each other the whole time I was there."

"Oh?"

"Creed was going on about all of our people he's killed. Murphy was taking the piss out of him for running away down on Shalta Ward. Then Creed started threatening some detective-"

"Kayla?" Vimes interrupted, instantly. "Shit..."

"Yeah, Murphy looked _pissed _when he said that. But then, Creed turns around and he says he wouldn't risk going for her, not while she's on the Citadel. He said it was too dangerous, and 'that ridiculous turian' would be looking out for him."

"He's right," the former detective nodded. "Commander Marin's tough. If you're under his command, you're a lucky devil, but if you're his enemy, you'd better run, _fast_."

"They say the same thing about Murphy," Kan'Sura pointed out. "They say the same thing about _all of us_, and Creed already killed four of our crew."

"Do we trust his word, though?" Vimes reasoned. "He _says _he won't go after Kayla, but he's a madman, and..."

The detective's face creased with uncertainty. Moments later, he answered his own question:

"I'll tell Gabriel to keep an eye on her. Did Creed say anything else?"

Andersen paused, mentally replaying the snippets of conversation he had heard, and trying to make sense of it. The trio, despite their rising concern, were left pretty much alone in the hangar, and their conversation wasn't carrying any further than the three of them.

"Just more threats," he mused. "Smack talk, I suppose... Creed was bragging, saying that Murphy couldn't track him down, that he could _pick us off _when he wanted to."

"I hate to say it, but he's got a point," Kan'Sura sighed. "Basic military tactics, your human Sun Tzu – if you dictate the field of battle, and only fight when the advantage suits you, then victory is yours... That's pretty much the _doctrine _of the Migrant Fleet."

"Quite... if Creed runs when we've got the better of him, and strikes when we don't, he'll just keep killing us off."

"Gee, that's cheerful..."

"Well, Murphy didn't buy it."

"Wait wait wait," Sam urged. "Buy what? The advantage, the tactics, or...?"

"Not being able to track him down. Murphy said he _could_."

Silence followed once more, as Andersen's two friends peered at him expectantly. After a moment's pause, the engineer explained:

"He said Creed made a mistake. Then he said... what was it? 'I know about Reach.' That really put the fear in Creed – he got angry, afraid too, I think, and then Murphy closed the channel."

Silence, yet again. Finally, Kan'Sura broke it, muttering bluntly:

"What the _hell _is Reach?"

"I don't know," Andersen murmured, and he hated admitting that. "But whatever it is, it was part of Creed's plan – a weapon, maybe? A place?"

"Maybe..." Vimes nodded. Then, realisation hit him, and he scowled: "You want us to find out, don't you?"

"You know what Murphy's like," the engineer reasoned. "He acts like a one-man army – if he's got a lead, he'll follow it up himself before he tells any of us. And what if he does? What if he follows the trail, and Creed's waiting for him at the end?"

"So, to clarify," the detective frowned, "you want us to spend our _shore leave, _that's _shore leave_, searching for _something _in the known universe that may or may not be called Reach?"

"Top man. Well volunteered."

"Remind me again, why are we friends?"

"Oh, shut up and stop moaning... where's Tyco?"

"Up in the crew quarters with Vanyali, packing," Kan muttered.

"See?" Vimes groaned. "_He's _got the right idea..."


	161. Shore Leave Tayseri Ward 3

_**SSV Cambrai, Tayseri Ward Docks**_

_**Day 1, 1920**_

"Rough day..." Tyco observed, as he slipped the folded stock of his rifle into his footlocker, which was resting on one of the crew quarters' bunks.

"Yeah..." Vanyali agreed, from the opposite side of the room.

"You alright?" he muttered, turning around – his companion looked haggard and more than a little perturbed by the day's events, not her usual, cheerful self.

"I... yeah, fine..." she sighed, unconvincingly. "Just a... long day. What about you?"

"Fine," he grunted.

"What about your shoulder?"

"_Fine_."

"Tyco, that shot went deep, even you can't pretend it wasn't bad."

"I've had worse."

"God, you're stubborn..."

"No, really, I _have_. Benning, for a start."

They both looked a little reminiscent at that... At the time, Benning had been hell – Vanyali's arm had been broken, they'd been dropped off a _rooftop_, narrowly avoiding an airstrike, and the two of them had spent the best part of three days stumbling through a city full of Cerberus troops – but now, it felt like some warm memory, a bonding experience forged in war-fire.

"You've seen those Kishoks the batarians lug round?" he continued. "Back on Omega, I took one of them through the chest. Cracked two ribs, and punctured a bloody lung. The doc had to saw it in half and yank it right out, barbs and all – I swear, if he hadn't been so good, I would have bled out on the slab. Some hyperactive little salarian, if I remember rightly... Mordis, I think his name was? But, I'm getting off-topic."

"Just a little..." she chuckled, weakly.

They fell into awkward silence. Vanyali was smoothing out the creases in her casual wear, and Tyco was slipping off the last of his armour, placing it piece by piece into his footlocker. The shirt and trousers beneath were still creased, sweaty, and ever-so-slightly bloody from the battle that afternoon, and he hoped he didn't stink _too _badly...

"What about Creed?" Vanyali piped up, out of the blue.

"What about him?" Tyco growled.

"You're not... you're not letting him – it – _get to you_, are you?"

"How d'you mean?"

"I mean... you're not letting it get _personal _are you?"

"Damn right I am," the bounty hunter snarled. "He killed one of my buddies, put another in the hospital, and killed three more of my crewmates. He tried to kill _you_, yesterday, not to mention Murphy and the others... how the hell is that _not _meant to be personal?"

"I don't know," she admitted, "but you should try anyway. If it gets personal... that's a dark road, Tyco."

"I disagree. It's darker if I _don't _let it get personal."

Vanyali was staring at him sceptically – he threw his gauntlets, the last of his armour, into his footlocker, and turned to face her properly.

"Explain," she murmured.

"I'll try..." he muttered, unsure whether he actually _could _explain. "You're a soldier, Vanyali. You see grunts and husks, and you take 'em down because they're the enemy. You don't know 'em, you just kill 'em. I'm not saying that's a bad thing" – he added that because of the scowl growing on her features – "but it's true. Then look at me. I'm a bounty hunter. I _know _the people I kill – I have to learn their names, their backgrounds, even their bloody families... It's the same for assassins – just ask Mac'Tir, I know he says the same. When you're a soldier, you kill an enemy. When you're a hunter, you kill a _person_, someone you _know_, however loosely..."

"Alright..." Vanyali nodded, slowly. "But surely it'd be _better _not to let that get personal? Surely you can't feel bad about every man you kill?"

"I should clarify," Tyco sighed. This really _wasn't _easy to explain. "If I kill a grunt on the battlefield, I don't feel _bad _about it. I act like a soldier – he's an enemy, so he has to die, I'm just the middle man. I don't _really_ feel bad about my targets, either. But I still want to feel _human_. If I know my target's name, know his face... it has to be personal. If he's faceless, and I see him as another number, then I'm as bad as Creed."

"I... kind of _get it_," she replied. "You're having a bloody crisis of conscience – you have to remind yourself that you're killing a person, to remind yourself that you _are _a person."

"Right."

"It's ridiculous, but I get it..."

"Why is it ridiculous?"

"You shouldn't need to get riled up about every kill just to _know _that you're human – look in the mirror, for heaven's sake!"

He laughed, and broke into a roguish grin. "It's not just that," he reasoned. "I know I'm human, but if I get angry at Creed, it'll feel all the better when he tear his damn throat out. Whaddya call it? Catha... cathi..."

"Catharsis?"

"That's the buggar... Anger might be negative, but it's still emotion, and that's better than nothing."

There was a slight pause, and an imperceptible tension was filling the air, as Vanyali laughed:

"The big merc's got _emotions_. Who knew?"

"Laugh it up, missy... I'm not just a pretty face."

"I didn't know you _were_ to begin with," she teased.

"Your words _wound _me," he murmured in mock offence, as he pulled off his shirt, throwing it down and beginning to search for a clean one.

"Aww, I'm sorry," Vanyali pouted. "Did I hurt your feelings?"

"My ego lies smashed and battered at your feet, madam..."

"Oh, I'm tired of this..." she interrupted, much to his surprise. "Shut up and come here..."

She leant forward – standing on the tips of her toes just to bridge the height difference – and pulled him into a quick kiss. That was _surprising_, to say the least.

"What brought that on?" was all he could manage to mutter, as they broke apart.

"Two months of sexual tension and a few near-death experiences?"

"Ah, and there was me thinking it was my _charm_."

"You wish..." she laughed. A moment later, he had scooped her off the floor, and swung her towards one of the bunks.

"This is just rutting, ain't it?" Tyco grunted.

"Problem?" Vanyali smiled.

"None at all..."


	162. Shore Leave Tayseri Ward 4

_**Level 26, Shalta Ward**_

_**Day 1, 2000**_

"Hey, he's coming round..."

With a bleary groan, Ethan Cash let his eyes open and begin to rove around the room. Everything was obscured by a haze of dizzying white light, and his head was spinning painfully...

"Ethan, can you hear me?" a warm, female voice was calling. The white mist was fading now, and he could see for a foot or so around himself – his chest and arms were bare, and he could feel slightly crumpled pants clinging to his legs. He was lying flat on a fairly comfortable bed, but the comfort was rather reduced by the _needle _buried in his arm, and the tight bandages around his brow.

Quite slowly, he became aware that his bed was one of many – he was in a hospital, it seemed, and the figure in the next bed was craning over, peering anxiously at him as he awoke.

"Kyra?" he muttered, finally recognising the auburn-haired figure facing him.

"Well, his memory's alright," another voice laughed – he looked past the end of his bed to see a salarian in the one opposite, grinning at him.

"Are you staying with us this time?" Kyra asked, mirthfully.

"What?"

"You've been in and out for the last few days," the salarian explained. "Every time we think you've come to, you pass right back out again..."

"Where even _am _I?" Cash frowned.

"Shalta General Hospital," his mercenary colleague smiled. Then, the smile dropped, as she added: "Do you remember... Korlus?"

He certainly did – the mere mention brought flashes of blue to his vision, and the hideous whistling of a sandstorm...

"Yeah," he grunted, understating it rather, and pushing the flashbacks to the bottom of his mind. "How long has it been?"

"About a week. You've been _here _for five or six days."

"Mostly in and out of surgery," the salarian interjected. "I'm surprised there's anything left of you..."

"Sorry," Cash scowled, "but _who are you?_"

"Name's Arrete. Late of the Special Tasks Group, soon to be of the Cambrai."

"He's the one Tyco and Vimes talked about," Kyra explained. "The one who helped them track down Palmer – the one who got shot?"

"That was weeks ago," the sentinel observed, groggily. "How come you're still in here?"

"I didn't just get _shot_," Arrete frowned. "One of those bastards nailed me with a polonium round. Doesn't matter how good your surgeon is, radiation poisoning takes a hell of a time to fix..."

"Right..." Cash nodded.

Any further comment was interrupted as the door to the ward opened, and an asari doctor stepped inside. She was smartly dressed, as all doctors seemed to be, but her white coat was crumpled, and her face bore the tired look of someone dealing with a huge workload – the influx of refugees was hitting the hospitals as badly as ever, it seemed... Nonetheless, she was smiling broadly as she spotted Cash up and awake, and as she began to talk, her manner rather reminded him of Dr O'Leiph:

"Mr Cash!" she smiled. "You're awake... that's a relief. How do you feel?"

"Confused," he frowned.

"He only just woke up," Kyra volunteered. "Can't have been more than thirty seconds ago. He's not quite... _there_ yet."

"Hey!" Cash scowled, but the doctor merely chuckled.

"That's understandable," she murmured. "You've had quite the ordeal."

"What were my injuries like?" he asked, out of morbid curiosity.

"Extensive. Three of your ribs were broken, for a start, and you lost a lot of blood from a punctured artery. There was a deep wound to your chest, too – the doctor on your ship stopped you from contracting tetanus, but the inoculation itself knocked you for six, and the wound almost went septic... There was also some damage to your ocular nerve."

"That... would explain the blurriness," he grunted. It was true – the white mist had gone, but everything still seemed out of focus, and as he raised his hand, he couldn't _quite _tell how far away it was.

"Yes. I'm afraid your left eye lost... almost total function."

"Well, that's bloody brilliant," Cash snapped. "I'm a soldier! How am I meant to use a rifle if I can't see?"

"We're working on treatments," the doctor assured him. "But I'm afraid the damage wasn't treated immediately – to put it bluntly, we sacrificed your eye to give us time to save the rest of you... It might be the case that surgery is the only viable treatment."

"Surgery?"

"Cybernetics, to be specific. We could restore the eye but... it wouldn't be without its own risks. We're talking about a fairly complex bit of neurosurgery here."

"I don't care," he muttered. "I'm nothing if I can't fight. Do it."

"Mr Cash, this isn't a decision to be made on the spot," the asari frowned. "When I say risk, I mean _risk_. The operation could render you totally blind, or worse... Take a few days to think about it."

"A few days? How long am I going to be in here?"

"Well, you won't be going back to active duty any time soon, certainly not in time to go with these two..."

He turned, looking accusingly from Kyra to Arrete.

"You're leaving?" he frowned.

"We were _about _to tell you," Kyra murmured. "Honest..."

"The crew's coming in for shore leave," Arrete continued. "We hook up with them tomorrow, and leave in three days' time."

"Great," Cash pouted. "All the while I'm stuck here with a bunch of doctors..."

"None taken," the asari scowled, sarcastically. "I'll come back when you've had some time to settle in, Mr Cash."

She moved to the door, then reconsidered, turned, and added sweetly:

"Don't think of it as being stuck here with _us_, think of it more like... we're stuck here with _you_. So cheer the hell up..."


	163. Shore Leave Tayseri Ward 5

_**Level 18, Tayseri Ward**_

_**Day 2, 1020**_

"Mannovai Fang," Rilum muttered. "Make it a double."

"Very good, sir," the waitress murmured. She smiled, then dropped into a curtsey that was almost salarian, and had clearly been taught to her for the purpose of dealing with salarian customers – the human girl's legs, though slender, weren't quite dextrous enough to manage it, but she made a polite enough effort at it nonetheless, and that was what mattered.

To be fair, she really _needed_ to know salarian social conventions, working here – she might have been human, but the bar was decidedly salarian. From his booth, Rilum could see that every patron was a salarian save for two – a couple of humans, engineers by the look of it, who were stood at the bar drinking with half a dozen salarian marines. During his time with the STG, he had always tried to make at least one trip here each time he came to the Citadel...

"Mannovai Fang?" a gruff voice behind the bar grunted. "That isn't on the list..."

"No," Rilum called, over the heads of the marines, "but you always keep two bottles beneath the counter..."

"Lynus Rilum!"

"Good to see you too, Deglan... how's the leg?"

"Bloody awful... Selina, cover the bar!"

The human girl flitted into place behind the taps, and the salarian disappeared beneath the bar – after a good deal of thumping and cussing he emerged, clutching two glasses and a bottle of fiery orange liquor. As he stepped out around the bar and began to limp towards Rilum, his steel leg was as noticeable as ever, striding along where his left leg should have been. It clattered against the metal floor as he walked, drawing a few stares from the marines at the bar, but Deglan didn't seem troubled – he'd grown used to it over the years, after all...

Still grinning, he came to sit opposite Rilum in his booth. The two of them were silent as he slid a glass to the major, took one himself, and filled them both from the bottle in his hand. Wordlessly, Rilum picked up his own and downed it in one, as Deglan did the same.

"Been a while, major," the barman began, finally.

"You don't need to call me that any more, Deglan."

"Don't need to, still want to. I might have trodden on a landmine, Lynus, but I'm still STG at heart."

"Granted... _captain_. How's business?"

"Surprisingly good... the war brings all sorts here, from soldiers to refugees, and every one of them has something to forget at the bottom of a bottle. The Jelkala's stopping here on her way to Aegohr, and the marines were in here last night..."

"They're deploying to Aegohr?" Rilum muttered, with mild surprise.

"Yeah... must be bad, if they're headed right to the threshold," Deglan reasoned – the 'threshold', as he put it, was the triangle of colonies surrounding Sur'Kesh. The planets had names, but were better known for their capital cities, the first three asari colonies: Aegohr, Jaeto, and Rilum's home of Mannovai. "They even had STG with them..."

Rilum's brow furrowed at that, and he frowned:

"The STG isn't shipping to Aegohr. Who told you they were?"

"You remember Vekel Maressa?"

"Yes. Young recruit, excellent marksman. Accompanied us when..."

"Yeah... when I lost my leg. Point is, he's a lieutenant now. He stopped by last night, same time as the marines, and we got talking. He said he was headed for Aegohr with them."

"Why haven't I heard about that?" Rilum scowled. "STG from _my _unit deploying for battle? I should have been told."

Deglan looked _very _sheepish, if only for a moment, and Rilum had the most unerring suspicion that he was hiding something.

"Deglan..." he prompted, in a cautionary tone. "What aren't you telling me? What else did Vekel say?"

"Command's cut you out," his old friend blurted out, quickly and rather bluntly.

"_What?_" Rilum hissed, glaring at his fellow salarian.

"Hey, I didn't say I was happy about it!" Deglan cried. "Neither was Vekel! He was ranting about how stupid the decision was. The crux of the matter is, you're serving on a human ship-"

"Not a human ship," the major interrupted, then corrected himself: "Actually, _is _a human ship, but not a human operation! _Mixed _race – human, salarian, turian, asari, quarian... even batarian, krogan, _vorcha_."

"That makes it even worse. You know what command's like – paranoid, always has been. They think anyone who isn't a salarian is an enemy waiting to happen."

"_Incredibly _short-sighted view," Rilum muttered, angrily. "Prevents alliances, sharing of resources... _fatal_, in a war like this."

"Agreed, but you know damn well they won't change their minds."

"I don't expect them to. Equally, they shouldn't expect _me _to leave the Cambrai."

"You're bloody loyal to that ship, aren't you?" Deglan murmured, after a moment's pause.

"As loyal as I am to the STG," Rilum nodded. "My crewmates do incredible things. We've turned whole campaigns on their heads, saved colonies, torn legions to shreds... I would die for any one of them, and all of them would do the same – many of them have..."

There was a slight, awkward pause, before Deglan topped up the two glasses once more, shoving a shot towards Rilum.

"To the fallen," the former captain grunted, raising his glass.

"To the fallen," Rilum echoed, reaching for his own. "And may we join them soon..."

The two salarians tipped their drinks back, before Deglan muttered:

"Bit morbid there, Lynus..."

"What? It's true... I'm thirty-five, Deglan. Half a decade left."

"Well, I'm thirty-six, so I'm going before you do, major. Besides, you know damn well how averages work. We don't just drop dead at fourty. _I'm_ not going to last much longer, but-"

"Don't talk like that," Rilum snapped. "You've got plenty left in those old legs."

"Yeah," Deglan nodded, sarcastically. "Shame most of it's circuits."

"I didn't mean-"

"I know," the other salarian grinned. "Just trying to lighten the mood, Lynus. Point is, you've got nothing to worry about. We both know you'll still be kicking at fifty – what puzzles me is why you aren't settling down. Trust me, it feels good. Find a quiet place, a good job, and live out the last of your years..."

"A _quiet _life? You know me better than that, Deglan," he replied, firmly. "I'll die on my feet, and with a gun in my hand."

"Yeah... I guess that was never really up for debate, was it? Just pop a couple for me when you go, major."

"You're awfully calm about all this," Rilum observed.

"Yeah... maybe it comes from marrying an asari," Deglan mused, suddenly contemplative. "We've had to deal with that from day one – I'm going to die before she does, and there's every chance she'll meet someone else once I'm gone. But she'll still remember me, and my daughter's going to remember me for well on a thousand years. That's _my_ legacy... Speaking of daughters, how's yours doing?"

"Elysa? She's fine. Still running half of Mannovai, by the sounds of it... I still can't quite wrap my head around that – my little girl, a dalatrass..."

"See now, _that's _a legacy..."

"Yes, I suppose it is..." Rilum smiled. He reached for the bottle, topped up his glass and his friend's, and then rose his own high in a toast: "To legacies."

"And to old soldiers..." Deglan grinned. And then, they drank.


	164. Shore Leave Tayseri Ward 6

_**SSV Cambrai, Tayseri Ward Docks**_

_**Day 2, 1100**_

_Bang. Bang. Bang._

Victor Cross watched on with a bored, almost disconnected air as the three bottles on the far side of the hangar bay exploded, showering the floor with broken glass. His brain had been guiding him automatically, effortlessly picking off each little beer bottle with the Phalanx in his hand. It was child's play, a reflex burned into his nerves and muscles by years of training. He rather wanted to try out the shiny new Valkyrie rifle on his back, but he didn't want to test the strength of the hangar bay walls...

"Nice shooting," a low voice rumbled, just as he popped the thermal clip from his pistol. He wheeled around, and saw Irving Wolfe's half-scarred face watching his handiwork.

"Irving," he nodded briefly, then went back to reloading his gun.

"Not going on shore leave, I take it?" the marine muttered, looking Cross up and down – he seemed to be taking in the soldier's details, from the gun on his back to the custom armour he was wearing, a Terminus assault model he had commissioned on Omega.

"Nowhere to go," Cross grunted. "Might as well train. You?"

"Heading for a bar and drinking myself into oblivion," Irving replied.

"This early?"

"No day and night on the wards. When in Rome..."

"Do as the drunkards do," Victor interjected. "If that's your grand plan, why are you still here?"

"Waiting for Sarah and the kid," Wolfe explained, shortly.

"So the three of you are just going to find some bar, get drunk, and... what?"

"That's it. Pretty standard for marines on shore leave... you should know that."

Cross stopped at that, and straightened up, lips drawing into a tight grimace. He fixed Irving with an accusatory glare, and found the big marine – he stood a few inches taller than Cross, and was no less muscular – staring defiantly back at him.

"What's that supposed to mean?" he muttered, finally.

"We did a little digging... _Lieutenant _Cross."

_Shit._ That thought Cross kept to himself, but it was very hard to stop himself from blurting it out loud. How the hell did they know who he was? Actually, no that was quite obvious – they were N7s, and his name was all over Alliance records. The more pressing issue was _why _they had bothered looking, and that issue gave him three avenues to choose from: he could ask directly, maintain his silence until Irving continued, or just go for good old-fashioned confrontation. He decided on the latter:

"_Problem?_"

"No, just a question – why leave? I've seen your record. Exemplary aptitude scores, promotion to squad leader at twenty-two, N recommendation in the pipeline... and then you dropped off into the Terminus. Why, Cross?"

"None of your damn business."

"Vanis, by any chance?"

The hairs on Victor's arms stoop up, and he felt a bristling of anger in his gut. That name brought back bad memories – nuclear fire, gunsmoke and rage...

"If you know about Vanis," he growled, "then you already know why I left."

"Yeah," Irving nodded, "I do. I was just wondering if you'd be man enough to own up to it."

"_Own up to it?_" he echoed, with a sarcastic laugh. "_I _didn't do anything wrong!"

Quick as a flash, Irving was on him – the big marine was quicker than he looked, and within a split second he was grappling with Victor. A firm arm latched under his shoulder, and he found himself catapulted through the air – strong though he may have been, Cross was suddenly slammed down on his backside, with a hefty arm locked around his neck in the beginnings of a chokehold.

"I don't know what you call _wrong_," Wolfe hissed, "but I'll tell you what I _do_ know. You took a team down to Vanis. You attacked a slave camp, full of human captives. And then you nuked it – a dozen marines, maybe a hundred slaves, all gone in the blink of an eye. You went AWOL afterwards – that's an admission of guilt right there. But the Alliance never caught up to you, never had the chance to ask: What the _fuck _happened down there, Cross?"

Victor's first response was to buck and try to break free, but Irving's arm closed mercilessly around his throat – Cross had specifically chosen this spot to train because it was out of the way, and now his struggle was obscured in the same way, hidden behind the bulk of the adjacent shuttle.

"Tell me, Cross," Irving snarled – his voice was laced with fury, and the worst part was, Victor couldn't blame him for it...

"Alright!" he choked, relenting just as a twitch of Wolfe's bicep threatened to rob him of oxygen. "I'll tell you!"

"Go on," the marine muttered, relaxing his grip slightly.

"Our mission was to clear out a batarian slave camp, just like you said. That made things complicated to start with – I had a... _thing _about batarians."

"You and me both," Irving interjected – was it Victor's imagination, or had his grip relaxed further, in sympathy?

"My parents died on Elysium," Victor explained. "Back on Vanis... I was consumed. Rage, hatred – I wanted to kill the batarians at any cost. My men and I broke through the armoury, and uncovered a nuke – nothing fancy, just a big-ass bomb packed with fissionable material. The whole base was swarming with batarians, so I proposed a new solution – we'd set the bomb to blow, and run for the hills."

"Leaving the slaves to die with their masters," the marine concluded, with a distasteful edge to his voice.

"Yes... I was blind with rage at the time. My squad, however, weren't – they disagreed with the plan, as any good soldier would. After I set the timer, they drew their guns, and I drew mine. Nearly came to blows, but the batarians interrupted us – a bunch of guards stormed through the door and opened fire. A stray shot fried the timer and... well, that's about all there is to say. I escaped. My squad didn't. Neither did the batarians, or the slaves."

"And you went AWOL into the Terminus," Irving added. "I know the story from there... Why didn't you set the record straight?"

"It would have been my word against a smoking crater full of evidence. Some of the last transmissions on the record were from my squad, telling me not to set off the bomb – within an hour, the thing blew up the entire facility and took my squad with it. What other conclusion could the Alliance draw from that?"

"Better to disappear into the shadows than face the music... Why come back, though?"

"It was time. I approached Admiral Lindholm – she was in charge of my division when I went to Vanis. I gave her my side of the story, she believed me, and she recommended that Hackett post me here. As long as I kept my head down, they agreed not to pursue the Vanis incident. Besides, I had to do them some justice."

"_Them?_"

Wordlessly, Victor reached down to his wrist, and prised the gauntlet off it, throwing it to the floor. A string of tattoos were instantly visible along his forearm, and he wondered how long it would take Irving to realise they were all _names_.

"A reminder..." Wolfe muttered, surprisingly quick on the uptake – the glorified grunt was smarter than Cross gave him credit for.

"My squad," he nodded. "The other half's on the other arm, and there's a hundred more along my spine for the slaves..."

Irving nodded appreciatively – and then, as if realising something he should have done ages prior, he released his grip on Victor's neck, letting the ex-marine stumble away across the floor.

"Sorry," Wolfe mumbled. "You didn't deserve that interrogation."

"I expected worse," Cross grunted. "A few gunshots, at least... But, now you know."

"Yeah... and it all comes down to _bloody _batarians again."

At that, Victor fixed an enigmatic stare on the big gunnery chief, and Irving met his gaze with a confused riposte:

"What?" he muttered.

"Your feud with the batarian is ill-advised," Cross murmured, finally. "Revenge doesn't do anyone any good. I'm living proof of that..."


	165. Shore Leave Tayseri Ward 7

_**Level 24, Tayseri Ward**_

_**Day 2, 1420**_

"Now _this _I like," Vresh proclaimed, as he waved a sleek grey shotgun through the air.

"Ah, the _Crusader_," the volus shop keep murmured, appreciatively. "Designed by the Alliance for the 'N7' label. That gun earned its pedigree on Torfan, holding off waves of batarian pirates. It fires a single slug rather than buckshot – less spread, but much more damage."

As Thorne watched on, the krogan mercenary continued to whirl the weapon around like a merry child, wielding it one-handed and causing a tone of intense discomfort to enter the volus' voice.

"I must say," he jabbered, nervously. "We don't _usually _allow customers to handle the merchandise like this."

"Don't worry," Thorne called, from the far side of the store, as he examined mods for an SMG. "He's not going to rob you... We're here with the Alliance – SSV Cambrai?"

"Haven't heard of it, but if you're Alliance... well, let's just say that's a relief," the volus replied, shoulders sagging visibly. "You sound more like you're from the Terminus..."

"We are," Araya chipped. "I'm from Omega" – she pointed at Vresh – "_he's _from Omega, and Thorne... are you?"

"Close enough," the biotic grunted, shortly.

"What about... _him?_" the shopkeeper asked, looking anxiously in Lisk's direction. "We don't usually allow _vorcha _in here..."

"They don't _usually _allow vorcha on the Citadel at all," Thorne pointed out. "The fact that he's an exception should be reassurance enough."

As the biotic spoke, however, Lisk was juggling a Carnifex, testing its weight and making mock gestures of firing it – the volus' eyes kept flickering over to him, nervous despite Thorne's assurances.

"_What_," Vresh interjected, suddenly, "is _that?_"

He was staring at a very large, very _yellow _article on the top shelf at the back of the room. It was a long, cylindrical weapon, with a mixture of yellow and silver running sleekly along the barrel. It certainly didn't _look _like a conventional weapon.

The shop keep made to answer, but to everyone's surprise it was Lisk who spoke first:

"Firestorm," he murmured, eyeing the weapon appreciatively. "_Very _nice, used in Blood Pack. Lots of fire..."

"You sell _that?_" Araya frowned, incredulously. "I thought the Citadel was meant to be tough on _guns_, let alone _flamethrowers_."

"Desperate times," the volus shrugged. "Supply lines are stretched – top-end weapons can be hard to come by, and military ships are always looking to restock when they come in to port."

"War profiteering," Thorne grimaced. "Classy."

"It's _business_, what else are we meant to do?"

"Donate them?" Araya suggested, with her usual cheery optimism. The volus shot her an infuriatingly condescending look, and didn't deign to reply.

"I think we're done here," the other biotic muttered, doing his best not to get angry with the shop keep. "We'll take the Crusader, the Carnifex, a box of hunting mods... and that Firestorm."

The volus' eyes lit up behind his helmet, and Thorne could practically _see _the dollar signs. He moved over to the electronic console behind his desk, and tapped away for a few moments, before calling:

"That's... three hundred thousand credits, sir."

Vresh grimaced as if in physical pain, and Araya began to search her pockets for credit chits. Thorne, however, was already at the counter, facing at the volus – the shopkeeper had a _step _behind his desk, elevating him almost to Thorne's eye level, and that made it even easier to stare him down.

"I'm paying one hundred thousand," he muttered, flatly.

"I don't think you've quite grasped the concept of _supply and demand_," the volus snarked. "This isn't _bartering_, human-"

"Ninety thousand."

"Look here, human, you don't get to boss me-"

"Eighty..."

"Now, listen!"

"No, _you _listen," Thorne growled, suddenly getting _very_ close, and allowing a flicker of biotic blue to burn over his skin. "You're a filthy little weasel, _extorting _money from soldiers who fight for your worthless little life!"

"I-" the volus spluttered, but he could find no retort. Thorne was just getting into his stride, with a yell as harsh as any drill sergeant's. His hand had found his axe, too, and it glinted dangerously in the light. He wasn't _angry_, not really, he was as collected as ever. Anger, however, even _fake _anger, was a powerful tool in the right hands...

"Do you have a wife, volus? A child?"

"Err... yes..."

"Then think of _them_. Think of the _Reapers _coming down on their heads. We'd _like _to stop them, but we can't, because rats like you are stopping us doing our jobs! Now, you're going to _give us_ these weapons for fifty thousand credits, and we're going to go back to saving your ungrateful arse! Are we clear? Or am I going to have to make a point? I hear if you stab a volus' exosuit just right, he _explodes!_"

He let his axe drift menacingly upwards, and the yellow bulbs in the shopkeeper's helmet flashed, as the eyes beneath bulged.

"I... err, yes sir, of _course_. Take them with my compliments..."

"Good man," Thorne smiled sarcastically, sheathing his axe once more. "Have them shipped to the Cambrai in berth fifty-eight by this evening, or Lisk here's coming back to demonstrate that Firestorm. And if you _ever _think of ripping off a soldier again, I'd advise you to think again. Hell" – he smiled dangerously – "they're not all as _friendly _as me..."

He threw a credit chit the shopkeeper's way, then turned on his heel and stormed out. The others followed him, and they walked in silence for a little way. Finally, as they reached an open plaza looking out over the purple Serpent Nebula, they stopped, and the silence broke:

"Damn!" Vresh laughed. "That was _cold_..."

"Impressive," Lisk grinned, exposing two rows of vicious fangs. "Fierce, like vorcha."

"Glad you liked it," Thorne smiled, placidly. His anger, summoned up for the purposes of intimidation, has faded as quickly as it arrived, and he was back to his calm old self.

"Fifty thousand?" Araya murmured, appreciatively. "That's a damn bargain."

"Exactly," the biotic nodded. "And I got to scare the _shit _out of some little weasel. A successful trip, I think..."


	166. Shore Leave Tayseri Ward 8

**A/N: So here's the schedule for the next few days. I'm on my holidays for six weeks, so expect regular updates. In the near future, we have a double update on Monday (it'll make sense when you read it, trust me), the final chapter of this shore leave on Tuesday, and then on Wednesday, we begin the next operation. I have to say, I'm *really* looking forward to writing it - it's a big one...**

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><p><em><strong>Level 12, Tayseri Ward<strong>_

_**Day 2, 1500**_

"_C-Sec have refused to comment on a prison break on Shalta Ward," _the newsreader warbled – she was a pristinely turned-out asari, with pitch-perfect, clipped pronunciation of the kind the news channels preferred. _"Yesterday afternoon, heavy fighting was reported in the district around the K-1 penitentiary, with residents in neighbouring blocks reporting a mile-wide blackout of the district's power, and sounds of heavy fighting in the streets. The gunfire finally died down in the evening as C-Sec troops moved in, but the cleanup of the district is still ongoing, and C-Sec are remaining tight-lipped about the number of civilian casualties. Rumours abound that special forces may have been involved in the conflict, and many surviving residents claim to have seen an intense explosion rock the upper levels of the Kasera Industries Tower. C-Sec are conducting an internal investigation into the initial breakout from K-1, and section commander Gabriel Marin had this to say:"_

"_We can confirm that at 0900 yesterday morning, a breakout occurred at the K-1 Penitentiary on Shalta Ward. The breakout was followed by urban fighting between escaped convicts and C-Sec officers, which was finally suppressed around 1600 hours, as C-Sec forces regained control of the district. I appreciate that the Citadel public will have their questions, chief among which must be: how did this happen?; how was this _allowed _to happen? At this moment in time, I honestly cannot answer, but C-Sec is striving to discover exactly what happened, and the public will be the first to know when we find out."_

Then, the familiar turian's face disappeared, and the vid returned to the blue-faced newsreader, who shuffled her papers, and concluded:

"_Citadel NewsNet will endeavour to keep you updated on this story as it progresses."_

"If they only knew," Irving laughed. He was sat next to Sarah on a low couch, part of a wall booth which now seated the two of them, as well as Alec. Sarah had the most curious feeling of being with two brothers – Irving her tough, grizzled older brother, and Alec her younger, more idealistic one. It was a surrogate relationship the three of them had shared since Earth. "Bet you anything the report's a cover up."

"You think Marin would lie like that?" Alec inquired. "The captain said he was a good guy..."

"You don't have to be a _bad _guy to lie," the older marine pointed out. "And by the sounds of it, Marin's smart enough to ply a white one."

"Oh?"

"Put it this way – if it emerges that Cerberus got onto the station _again_, the public will lose all faith in C-Sec."

"And no system law enforcement can work like that," Sarah added. "It doesn't matter if they're police on some backwater colony, or security on the Citadel, anyone who polices by consent needs public faith, or they start on a slippery slope. If they don't have the public's respect, they can't work effectively, and if they can't work effectively, they lose even more of the people's respect..."

"Aye," Irving nodded. "Marin's doing damage limitation now. He'll probably blame the breakout on the gangers, or a rogue agent, but even _without _Cerberus in the equation, he's got a lot of shit to deal with. No matter what conclusion he draws, _someone _screwed up and let those prisoners escape, and they've got a body count in double figures as a result."

"Yeah..." Alec murmured, understandingly. "I was talking to the quarian last night, and he said it was rough. Lots of civilian casualties."

"That's worse than _military _casualties," Sarah sighed, sadly. "In morale terms, at least. Soldiers go out to fight so that their families _won't _be affected, so when they _are_..."

"It crushes 'em," Wolfe concluded.

They lapsed into awkward silence, with the three N7s all tending to their beers and looking down at the table. Irving in particular looked a little morose, and it was him who finally broke the silence:

"Heard anything from your family, kid?"

"Not since the Belfast," Alec murmured. "Dad's on duty with the Fifth. Alicia... I don't know."

"You _don't know?_" Irving replied sceptically, eyebrow rising. "Go and bloody call her, kid."

"It's fine, Irving..."

"I said _call her_," the gunnery sergeant repeated, firmly.

For a moment, Alec and Irving stared doggedly at each other, and Sarah looked from one to the other, before the younger marine relented. He got up, and wordlessly departed to find a comms terminal. Irving, for his part, just went back to his beer...

"Aww, the Big Wolf's got a sensitive side," Sarah cooed, teasingly. "What brought that o-"

She froze, as she suddenly realised just whathad brought _that _on. Slowly, and rather more nervously, she continued:

"Shit. Your brother... I'm sorry, I forgot..."

"It's fine," Irving muttered, waving his hand dismissively.

"Have you... have you had any word?"

"No... still MIA. Honestly, ma'am? I don't hold out much hope... We've all seen what's left of Earth. If he didn't make it back to the fleet, then he's probably dead."

"That's... awfully blunt, Irving."

"I've known a lot of death," the big marine shrugged. "Friends, colleagues... hell, even my parents. Colin would just be another one on the list."

"You never did tell me what happened to your parents," Sarah pointed out, changing the conversation from one morbid topic to another. _"Way to go, Sarah..."_ her brain chastised.

"Traffic collision," Irving grunted, "back on Terra Nova. Bit more mundane than yours, huh?"

"Mine died in the _Blitz_," she frowned, feeling a slight stab of anger at the remark. "That's not _exciting_, Irving."

"Granted, but _you?_ You got plucked out of the orphanage, packed off to Grissom, fast-tracked through to N7... I'm sorry, ma'am, but that's a movie just waiting to happen. Or _at least _a tragic biography."

"Ha!" Sarah laughed, suddenly feeling a bit more mirthful – like any big brother, Irving had a knack for cheering her up with his blunt humour. "Who would _write _that? You?"

"Yeah, that'd look _great_," he grinned, sarcastically. "A Biography of War Hero Sarah Jade, written by the big lug who saved her arse more times than he can count..."

She laughed away, and reached for her drink once more. Alec was just returning from making his call, and both Sarah and Irving were in a rather more cheery mood than when he had left – the rookie too was smiling to himself, indicating success. 'A problem shared,' as her Grissom mentor had once said, 'is a problem halved.' Personally, Sarah Jade found that rather easy to believe...


	167. Shore Leave Tayseri Ward 9

**A/N: So, Part 1... and in response to one of the latest reviews, "Double Mondays" wasn't intended to be a _thing_, but it just might become one...**

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><p><em><strong>SSV Cambrai, Tayseri Ward Docks<strong>_

_**Day 2, 1540**_

"You and Vanyali?" Andersen muttered, sceptically. "_Really?_"

"Yup," Tyco grinned, unashamedly. "In the crew quarters..."

"Oh, damn it, Tyco! Other people have to use those beds!"

"Don't worry," the bounty hunter replied, still smiling. "We moved it to the showers after the first hour..."

"Great. Thanks for the mental image. So... are you two an item now?"

"Nah. It was rutting – one-time only..."

Andersen merely rolled his eyes, as his brain muttered _"Idiot..."_, and began to look around at their surroundings. They were striding through the crew deck towards the elevator, and he wanted to make quite sure they were alone. The only living thing visible was the doctor's human form, shut up in the medical bay – even Dr O'Leiph had gone ashore. Good enough.

"Did you find anything?" he murmured, under his breath.

"Nothing," Tyco replied, his tone shifting to frustration in place of his previous pride. "I spoke to a few old contacts who fled the Terminus, and none of them had the first clue what Reach was... I even asked a couple of Aria's men – they said they'd picked up references to Reach in Cerberus transmissions, just like we did, but they didn't actually know what it _was_."

"Great..." Andersen scowled. "Let's just hope the others found something..."

They proceeded on in silence to the elevator, stepped inside, and endured the ride down to the hangar bay in tense silence. Andersen didn't know about Tyco, but his own mind had been mulling over the 'Reach' issue nigh on constantly since the search began – it had only been twenty-four hours, but he was already growing frustrated. They were searching for _something _in the known universe... and that was all they had to work with. _Just brilliant_.

Finally, the elevator doors rolled open, and the two of them stepped out into the abandoned hangar. Almost the entirety of the rest of the crew had disappeared, leaving the usually populous bunk area abandoned as Andersen and Tyco reached it. Vimes was there, leaning against a crate and watching with intense curiosity as Kan worked away on his omni-tool, cross-legged on the floor.

"All clear," Andersen called – his two friends snapped upright with surprise, and Kan swore colourfully as his hand slipped, causing his omni-tool panel to flicker from working orange to alarmed red. "Murphy's in his quarters, and Cross is in the armoury, but other than that, we're alone. Have you found anything?"

"I _had_," the quarian scowled, beneath his visor, "but I just lost the stream..."

"Sorry..." he murmured, meekly.

"No worries," Vimes interjected, rather less harshly. "As for your question – we're working on it."

"What's _that _meant to mean?" Tyco queried.

"I got us into C-Sec's communications," Sam explained. "I told Marin we needed to survey their logs for information, and he bought it. I feel kinda bad lying to the commander, but... ah, not the point. What matters is, Kan's going through the logs, to see if they recorded any transmissions referring to Reach."

"And as it happens..." Kan muttered, slowly. "They did. Not yesterday, but – actually, just listen..."

He gave one last victorious tap of his omni-tool, and the display quickly blossomed out – a jagged line was left hovering in midair, and Andersen realised it was an audio wave. As the quarian displayed his prize, it began to quaver, in perfect synchronicity with the rasping voice that emerged:

"_All units,"_ the voice muttered. _"Listen close."_

"That's not Creed," Tyco growled, in confusion. He sounded almost _disappointed_ – the bounty hunter was developing something of an obsession for the Cerberus agent, and the prospect of revenge.

"No..." Andersen snarled, equally angry as realisation hit him. "It's _Palmer_."

"How old is this?" Sam interjected.

"Several weeks," Kan answered. "Before the old Cambrai was destroyed – it's not a _resurrection_ or anything."

"Thank God for that..."

"_We move on the target in two hours. Reach's encryption codes worked – the Cambrai is expecting an engineering team, and the Alliance is none the wiser. We get one shot at this, one shot at vengeance. Remember the plan. Move out."_

The audio log fell into static, then died, and Kan's omni-tool went back to glowing quietly. The four men sat in silence, mulling over what they had just heard – the old Cambrai's destruction was a turmoil that had been buried deep in their memories in order to cope and move on, and that single recording had brought it all bubbling up to the surface, making it seem _real _once again. After an age of silence, it was Vimes who finally spoke up:

"Reach is a person, then," he noted succinctly.

"Not necessarily," Kan'Sura reasoned. "Grammatically, it could be... well, an _it_."

"I don't follow..."

"A computer? Or an institution even, a group, a _facility_."

"In other words, it could be any of the things we bloody_ thought_ it could be yesterday!" Andersen growled, in frustration.

"Yeah..." Vimes admitted, distastefully, and the group was crestfallen once more.

"Let's face it," the engineer murmured, with a disheartened air. "Unless we go and knock on Cerberus' bloody door, _no-one _knows who or what Reach is..."

"_I know,_" a voice interjected, from behind his head. He wheeled around – and was astounded to see Vanyali staring back at him.


	168. Shore Leave Tayseri Ward 10

**A/N: And, as promised... Part Two.**

* * *

><p><em><strong>SSV Cambrai, Tayseri Ward Docks<strong>_

_**Day 2, 1555**_

"_You _know?" Kan'Sura muttered, breaking the awkward silence with a tone of disbelief.

"That's what I said, isn't it?" Vanyali retorted. She moved to join them, and perched on a cargo crate next to the quarian, wearing a rather tense expression.

"Alright," he nodded. "What's Reach, then?"

"You mean _who's _Reach?"

"Told you..." Vimes murmured, under his breath.

"You've been looking for a soldier this whole time," she explained. "Lieutenant Nick Shelton... codename Reach."

"I don't understand," Andersen replied, "we _checked _for codenames. Even the N7 records..."

"How the _hell _did you get into N7 records?"

"_Hello_, you're talking to the two best hackers on the ship," Kan answered, proudly. "Point is, there wasn't a single Alliance operative with that codename – or at least, none who are still alive."

"And, there's your problem," Vanyali sighed. "We didn't think Shelton _was _alive until yesterday."

"So how do you know he is?" Andersen countered.

"Because he tried to shoot me," she replied, bluntly. "Up on Kasera Tower? I recognised the armour, not to mention the eyes behind that visor..."

"Why didn't you say anything at the time?" Tyco asked, brow furrowing.

"I didn't quite believe my eyes," Vanyali muttered. "After the mission, Murphy asked to see me – we agreed that we'd both seen him, both _recognised _him, and-"

"And he told you not to tell anyone else," the engineer concluded. Vanyali nodded, and he continued, "Why?"

"He didn't want anyone else knowing until after shore leave. You know what our guys are like – a big revelation like that, a few nights drinking in the bars, and before you know it, word gets round that an N7 went rogue. The Alliance can't afford that kind of knock right now."

They sat in understanding silence, nodding at her words, and lapsing once more into awkwardness. There really wasn't a lot to be said in this situation, although there was a _lot _to think about – Creed was bad enough, but a rogue N7 helping him? Reach wasn't just a good marksman – no doubt he possessed a wealth of knowledge on the Alliance's habits and operations, and that knowledge had the potential to be more deadly than any bullet.

"How did Reach end up with Cerberus?" he asked, finally giving in to curiosity. "_When _did he end up with Cerberus?"

"Well, he went MIA about a year ago," Vanyali murmured. "He was on a mission in the Caleston Rift with a group of other N7s. Standard four-man reconnaissance – locate a Cerberus base, then call in an airstrike to tear it apart."

"I'm guessing it didn't go _quite_ to plan," Tyco muttered.

"You could say that..." she chuckled, darkly. "Cerberus turned the tables, ambushed the recon party. One was killed right off the bat. Another one stayed behind. Two escaped."

"You were one of them, weren't you?" Andersen guessed, shrewdly.

"Yeah..." Vanyali nodded. "One of the two."

"And Reach was the one who stayed behind?"

She nodded again.

"He tried to buy us time to escape. The last I saw him, he was facing down half a dozen riflemen."

"And it never crossed your mind that he might have survived?" Kan'Sura interjected, critically.

"Half an hour after we lost Reach, the two of us that were left made it back to our shuttle, and air support drowned three acres in napalm to cover our evac," she glared. "_No-one _could have survived that-"

"Unless he'd been taken away beforehand," Andersen interrupted. "Cerberus overpowered him, flew him out, and left you to think he'd died in the bombing."

"Yes, well... hindsight's a beautiful thing," Vanyali scowled. "I'd only just graduated from Rio Villa – I had recon experience, but nothing like N7 work. My first time out, and it all went to hell like that – so yeah, if my CO said Nick was dead, I was inclined to believe him. Hell, maybe he was right..."

"If he _was _dead, how did he almost blow your head off yesterday?" Tyco grunted, tactlessly.

"Nick Shelton was one of the toughest men I've ever met," she replied, sadly. "If he's working for Cerberus, it's because they shattered his mind beyond all recognition. He'd never help them while he still had his senses."

"Cerberus never seemed the type to shy away from torture," their quarian friend pointed out, and Andersen couldn't help noticing Vanyali looked a little more perturbed as he spoke. "And we already know they use cybernetics to _'enhance' _soldiers."

Slowly, Andersen reached for his omni-tool, fiddling casually with it, out of sight of the others – they were all watching Vanyali, as she spoke up, anxiously:

"Yeah, exactly... whatever he used to be, there can't be much left of him..."

_Bleep bleep._

With a start of surprise, Vanyali fell quiet, and stared at her omni-tool – Andersen suppressed a grin as her eyes roved over the very message he had just sent. A moment later, his own omni-tool went off, as planned, and he made the pretence of checking it too.

"Doc wants to check up on my arm," she murmured, wearing – or maybe feigning – a puzzled expression. "I'd better go..."

"I'll come with you," Andersen called, patting his stomach vaguely. "She said something about checking these scars..."

Andersen left his three friends to their musings, and set off across the hangar with Vanyali. They walked in silence all the way to the elevator – only once they were inside did she turn around, facing him with a curious expression.

"I know you sent that message," she began.

"Of course you know," Andersen murmured, dismissively. "I didn't bother to hide the ID. It still got you out of there."

"Thanks..."

"No worries. You didn't exactly look... comfortable."

"Well spotted," she scowled. "It's just a little... personal. Nick was a good friend. I'd rather know he was dead than have to imagine him enduring... whatever they did to him."

"Were you... close?"

She nodded, and the two of them lapsed into silence.


	169. Shore Leave Tayseri Ward 11

_**SSV Cambrai, Tayseri Ward Docks**_

_**Day 3, 0900**_

"This is Cambrai to Docking Control," Murphy muttered, into the radio panel on his desk. "Requesting permission to aweigh."

"Sorry, Cambrai, we're going to have to ask you to delay."

"What? Why? This is a military ship, we've got a deployment to reach..."

"I understand, Cambrai, but it's not safe for you to aweigh just yet. Turian dreadnought Indefatigable is coming in to dock, and she's torn up bad. We can't guarantee your safety until she's halted."

"Christ... Understood, Control, rescinding our request. Keep us updated."

"Will do."

With a sigh, Murphy closed down the frequency, and quickly drew up another, hailing the cockpit:

"Erika, change of plans. Looks like we'll have to wait a while..."

"Great. Mind if I ask why?" the pilot muttered back, with a tone of annoyance.

"No safe lane," he explained. "There's a turian dreadnought coming in – sounds like she's having trouble, heavy damage."

"Oh," she replied. Like Murphy, she changed her attitude entirely once she understood the predicament... "Powering down engines – no sense burning fuel while we're just sitting here."

The channel fell silent, and Murphy relaxed in his chair, hands behind his head, enjoying the single moment of silence as the dull _thrum _of the Cambrai's engines ceased. The ship was beautifully silent at times, hanging in space as if weightless...

Quite suddenly, a thought struck the captain, and he reached for his terminal once more, drawing up a number that had been buried in the logs since the previous morning. He tapped it in, and the comms buzzed lazily, before finally _click_ing into life, and heralding in a sleepy voice:

"Kayla Weston. Who's this?"

"It's the poor shmuck you left waiting at the restaurant last night," Murphy chuckled.

"Oh, God, Zachary! I am _so _sorry about last night – I meant to tell you, but I guess you didn't get-"

"I got the message, Kayla. I'm just teasing you."

"Oh. Good... I think."

"You weren't very _specific_ though – 'Argh, crisis, got to cancel!' gets the point across, but it doesn't give too many details..."

She laughed, a warm, rather pleasant laugh, and then explained:

"Gabriel called everyone into the station last night. Big raid on one of the dock authority offices."

"You went on a raid?" he frowned. "You got pretty roughed up on the last one..."

"Don't worry," she replied, dismissively. "I wasn't actually _on _the raid. The commander needed people in support roles, too. So, yeah... instead of going out for a meal with you, I spent my night telling two armed response officers how to break into a docker's confidentials."

"Sounds fun. Did you find anything?"

"Yes, so it wasn't _completely _pointless. We found documents linking one of the port controllers to our double agent at K-1, and Gabriel... _secured _an arrest."

"_Secured?_"

"He... threw the guy out of a second storey window."

"Wow... I thought Marin was too level-headed to do stuff like that."

"He usually is. I guess he _really _hates taking casualties."

"Yeah..."

They lapsed into awkward silence, as Murphy wrestled with the mental image of a six-five turian hurling a docking controller out of a window. He almost felt _sorry _for the guy, double agent or no – then, he remembered the scenes of slaughter around K-1, and his sympathy disappeared altogether.

"So," Kayla began, breaking the silence. "The way I see it, I owe you dinner."

"Rubbish, you don't owe me anything. Haven't you ever heard of a gentleman?"

"Sure I have. He's the bloody show-off who likes to save a girl in the _classiest _of ways. Charming and handsome he may be, but he's too thick to realise that was an attempt to get another date..."

"_Ah_. The gentleman sees now..."

"So, how about it? I've got an appointment with my bed in a minute" – true to her words, Murphy could see the exhausted gleam in her eyes – "but what about this evening?"

"There... may be a problem with that," Murphy smiled, placidly. "We're shipping out... well, _now_."

"Oh," Kayla muttered, looking crestfallen. "Well... when do you think you'll be back, then?"

"Next time someone gets shot, or the ship ends up a ball of flame?"

"It's _probably_ wrong of me to wish for that, isn't it?"

"Probably..."

Kayla still looked crestfallen, and Murphy found himself compelled to continue:

"Look, we're usually gone for a few weeks, maximum. The Cambrai needs to take on fuel, and the depots are being destroyed one by one. That means coming back to the Citadel to barter. Which... usually gives us a few days free."

"Alright," she murmured, smiling a little more brightly. "We'll do dinner then?"

"Definitely," he smiled.

There was a slight pause, her smile dropped, and then she added:

"Just... don't die, okay? I don't want to eat alone..."

"Well, I _was _going to throw myself at a Reaper, but now you've said _that_..."

"You're an ass, you know that?" Kayla grinned.

"And you're trying to date me," Murphy replied. "That says more about you than it does me..."

"Like I said. Ass."

"Yours or mine? Because I know which one I prefer..."

"Pig," she muttered, smiling roguishly nonetheless.

He merely stuck his tongue out in reply, and she began to laugh.

"Seriously, Zach," she murmured, finally quelling the laughter. "Try and come back in one piece, okay?"

"Will do," he smiled. "Stay safe, Kayla..."


	170. Operation Thunder Briefing

**A/N: And so it begins... This is a long chapter, for a briefing, but it's still a briefing and usual rules apply - with any luck, there should be another update tonight to kick off the operation proper.**

* * *

><p><em><strong>SSV Cambrai, Silean Nebula<strong>_

_**Day 1, 1800**_

"This is SSV Cambrai to carrier SSV Hawking – we're approaching the rendezvous now."

"You're late, Cambrai," an irritated voice replied, much to Murphy's surprise.

"Apologies, Admiral Lindholm. Citadel authorities wouldn't let us go, we were delayed by about three hours."

"Why?" the admiral inquired, curiously.

"Turian dreadnought was breaking up as it came into dock. They didn't want us flying into the wreckage."

"Understood. I guess it couldn't be helped... You realise this is an inconvenience, though?"

"I do, ma'am. Are the other crews equipped for night fighting?"

"Minimally. If I had any choice in the matter, I'd wait for dawn, but that's twelve hours we don't have to spare."

"Well, my strike team's ready in the war room. We can begin the briefing now, if the others are ready."

"Brilliant. What about the rest of your crew?"

"Waiting in the crew quarters to keep the hangar clear – we'll patch them in to the conversation."

"Very good. Get to it, captain."

The admiral's voice flickered off the radio, descending into static, and Murphy set off at a quick march from the cockpit – where he had been watching their approach with Erika and Akito – to the war room, at the back of the CIC.

As he entered, the room was full of hushed, fervent conversation – the crew had evidently picked up on the grand scale of the mission that awaited them, and were anxious to learn more...

He did a quick survey of the room, picking out the fourteen other operatives he had asked to attend the briefing. In one corner was a huddle of asari – Saffiya, Maelar, Aeryn, and the new recruit, Liselle. Next to the door was Andersen, and the quarian Murphy had asked him to train, Klara'Tseni – beyond them were the three N7s, Irving, Sarah and Alec, all of whom were armed to the teeth. At the back of the room, trying to _avoid _the three N7s, was Vor Hebat, and watching him closely was Victor Cross. Closing out the party were Lynus Rilum and his fellow salarian, Arrete – the latter had only just come aboard the Cambrai, and was chatting amicably with Kyra Tabris, who had also returned yesterday.

"Cambrai?" a recently familiar voice called – Admiral Ines Lindholm had re-appeared, this time as a hologram on the war room table, and Murphy ushered the commandoes to sit down or stand back, as he replied:

"Here, admiral."

"Good... all other vessels, report in."

"Bunker Hill, ready for the off, ma'am."

"SSV Midway, reporting in – we're ready to begin transfers, admiral."

"This is the Belfast" – Sarah, Irving and Alec snapped to attention at that – "in position and ready to go!"

"Alright then," Lindholm murmured. "Time to get you all up to speed. We are currently approaching rendezvous over the planet Cyone – as some of you might know, the planet is an asari colony, but for the last few months, Alliance forces have been aiding the asari defence. Cyone has a considerable network of antimatter generators, and has been providing fuel to an Alliance defence fleet for some time, in the hope of holding the planet."

"Last time I was here, they seemed to be doing a pretty good job of it, too," Murphy interjected.

"Indeed. The joint force has repelled at least half a dozen assaults by Reaper forces, but they lost more and more men with each attack. Three days ago, the Reapers finally broke through. The Alliance defence fleet brought down two destroyers, but they were torn apart, and a third managed to land on the northern continent, followed by waves of troop transports. The capital city, Polos, is under siege from Reaper forces – husks are encircling it as we speak."

"So we go in and break the siege?" the Bunker Hill's captain concluded.

"Precisely," Admiral Lindholm's hologram nodded. "But it won't be easy. We're facing a whole legion here – our best chance of success is to hit hard and fast, link up with the remaining defenders, and push outwards from a single choke point. To that effect, we'll be launching a joint _armoured _attack."

"Armoured?" came a voice from the Midway.

"Armoured," she repeated, firmly. "The 4th Armoured Division is here on the Hawking, and they've got more than a dozen Makos lined up and ready to drop."

"Then with all due respect, ma'am," the Midway continued, "if you've got the Armoured, what the hell d'you need us for?"

"The 4th might have their tanks," Lindholm sighed, "but they don't have _marines _to support those tanks. Nor do they have a suitable method of insertion – the Hawking would have to discharge barriers to get them to the surface, and that'd leave us a sitting duck. Your frigates, though? They're small and fast enough to make combat drops over Polos, and they've got marine complements ready to go – the Cambrai has a troop of specialists, too, and they'll be invaluable on the ground."

"Understood, admiral," Murphy said, "so what's the plan?"

"Reaper forces are concentrating in the east of the city" – as the admiral spoke, her words were illustrated by a glowing, holographic map of Polos on the war room table – "towards the siari temple. The asari militia and what's left of the Alliance contingent are dug in there, holding off the assault. The west of the city, however, is relatively abandoned – the Reapers rolled through and tore it apart, then moved on to the east. You'll be dropping in this 'white zone' to the west, with three battalions of Makos and supporting infantry. You make a quick push east, break the siege around the temple, and help the defenders push out to secure the city."

"Just like that, huh?" laughed the captain of the Bunker Hill.

"Just like that," Lindholm smiled.

"What do you need from us?"

"Nine marines from each of you, and a dozen from the Cambrai. I need you all assembled on the Hawking within the next half hour. We'll split you up, and send a battalion – five Makos – with each frigate. The Hawking will maintain altitude and provide fighter support as necessary – the Belfast will provide heavy cover. Ready up, everyone!"

With that, Admiral Lindholm's hologram flickered and disappeared, as did the great map of Polos, and the Cambrai team was left alone in silence.

"Listen up!" Murphy barked, filling the empty air. "You heard the admiral – you'll be heading for the shuttles to rendezvous on the Hawking. Before you do, here are your assignments: Alpha will go with 1st Battalion off our own ramp – that's Sarah, Irving, Alec and Victor."

The three N7s looked thoroughly unsurprised at being partnered with each other, but the last name did draw some surprised expressions – Irving turned and shared an imperceptible glance with Cross, before shouldering his rifle and nodding his assent.

"Bravo's the asari. Saffiya, Maelar, Aeryn, Liselle. You'll go in with 2nd Battalion off the Midway."

Just like the N7s, the four asari shared a familial glance with each other – the first three were readily familiar with each other, and the fourth, Liselle, had integrated surprisingly well, making her a solid choice to round out the squad.

"3rd Battalion, dropping from Bunker Hill – that's Charlie: Lynus, Arrete, Kyra and Vor."

The third and final squad looked far less cohesive than the other two – Murphy had faith in every one of them _individually_, but he was privately praying his gamble paid off, especially with the volatile batarian involved...

"What about us, captain?" Andersen piped up, motioning to himself and Klara.

"You two are on support duty. We're going to be sending out a shuttle to provide mobile engineering support where it's needed – the Midway's sending four of their own techs, and you two are rounding off the crew."

"Aye aye."

"You all know where you're headed. Get moving, and give 'em hell down there!"


	171. Operation Thunder Part 1

_**Polos West, Cyone**_

_**Day 1, 1840**_

"Looks like hell down there, don't it?"

Irving had to admit, his companion had a point. The two of them were stood at the edge of the Cambrai's open docking ramp, a few feet ahead of the Mako column that now occupied the ship's hangar. Below, the world was fire and dancing light for as far as the marine could see – the sun was dipping low in the sky, and as darkness approached, anti-air fire and stray shots lit the dusk.

His companion was a rather odd man by the name of Gunney. Tall, black, and with a Texan drawl, Gunney seemed about as unsubtle as it was possible for a man to _be_. Nonetheless, he cut a dashing figure, and his status precluded him – he was the battalion's commander, and the driver of the lead Mako.

"Times like this," Gunney continued, "these are when you _want _N7s on your side."

"Oh?"

"Don't play dumb. You know you boys got a reputation – guy's only gotta look at your scars to know you mean business. Where'd you get 'em?"

"Torfan."

"See what I mean? You survived that, you'll survive this, and you might just drag the rest of us with you..."

"There weren't any _Reapers_ on Torfan," Wolfe pointed out – the Reaper destroyer some undisclosed distance to the north was a nagging worry in his mind...

"You ain't much for optimism, are you?"

"The optimists are the ones who get shot first."

"Now _that _ain't a healthy attitude. You expect to get shot, you _gonna _get shot..."

"1st Battalion!" a voice interrupted – Irving could just about recognise Erika Solov's Russian tones over the crackle of radio static and the rush of wind whipping past. "Sixty seconds to destination! We clear it out, then you _roll _out, are we clear?"

"Clear, ma'am," Gunney murmured into the radio. Then, he turned away, pacing towards the Makos, and called over his shoulder: "Big man, you're up on the breakers with me!"

"The breakers?" Irving shouted back, confused.

"Yeah! Up front – the big waves, know what I mean? Get your ass ready!"

Finally catching on, the big marine strode up to the first Mako, and clambered up onto the top of it as Gunney dropped through the hatch to the interior. Irving, meanwhile, shimmied along to the back of the tank, where a low platform and a couple of rails allowed soldiers to perch on the vehicle's back. A marine was already sat on the opposite side of the platform, clutching his rifle, and he shot Irving a kind albeit nervous smile as he shuffled down into his seat. A quick glance along the column showed him Victor and Sarah on the back of the third Mako – further down the line, Alec was just climbing onto the fifth and final one, the rear guard.

"Might want to buckle up," the marine muttered, nodding to the rail at the edge of the platform – two hooks, not dissimilar to those used in fast-roping, were lined up along the side and attached to the tank by what appeared to be steel cable. With a grateful nod at the marine, he grabbed one, wrapped it around his waist, and clipped the rope to itself behind his back, anchoring himself securely to the vehicle's tail. Last of all, he pulled his helmet on – it had been held lazily in his hand up until then – and checked that his weapons were clipped into place on his hardsuit.

All that remained, then, was to wait for their arrival. The Cambrai was rushing over the war-torn city, and he had a suspicion that the stealth systems were engaged, because there didn't seem to be any real effort to _stop _them on the Reapers' part. In the distance, he could see the Midway thundering down to the north, with the 2nd Battalion aboard.

"Ten seconds!" Solov announced. "Javelins away!"

Sure enough, a bevy of glowing blue shot out ahead of the Cambrai, and after a moment's delay, the open hangar doors were filled by a haze of wind and fire, as the missiles rent the very air apart around their impacts. When the frigate finally slowed, coming to hover over the open plaza that formed the LZ, Irving could see the smashed remnants of a statue in the centre – the glass facades of stores around the edge were shattered too, and there was an odd limb here or there, the sole remainder of the few stray husks that had been wandering the area.

"Hang on tight, marines," Gunney cheered, "and welcome to the shark tank!"

With that, a great din filled the hangar – five engines had just rumbled into life, and quite suddenly, Irving could feel throbbing beneath his feet as Gunney revved their own.

"Now, now, now!" the pilot screamed, and the 1st Battalion went off without a backward glance – Gunnery floored it, and the Mako shot forwards, tyres screeching and flailing desperately against the slick bay floor. Irving found himself hurled sideways as the tank roared off with surprising speed – in a matter of moments they were at the very edge of the hangar ramp, they were dropping, and then-

Wolfe had the strangest sensation of weightlessness as the Mako finally dropped over the edge. The front wheels dipped, and the tank threatened to plunge down on its nose, but a quick burst from the thrusters levelled her out, and she dropped like a rather well-balanced stone. The craft plummeted down for another fifty feet, and then, moments from smashing into the ground, Gunney hit the thrusters once more – Irving felt as if his very _spine _had been shaken apart, as every ounce of momentum suddenly turned around and tried to claw its way back up to the Cambrai.

And then, it was over – with surprising smoothness, the Mako hit terra firma, and Gunney hit the gas immediately. The wheels churned helplessly for a moment, then found some traction, and the tank tore away across the plaza, making room for the next one to drop in its place.

"One-one, on the ground," the Texan drawl announced.

"One-two, hittin' now," a second voice called – sure enough, as Irving looked back, another Mako thudded down on the hard plaza, right where they had landed moments before.

"Get your asses on the ground, all of you," Gunney ordered. "We don't have all day..."


	172. Operation Thunder Part 2

_**Polos West, Cyone**_

_**Day 1, 1850**_

As their convoy thundered along the highway heading east, Rilum had to marvel at Polos. It was a marvel unlike anything he had seen before – the sharp curves of asari architecture, forged out of silver-grey alloy, reminded him of a postcard of Thessia...

"This is Delta," announced Andersen's voice, suddenly. "We're in the air, ready to provide support. Anyone engaged yet?"

"Give it a moment," Irving Wolfe replied. "Big pack of hostiles up ahead... _contact_."

Through the radio, Rilum could hear the dull rush of air and fire that signalled several heavy impacts, and guessed that the mass accelerators had started firing. With a slight grin adorning his voice, the marine continued:

"They're dropping like flies! Pushing on east..."

"Bravo? Charlie?" the eyes in the sky continued. "What about you?"

"Nothing yet," Saffiya murmured. "We had to double back, the overpass was rubble."

"Charlie?"

"On the highway," Rilum muttered, as the silver-grey road flashed past beneath him. "No sign of-"

"Hey!" a sharp voice interrupted. Looking to the side, Rilum saw his fellow salarian, Arrete, unfolding his rifle – it was a rare, fully-automatic Indra model, and he had it aimed to the side, beyond the edge of the road, as he continued: "Contacts, on the underpass..."

Sure enough, as he craned his head to look, Rilum found a mob of hostiles entering his vision – the far end of the underpass was packed with husks, Cannibals, and a couple of Marauders too...

"Scratch that," he corrected. "Multiple contacts – no danger, they're a way off. Convoy, halt and fire!"

"You heard him!" the convoy leader yelled. "Give them the MGs, boys!"

There was a low rumble as five machineguns span around and spooled up, before, with a deafening chatter, the guns began to fire. Hissing rounds leapt through the air, stinging the road and burying themselves in every available inch of dead flesh. Arrete was adding in rounds from his own rifle, and most of the marines were following suit, picking off any targets they could from their vantage point on the overpass. Rilum, for his part, didn't bother – his Locust was hardly a long range weapon – but he made the effort to hurl a fireball from his omni-tool, reducing three Cannibals to ash.

The salarian major was quickly realising why Lindholm had decided on an armoured assault – salarians rarely bothered with armour, preferring infantry and close air support, but the Makos were undeniably effective here. They were pumping round after round into the targets, firing far quicker than any organic soldier – they didn't have to stop and load a new clip, after all – and quite literally _shredding _the husks until only corpses and tattered limbs remained. The street was awash with the silver-blue, cybernetic cocktail that passed for husk blood, and after three minutes, not a single thing was moving...

"Status?" he murmured.

"I'm a few clips lighter," Arrete joked, "but other than that? Just fine..."

"We're all alright," the Mako leader reported, more seriously. "A few bullet impacts, but barriers soaked them up. Ready to move?"

"Indeed – resume eastward course, full speed."

"Aye aye."

The wheels dug in once more, giving the tell-tale _bark _as they found traction, and the convoy rumbled on casually, as if the slaughter of a few dozen husks had been no effort at all. Once again, Rilum had to marvel at the humans' creation – the Mako could quite literally bulldoze through the lighter Reaper troops, husks, Cannibals, and so on. His only fear was that the heavier units might overpower them – the fearsome Brutes were big enough to flip a tank, he guessed, and those rachni units had enough firepower to contend with the kinetic barriers...

"Ground teams, this is the Hawking," Admiral Lindholm's voice interrupted. "We're positioned in low orbit – the Belfast is providing cover, and we're ready to deploy fighters. If you need close air support, it's there."

"Copy that, Hawking," Sarah Jade replied, on behalf of the task force at large. "How's the situation looking from up there?"

"Not as bad as it was before... Your attack in the west drew off a large portion of the besieging force around the temple – the asari have managed to push out to the perimeter, secure the outer barricades and re-establish communications. They're just waiting for your reinforcements now."

"Copy that. Without any interruptions, 1st Battalion's ETA is around thirty minutes."

"Fifty at least for the 2nd," the justicar Saffiya chipped in. "We keep hitting dead ends, it might take us a while to break through."

"Understood. 3rd Battalion, what about you?"

"Fifteen to twenty," Rilum muttered, confidently. "We're on the highway, moving at full speed."

"Very good," the admiral replied. "Keep moving."

"Ma'am?" Irving Wolfe spoke up, "What about the Reaper?"

"Belfast's tracking. Don't worry – if it gets close, you'll be the first to know."

"That's a _big _relief," Arrete scowled, once the admiral was off the radio. "We might get stomped on by a Reaper, but at least we'll be warned first..."


	173. Operation Thunder Part 3

_**Polos West, Cyone**_

_**Day 1, 1900**_

"_Finally,_" the Mako driver sighed, with a tone of utmost relief.

"Clear path?" Saffiya guessed. From her perch on the back of the lead vehicle, Two-One, it seemed like every route they had tried was blocked, and a clear one was only a little way short of a miracle.

"Yeah..." the operator confirmed. "Small road, houses and businesses on either side. Not the highway, but it's clear as far as the next intersection."

"It'll do," the justicar nodded. "Take us i-"

"Wait!"

Saffiya wheeled around, and was surprised to see the dappled-grey face of Liselle V'Dorn looking right at her. Her fellow asari had unclipped herself from Two-Two and scrambled up to the tank's nose, leaving her just feet from Saffiya on the tail of the first.

"Think about it, justicar," Liselle continued, cannily. "Every road for miles around was cut off... except for this one?"

"You think it's a trap?" Saffiya murmured, catching on quickly.

"Indeed... Reapers are predators like any other. They're waiting to ambush us – they must be. If they're not, they're stupid..."

"We don't have an alternative, though, that's the very nature of the trap... They've cut off every other route, so trap or no, we have to take this one. Either that, or abort here..."

"We can't abort," Maelar interjected firmly, from the back of the convoy. "If we don't make it through, this city falls."

There was a horrible moment of silence, as the impossible dilemma sank into the justicar's mind. Every ounce of her battle training screamed against the idea of knowingly walking into an ambush, but her morals were dead set against abandoning their allies beyond... The Mako's operator had popped out of the topside hatch, watching her expectantly for orders, but only one decent solution seemed to present itself, and it was an outside bet.

"Is there any chance we can get up onto the buildings?" she murmured. "Send an infantry group to ambush the ambushers, so to speak?"

"Not easily, ma'am. You'd have to go from the ground up, and they'd hear you coming..."

Bizarrely, Saffiya found herself wishing Raziel was here for more than the usual reasons – a light-footed assassin would have been _very _handy right now. Without one at hand, however, she turned to her backup plan:

"We move in at full speed. Hammer the throttle, look to the end of the road, and don't stop for _anything_."

"That's your plan?" the Mako driver replied, sceptically. "Move really fast?"

"An ambush by Reaper troops is going to rely on those Rachni units, Ravagers. They do a huge amount of damage, but have a slow rate of fire. If we move fast, we should outrun the worst of the incoming fire."

"The justicar's right," Liselle agreed. "Short of going home, the only way through is to gun it..."

"Alright..." the operator grimaced, with a tone of resignation as he dropped back into the tank. "One suicidal charge, coming right up. 2nd, all forward! Full speed, make for the highway intersection – boots don't come off the throttle unless they're _blown _off your legs!"

"Aye aye!" came a collective shout, and a moment later it was accompanied by a collective screech of tires and a collective roar of engines. Liselle scrambled back across the second Mako, Two-Two, to clip herself back into her seat, and Saffiya found herself yanked helplessly through the air as the lead vehicle thundered up the road. Finally, she regained her balance, and set her eyes ahead once more.

It took all of thirty seconds for Liselle's suspicions to be confirmed. No sooner had Saffiya's Mako passed the first shop front than a red-hued shot whistled down, embedding itself in the steel just a few inches from her leg. A leering Cannibal had fired the shot from a five-storey building to the right, and was now flanked by two fellows. To the left, a twisted rachni was scuttling to the precipice, gun barrels swinging down...

"Suppressing fire!" she yelled, to the young marine sat opposite her. "Don't let them-"

_Pop._

With that dull, unimpressive sound, the marine's head exploded. A Cannibal's shot tore through his brow, smashed out of the back of his skull, and bounced merrily off down the road, even as the young human's corpse slipped backwards. The tether around his waist, however, refused to release him, and his body was left dangling horribly behind the Mako's tail...

_Boom._

That morbid problem was fixed a moment later, as the Ravager to the left took its first shot – the bright red explosion that resulted tore through the back-left corner of the Mako, causing the rear wheels to hop and skip uncontrollably, and taking a chunk out of the marine's corpse while simultaneously pulverising his tether. Finally free, he went tumbling off down the road, bouncing mere feet from Two-Two's wheel.

Any thought for the poor man, however, was outside the realm of Saffiya's mind at that moment. The Ravager had _two _guns, and a second glowing shot was racing down towards them – out of pure instinct, energy began to flow through her very nerves, and biotics blossomed from her fingertips to form a swirling, glistening barrier in the surrounding air.

_Wham._

The Ravager's shot hit hard, but accomplished nothing more than to produce a little feedback in the justicar's hands. With a surge of victorious adrenaline, she realised it was _working_. Something had just rocketed up from behind the buildings – leathery wings flashed through her peripheral vision – but here and now, seeing nothing beyond the ambushers on the rooftops, it _worked_.

"Barriers!" she screamed. "Biotic barriers, _now!_"

Liselle caught on first, and a great blue canopy billowed out over the second Mako. Aeryn followed, on Two-Four, and then, finally, the convoy's tail end was covered by a fourth, Maelar's. With a horrible pang of realisation, however, Saffiya's eyes roved over the third tank, in the middle of the procession – as they hurtled along the road, there was no asari aboard Two-Three, and no barrier to cover it...

"Harvester!" a marine yelled. "Two o'clock hi-"

There was no real word to describe the noise that interrupted the marine's shout. It wasn't a mundane _boom_, but a great rush of noise and fire and light...

The Harvester's great shadow swept over the convoy, and when the fire finally dimmed, Two-Three was a burned-out husk, skipping and hopping along the road – it finally _crunch_ed onto its nose, span sideways, and narrowly missed the fourth Mako, almost removing Aeryn's head in the process.

"Keep the barriers up!" Saffiya ordered, firmly. A quick glance ahead showed her the highway on-ramp, not too far away. If they could just hold the damn thing off long enough to escape this ambush...

Looking back once more, she saw the Harvester swing around in midair, saw the great maw descend on the convoy's tail... A burst of red fire billowed out, heading straight for number five-

And it clattered harmlessly against Maelar's shield – the vanguard's arms quivered at the impact, but refused to falter, and the winged monster swerved away, shrieking in disapproval. As it did, it sent another shot racing to the head of the line – Saffiya could _see _it rushing towards her, watching it every step of the way-

Like Maelar, her shield held – an intense _jolt_, not unlike electricity, filled the nerves of her arms and hands, but the barrier held nonetheless, and the Harvester roared its anger once more. The _thing _– that was the best way of describing it, she decided – swooped down low, skeletal feet coming mere metres from the top of Maelar's tank, and screeched as it sent two whistling shots along the convoy's spine.

Once again, Saffiya found the shots rushing towards her – she braced her arms, shut her eyes to focus, and felt two powerful _thump_s, as if they were crashing against her very palms. When she opened her eyes, she found the air full of dancing, flickering red fire, but she and her comrades were unharmed, at least...

That fact seemed to infuriate the Harvester – even as the Makos mounted the highway on-ramp and raced away from the initial ambush, the great monster was beating its wings and soaring away to the side, over the rooftops, resuming its hunt...


	174. Operation Thunder Part 4

**A/N: Anyone fancy a double update? In a brilliant mood (can't remember being this proud to be British) after watching the Olympic opening ceremony, so here's another chapter to round off tonight. I'm honestly interested to know (especially from our readers outside the UK), if you watched the ceremony... well, what did you think?**

* * *

><p><em><strong>Polos West, Cyone<strong>_

_**Day 1, 1915**_

As he peered at the shuttle's viewscreen, Andersen could help but be a little disappointed at the desolate streets below. He would have preferred fires and carnage – at least that suggested _fighting_. The empty city beneath them just suggested defeat.

He peered around at his fellows in the shuttle. The Midway's four engineers were all the usual gearheads he had worked with in the Engineering Corps – light armour, visors rather than helmets, pistols at best... Put simply, they didn't look like they could hold a fight with... well, _anything_. If there was one thing Andersen was grateful to the Cambrai for above all else, it was toughening him up a bit. Klara'Tseni, for her part, looked bloody nervous, even beneath her visor – it was written in her body language, and the way she was _constantly _checking her weapons. It was understandable – she was green for real combat, and was imagining a baptism of fire. She was probably going to get it, he realised, as he checked his omni-tool...

"Are you buckled in?" he muttered, motioning to the belts which held them onto the shuttle seats.

"No," she replied, sceptically. The engineers looked equally bemused, even _condescending_ – according to the Midway's captain this was their first real ground war, but they were cocky as any marine, and seemed to consider seat belts as a slight against their pride and image...

"Then do it," Andersen instructed, solemnly – she did, wrapping the belt around her hips, although the other engineers didn't deign to follow her lead. "Are your weapons ready?"

"Yes," the quarian nodded, briefly. She had a Locust SMG on her hip, and a folded Viper rifle on her back.

"Shields?"

"Full strength."

"Boost them."

She complied, tapping away at her omni-tool and producing a slight shimmer as her shields powered up.

"Why are you checking all this?" she asked, absent-mindedly.

"Because according to my radar, there's a blip the size of a small house coming our way, and we can't do a bloody thing to evade it."

"Wha-"

_Wham._

With a horrible rending noise, _something _slammed into the shuttle, and the world began to spin. Alarms were wailing in the chaos, scarlet light bathed the craft's interior, and one of the other engineers was already sporting a blood wound – the impact had hurled him off his feet, and his brow had split open as he hit the far wall of the compartment.

"Brace for impact!" Andersen yelled – it should have been the pilot giving that command, but the cockpit door was buckled and dented, and he had a horrible suspicion the cockpit itself had been crushed.

"How long until we hit?" Klara shouted, over the scream of the plummeting craft.

"Doesn't matter, but it can't be lo-"

_Crash..._

When the blackness finally cleared, Andersen had the curious sensation that he was _upside down_. It took his dazed head a worryingly long time to realise the shuttle was on its roof, with the seat belt he had insisted on so strongly now holding him to the 'ceiling', which was in reality the floor... wow, thinking was painful...

"Andersen?" a weak voice murmured.

"Klara," he sighed, in relief. "You alright?"

"We just dropped out of the sky. Does that _sound _alright to you?"

"Well, we're doing better than the others, at any rate..."

"What do you mean?" she began, then gasped, and whispered: "Oh, keelah..."

The quarian had just caught sight of something Andersen had spotted some time before – the rest of the crew. Two of the engineers were twisted in the wreckage of the far wall, quite definitely dead – they were bloody and battered, pulverised beyond recognition with a crushed chest and a shattered skull respectively. A third was splayed out across the floor, head twisted at a horrible angle, while the fourth and final tech was half-way through the shuttle door. He had evidently struggled over to the door, wrenching it open and making it half way to the world outside before he finally fell dead...

"Broken necks, internal bleeding, massive trauma..." Andersen surmised, sadly. "All died on impact, apart from that poor sod by the door."

"They're dead..." Klara murmured, almost disbelievingly. "They're _dead_..."

"Stay with me, Klara," the engineer muttered, calmly – the quarian was still a rookie, green for real combat, and if he didn't treat this correctly, there was a good chance of her breaking down right here and now.

"I... I'm okay," she nodded – upside down.

"Alright... We need to get moving, before they come to check for survivors. If we're lucky, we can link up with one of the armoured battalions and hitch a ride to the temple. Can you get your belt undone?"

She nodded, reached upwards, and unclipped the seat belt after a moment's difficulty – with an undignified yelp, she then proceeded to drop straight downwards, landing helmet-first with a _crunch_, and flopping onto the shuttle floor.

Andersen followed suit, gripping onto the belt as he unclipped it – still hanging onto the ceiling by it, he flipped right-way up and dropped nimbly to the floor, crouching in a ready position as he reached for his pistol. The familiar Predator was infinitely reassuring once it was in his hand, and Klara was similarly clutching her Locust as she scrambled to her feet.

"Stay low and quiet," Andersen instructed. As he ducked through the open doorway, he added: "Stay close."

"I can't hear the Harvester," Klara pointed out, as she followed him into the open air.

"Me neither..."

There was an uneasy feeling in the pit of Andersen's stomach even as he spoke. He had a horrible feeling the beast had gone in search of new prey...


	175. Operation Thunder Part 5

_**Polos West, Cyone**_

_**Day 1, 1935**_

"Shuttle's down," Rilum grimaced, as he watched smoke trail up over the rooftops.

"Want us to divert?" the Mako leader offered. "Thrusters can get us down into the streets..."

"No time," the salarian muttered. "Harvester incoming. Move!"

With a bark of traction, the driver complied, and their vehicle shot forward along the highway at an even faster speed. Rilum could already hear a screeching off to the left, and then, quite suddenly, a pair of leathery wings flashed through his field of vision.

"Gun it down!" the driver bellowed, and five machine guns swivelled upwards. A chattering crescendo of gunfire played out, as the air was filled with flashing rounds and smoke. The Harvester gave a satisfying screech and trying to twist out of the line of fire, but a moment later it got the upper hand, and-

_Boom._

Mercifully, the creature's shot was poorly aimed – a result of the stinging gunfire, perhaps – and missed the convoy, slamming into an abandoned house at the side of the road and gutting the entire ground floor with red fire.

"MGs ineffective!" Three-One's operator yelled, as the Harvester came around for another pass. "Use the big guns!"

Moments later, as the Harvester's gaping jaw swept down towards the convoy once more, the gunner did just that – Rilum felt his very _spine _shake as the Mako's mass accelerator fired, rocking the vehicle's chassis as it raced along the highway. A bright lance whistled upwards-

And found its target. The round hit home, and hit hard, tearing into the side of the Harvester's head. One of the twin guns around its maw was ripped away, and a great chunk of cybernetic flesh was scoured from what remained of the creature's bones – it swung sideways with a baleful moan, screeched aloud... and ploughed straight into the convoy's side.

Whatever hope had been instilled by the wounding of the Harvester, it was quickly torn away again. The bloodied beast swept low, bounced off the road – leaving deep cracks in the surface as it did – and smashed into Three-Three. A set of thick, steely claws gouged through the top of the tank, and Vor Hebat was sent flying through the air, landing lifelessly a few feet from Rilum's own Mako. He was closely followed by the torn husk of his vehicle, as the Harvester tossed it aside and took to the air once more.

Any semblance of order had disappeared now. The rear two Makos had stopped dead to avoid the Harvester and the crashing number three, while the front two had spun around, hitting the brakes to check on their fellows. There was no movement from within Three-Three, and the marine who had been riding on the tail was hanging limply from the wreck, still attached at the waist, but quite obviously dead.

Another screech rent the air before Rilum could shout another order – the Harvester came whirling in again, this time from high above, and unleashed a torrent of red fire on the convoy below.

"We're hit!" Three-Four's driver screamed, as the nose of his vehicle disappeared under the scarlet veil. "Pull ba-"

_Boom._ The torrent of scarlet exploded in an equally vivid shade of crimson, half-blinding Rilum and the other onlookers. A wave of flame savaged the road, and the Mako was tossed through the air like a ragdoll, bouncing lazily along the road until it smashed into a shop front at the side of the road, and lay still. Rilum could see movement – the hatch to the interior was buckled, and someone within was trying to push it open. Furthermore, one of the marines now dangling from the vessel's tail was struggling to unclip himself from the battered wreck...

"Salarian!" a tense cry interrupted. It was the operator of their own Mako – he had popped out of the topside hatch, and was staring at his two passengers with a frustrated expression. "What the _hell _do we do?"

Rilum took a moment to step back, and examine the situation – it felt like an eternity of analysis, but his mind performed the task in seconds. Makos One and Two were still untouched, paralysed only by indecision. Three-Three was a scarred wreck, with all hands lost, and Three-Four was a few hundred yards down the highway, buried in the side of a building. The latter did seem to have a few survivors among her crew, though... That left Three-Five alone at the back of the convoy. The tank had survived the worst of the blast, but was worryingly still, a static target, even.

"Three-Five," he called. No reply. "Three-Five?"

"Kyra!" Arrete interjected. "Tell your boys to get moving!"

"No can do!" she screamed back, over the din now filling the air – the Harvester was screeching aloud, and the three remaining Makos were filling the air with MG fire once more.

"Why the hell not?"

"Drivetrain's wrecked, we can't get her to move!"

The two salarians and their human companion shared a panicked look atop the Mako, as the dilemma intensified in Rilum's mind. Stay and fight, or gun it and save the majority...?

The Harvester screamed again, appearing over the rooftops to the right and spinning over in the air, the gaping maw dropping down to face them. Quite suddenly, Rilum realised just _how _exposed Three-Five was, alone at the back.

"Kyra, get off the tank," he ordered, firmly.

"Wha-"

"Just do it! Abandon, abort, just _get clear!_"

From their vantage point at the front of the pack, the two salarians watched on somewhat helplessly as their colleague struggled with her tether – finally, after an agonising period of waiting, she unclipped it and jumped free, landing a few yards away and immediately sprinting for safety. The marine who had been next to her was making a similar beeline away from the tank, and the topside hatch had just been flung open, as the crewmen clambered out-

_Boom._

Three-Five was replaced by a scarlet fireball as the Harvester bombed the road once more. Two wheels were sent bouncing off down the road, and the nigh-on indestructible Mako was left a burning husk. Kyra and her marine colleague were splayed out on the road, knocked down by the shockwave, but they at least appeared to be alive – unlike their colleagues _inside _the tank.

"Salarian?" their own driver repeated, somewhat more timidly. The Harvester was still circling in the air, lending urgency to their predicament. "Orders?"

"We can't just sit here," Rilum sighed, sadly. "Press forward."

"_What?_" Arrete hissed, voicing the concerns of Rilum's own conscience. "What about the survivors?"

"We..."

With that, the salarian major faltered. His usual firm application of ruthless calculus was somewhat muddled – it might have been shellshock, or the fact that the survivors were mere yards away, within reach, but suddenly he wasn't so sure of what to do... And then, the decision was taken out of his hands.

"Get out of here!" a firm voice interrupted, bellowing forcefully. "Draw the Harvester off! I'll get the rest..."

"You heard him," Rilum muttered, still not quite sure where – or who – the intervention was coming from. "Forward, full speed!"


	176. Operation Thunder Part 6

_**Polos West, Cyone**_

_**Day 1, 1940**_

"He took the bait!" Arrete yelled – the salarian sniper was leaning off the side of the Mako, tracking the Harvester with the rifle in his arms.

"Of course he did," Three-One's driver grunted. "Live prey or a bunch of stragglers? Tough choice... Light him up!"

"No!" Rilum barked. "Hold your fire!"

"What?"

"Just trust me, human! Arrete, open fire, draw his attention!"

"Whatever you say..."

_Crack crack crack. _The quick chatter of automatic gunfire rang out, as Arrete pulled the trigger on his Indra, popping a trio of rounds into the air – they stung the great monster's eyes with remarkable accuracy, but did little more than that.

"Hawking!" Rilum called into the radio, over the rising din – the two remaining Makos were burning out their engines in an effort to escape, filling the air with a furious bellow of bursting cylinders. "Can you hear this?"

"We hear you," a female operator replied. "Identify."

"Lynus Rilum, SSV Cambrai, attached to Mako Three-One. We're in trouble here!"

"Trouble?"

"Harvester in the air! It ripped up our convoy. We've got two tanks left, hostile in pursuit."

"Christ... what do you want me to do, Three-One?"

"Just track my signal, and prepare a package."

"What kind of package?"

"Unfamiliar with Alliance ordnance. Corporal?"

"Takin' out the Harvester?" Three-One's gunner guessed.

"Yes. Recommendation?"

"F-61s, loaded for bloody bear!"

"Copy that, Hawking?"

"We've got a two-man flight of F-61s ready to deploy," the operator murmured, from the skies above. "Sixty seconds to load air-to-air ordnance, another sixty to reach your location."

"We'll be dust by then!" the driver growled, as he swerved across the road – the Harvester had taken another swing at them, a scarlet blast narrowly missing their tank's nose.

"Change of plan," Rilum muttered. "Have you got flares?"

"Yeah, but we're saving them for when we bloody crash!" the human retorted. Nonetheless, the topside hatch slid back, and a little red cylinder was tossed up from within – he grabbed it deftly, and turned to his colleague.

"Arrete, follow my lead!"

With that, he set about unfastening himself from the Mako – he unclipped the tether rope, pulled it from around his waist, and hung on to it tightly as the tank continued to race along the highway.

"Are we really doing this?" Arrete grinned, disconnecting his own tether.

"Welcome to the crew," Rilum smiled back. "Now!"

With that, he released his grip on the cable, and to his right, Arrete did the same. The two of them hung weightless for a moment, dangling like puppets in the air, and then...

_Thump_. They hit the ground simultaneously, and what remained of their momentum sent them rolling along the road for a good few metres, as the Mako pulled away. Mercifully, Three-Two had the good sense to swerve around them before proceeding – Rilum was ashamed to admit he hadn't actually _thought _about the tank behind when he was formulating his plan, and they could very easily have been flattened.

"Get its attention!" he roared, as the Harvester's shadow passed over them.

"Can do!" his fellow shouted back – already on his feet, Arrete crouched low, took aim, and fired.

_Crack crack crack crack crack crack. _The Harvester screamed as half a dozen rounds shot up, pock-marking the monster's midriff and causing it to wheel around in the air, cybernetic eyes searching for the two salarians.

"Run?" Arrete bellowed.

"Run!" Rilum nodded.

He hopped up and launched into a sprint, with the flare in one hand and his SMG in the other. The quick patter of agile boots told him his fellow wasn't far behind, as he set his sights on the nearest building – it was a low, two-storey affair, which he guessed had once been a shop, judging by the panel window in the front wall, long since shattered. A quick run and a jump carried him through it, as Arrete thundered in his wake, and the Harvester screamed its frustration at their disappearance.

_Boom_. The peripheries of Rilum's vision glowed scarlet as a furious blast hit the front wall of the shop, damn near knocking him off his feet. He ploughed onwards, however, and the tip of a rifle protruding into his field of vision told him Arrete was still running too.

"Hawking?" he called once more, as they shot through the back wall of the gutted shop and set about climbing the stairs. "Lighting a flare. Track the IR beacon."

"Understood..."

"Fire escape!" Arrete interrupted. The younger salarian overtook Rilum, reached the top of the stairs, and then dealt the grey emergency door a savage blow with the butt of his rifle – it popped open, rocking on its hinges, and Arrete swung out onto the waiting ladder.

Rilum made to follow suit, but before he did, he _click_ed the top of the flare, and it sprang into life – red smoke began to billow out of the upper end, while the lower end blinked scarlet, pulsating with light as it emitted a signal to the world at large.

"Locked on," the Hawking operator replied, as Rilum burst out into the fading daylight once more and clambered up towards the roof.

Arrete was already waiting for him there, rifle in hand, and the Harvester was circling overhead...

"ETA on the package?"

"Sixty seconds, they're diving now!"

_Boom._ The operator's words were drowned out by a deafening roar as the Harvester finally struck again, this time pulverising a section of the roof and causing it to crumble away.

"Mind the gap," Arrete muttered sarcastically, eyeing the abyss with caution.

"Move!" Rilum shouted back. "Next building!"

The younger operative turned, sent two rounds at the Harvester – _crack crack _– and then swept around, following Rilum to the edge. When they finally _reached _the edge, they leapt – and the next rooftop, a storey lower, seemed to rush up _very _quickly.

_Crunch_. Rilum's legs shook as he landed, but he rolled and kept running, and his comrade followed in his wake – was it just paranoia, or had the younger agent taken a bit less of a _knock_ on landing? He put his aged insecurities to the bottom of his mind and kept running, waving the crimson flare high above his head even as the Harvester swept down.

"Dagger to Three-One Actual, twenty seconds out!" a hoarse voice called over the radio.

_Boom._ The corner of the roof exploded, showering rubble to the street below, and with a hideous scream the Harvester leapt down, beating its leathery wings and hovering above their heads. Another shot was brewing in the one remaining cannon, and-

_Boom._ This time, the explosion _wasn't _borne from the Harvester's mouth. A blue shape flashed past at staggering speed, a fiery blast ripped through the air, and the Harvester dropped a few feet, screeching horribly and beating its now-burning wings. And then, finally, a few moments later...

_Boom._

That final blast coincided with the Harvester's death knell – the second Alliance fighter shot past, delivering the fatal missile, and the monster lurched forwards, not screeching this time. It was silent, and quite dead as it crashed to the rooftop, perilously close to the two salarians.

For some reason, the sight of the beast's corpse a few feet away didn't inspire Rilum with confidence. It filled him with dread, as his eidetic memory flickered through the pages of _something_... an Alliance training manual, for dealing with Reaper troops. The Harvester... troop transport... heavy firepower...

"Self destruct," he murmured aloud. "Get off the roof!"

Arrete took a mere moment to realise what he meant, and his eyes bulged wide with panic. Quite suddenly, the two of them were sprinting to the edge of the roof overlooking the highway, forgetting anything and everything else. To Rilum's surprise, two Makos were waiting below – more importantly, the Harvester was burning up in red fire behind, a ticking time bomb-

The world exploded into crimson, and the two of them jumped...


	177. Operation Thunder Part 7

_**Polos West, Cyone**_

_**Day 1, 1945**_

"Alright, you'd better not _all _be dead," Kyra groaned. The world had just returned from darkness, and she was staggering to her feet, simultaneously searching for her weapons. The last thing she remembered was dashing away from the Mako – then, a flash of red, and a veil of inky blackness.

"Sorry to disappoint you, ma'am," a hoarse voice chuckled, darkly, "but there ain't too many of us standing..."

With a subtle _pop_, Kyra's deafened hearing returned, to a chorus of crackling fire and creaking steel. Casting her eyes around, she saw only a scene of devastation – three tanks lay wrecked across the highway, along with at least half a dozen bodies, some of whom she had _watched _die in the preceding chaos. Off to the right, huddled around a shop front near the crumpled corpse of Mako Three-Four, a trio of rag-tag survivors were clutching their weapons. One of them was a marine, the same one she had been riding with on Three-Five, while the other two were clearly tank crew, from the ruined vehicle now buried in the building's wall. They were holding basic pistols, while the marine had a rifle and a shotgun at the ready.

"I need a gun," she muttered, stumbling slightly – the world was still blurry, and the other soldiers seemed to be miles away.

"Shotgun?" the marine grunted. Only now did Kyra realise he was talking through a bloody lump on his lower jaw, giving his voice a somewhat muddled quality.

"It'll do."

With that, he grabbed the folded Scimitar on his back and hurled it through the air – it was still unfolding as she braced it in her arms, feeling far more reassured for its presence.

"We've got incoming," one of the Mako crew interjected, rather explaining the tense state of the survivors. "I think the Harvester dropped them off..."

"Alright," Kyra nodded, slowly. "Stick together, we'll call for-"

_Bang_.

None of them saw the grenade, but every one of them felt its effect as it exploded in the fires surrounding the stricken Three-Five. Kyra, closest to the blast, was knocked flat to the floor, while the others were left looking rather disoriented, stunned, even...

_Crack. Crack. _From her vantage point on the ground, Kyra was forced to watch as two red-lined shots came whistling out of the smoke and fire – one of the Mako crew took the first shot to the head, killing him instantly, while the marine took one to the knee and stumbled, even as three Cannibals came rushing out of nowhere, guns still aimed doggedly at the survivors.

A horrible scene began to play out before her eyes. Another _crack _sounded out as the first Cannibal took a shot – it buried itself not in one of the two living targets, but in the dead man, as if checking he was really dead. Then, they continued their charge – the second Cannibal took its turn, bowling into the marine and knocking his rifle from his hands. The poor man crumpled to the floor, before a hideous, twisted foot kicked him another few feet across the road, closer to Kyra. In the background, the muffled rattle of shots rang out as the second Mako crewman was bashed against the wall and riddled with gunfire – when he finally slid to the floor, his chest was pock-marked by half a dozen different bullet wounds, and the two leering culprits swung around to face Kyra.

_Crack. _Her attention snapped back to the foreground as the marine was put out of a misery – a single shot to the chest finished him, and Kyra was horrified to see the Cannibal crouching down, maw stretching... Dear God, was it-?

It was. As the thing's jaws closed around dead flesh, Kyra scrabbled around, snarling and searching for her shotgun. Finally, her fingers closed around the handle, and she brought it swinging round-

Only to have it kicked out of her hands. The other two Cannibals had bridged the gap, and a dead batarian face was descending nightmarishly towards her, jaws stretching wider and wider as a blue glow began to emanate from within...

_Crunch_. With a hellish roar from somewhere above her, and a screech from her attacker, the Cannibal was tossed overKyra's head by a savage kick – it smashed into the burning wreck of Three-Five behind her, and wailed as the flames bit at its back. Looking up with a mixture of relief and shock, Kyra was presented with a rather more _living _batarian face.

"Move!" Vor Hebat bellowed, his face savage, lit by firelight.

She rolled away, somehow managing to keep watching as the batarian swung around, wrapped his fist in the glowing mesh of an enforcement gauntlet, and delivered a brutal right hook that actually _tore _intowhat remained of the Cannibal's face, turning it into a pulverised, cauterised mess. A moment later, he followed it up with a left hook to the thing's gut, showering dead blood across the floor – when he finally withdrew his fist, the limp corpse dropped to the ground.

Hebat didn't stop at that – still bounding along on fighting momentum, he swung right, approached the Cannibal now clawing its way out of the burning Mako, and stamped down hard, pushing it right back into the flames with a pitiful, dying moan.

That just left one. He swung around as the last Cannibal stood up from its feast, delivered a heavy punch to its chest-

And his fist bounced right back off it. The leering face, vaguely reminiscent of his own in its formerly batarian features, hissed back at him, and Kyra could see plates of what looked like metal covering the Cannibal's head and chest – Vor's punch had been next to useless against the monster's newfound armour.

"Gun!" the batarian yelled, monosyllabic as ever. Kyra's shotgun was lying a foot or two from her prone form – she shot out an arm, grabbed it, and tossed it into the air. To her surprise, the batarian caught it _over his shoulder_, dragged it down to aim at the Cannibal, and let rip:

_Bang bang bang. _Three quick rounds from the Scimitar, and the batarian husk staggered back, silver blood spattering through the air once more. Little fractures were appearing in the armour, but it held firm. Determined nonetheless, Vor lunged forwards, spinning the shotgun so that he was holding it by the barrel, like a bat, and swinging high-

The Cannibal swung out a rough arm, and the batarian revealed his feint, ducking low beneath the outstretched arm and sweeping low with his shotgun. The Cannibal's legs were torn out from underneath it – it hung in midair for a moment, then crashed down face-first, with a wail of surprise.

_Bang. Bang. _Two rounds to the back finished the fight – one to kill the Cannibal, and one to check it was really dead. Vor popped the clip from his shotgun, slid in a new one from his belt – his own weapons were still on his back, much to her surprise – and turned to face her.

"Alright, human?" he grunted.

"I am now..." she sighed. "Mind if I take that? Feeling a little defenceless here..."

"It's not like I'm going to shoot you," Vor frowned, but he handed over the Scimitar nonetheless, for practicality's sake – better to have two people armed than one.

"What now?" Kyra murmured, staggering to her feet. The fight, though brief and... pretty uneventful, for her at least, had taken quite a lot out of her, and her brain was still processing her newfound companion's survival – not long before, her eyes had been telling her he was dead on the road...

"We move," the batarian muttered, decisively. "Get off the highway, find some shelter. And we kill any of these bastards we find along the way."


	178. Operation Thunder Part 8

**A/N: Aaaand, Double Monday continues...**

* * *

><p><em><strong>SSV Cambrai, Silean Nebula<strong>_

_**Day 1, 1955**_

"So, to summarise," Murphy grimaced, "we're in a bad way."

"Well, the offensive hasn't gone _quite _to plan," Admiral Lindholm sighed. "But we still have enough troops on the ground to make it work. What's the latest from your men?"

The admiral had been relying on the Cambrai's close communication with their commandoes as a means of tracking the operation at large – from orbit, the Hawking had to make do with patchy radio reports, which had grown more sporadic as the fighting progressed. The Hawking's true attention was focused outside Polos, tracking the Reaper to the north, and the other troops converging on the city. The marines, meanwhile, were reporting to their frigates, not the carrier, and the Cambrai in particular was keeping a close watch on its troops, as always. Now, stood in the war room, it fell to Captain Murphy to keep her updated.

"Alpha's moving unhindered with the 1st," he began. "A few clashes with the enemy, but no casualties. The fighting's probably going to be thicker as they get nearer, though."

"Understood. What's their ETA?"

"Unless they get waylaid in the danger zone, they should be at the temple in five."

"Good. Once they're there, tell them to establish a comms link between us and the asari. We need to know how the defenders are holding up."

"Will do, admiral."

"What about your other teams?"

"Bravo has cleared the previous blockages – they lost one tank and a few marines when the Harvester hit, but they're making progress on the highway now. They should be at the rendezvous in ten minutes, maybe less."

"I'd prefer less, captain."

"Noted, ma'am. Charlie and the 3rd are having trouble, though, and Delta's all but out of it with the engineering team."

"That... doesn't sound good," Ines murmured.

"It's not," he muttered in reply. "3rd Battalion's down to _two _Makos and four marines. The two that survived have brought down the Harvester and they're en route, but according to my man on the lead vehicle, the status of the rest of the marines is unknown – if they are alive, they're on foot now."

"And Delta?"

"Gone. The Harvester knocked their shuttle out of the air, we haven't heard anything since..."

"I see. Keep me updated, captain."

"Admiral?" Murphy called, just as she turned to depart.

"Yes?"

"Permission to send a recovery team?"

"Use your own judgement, captain. If you think there's anyone to recover, then you have my permission."

"Thank you."

"Just make sure it doesn't get in the way of the mission. Whoever you send, make sure they know what they're getting into – survivors or no, once they're down, they'll have to reach the temple on foot, without support."

"Understood. I'll be in touch, admiral. Just keep us posted on that Reaper."

She nodded quietly, turned, and left, uninterrupted this time. As her hologram faded, Murphy departed too, striding out of the war room, up, around the corner to the CIC, and into the elevator without a backward glance. Somehow, he already knew _exactly _who he was going to send...

The man in question seemed to know, too – when he arrived on the crew deck, Hei Yui was already waiting for him. The big red krogan had his usual Claymore slung over his shoulder, but the weapon seemed to have been through the armoury a few times – the barrel had been extended beyond any premise of safety, with a smart choke used to rein in the accuracy, while a lethal-looking bayonet now sat beneath the muzzle, glinting in the light.

"Murphy," the big warrior nodded. "How's it looking down there?"

"Not great," the captain admitted. "Alpha and Bravo are proceeding to the rendezvous as normal, but Charlie's lost most of their convoy, and Delta's been knocked out of the air."

"How?" Yui grunted, brow plate knitting into a frown.

"Harvester," Murphy replied, grimacing. "You should be familiar with them."

"From Tuchanka? Yeah... They were tough _before _the Reapers got their hands on 'em. You want it taken out?"

"Already done. Rilum and Arrete hit it with an airstrike. No, I need you on the ground for recovery duty."

"Recovery?" the krogan muttered, questioningly. "Recovering _what?_"

"Who, not what," the captain explained. "We took massive casualties from the Harvester's attack. Bravo confirmed their dead, but Charlie left survivors on the highway, and we haven't had any contact from Delta to know if they're still alive. I want you on the ground to gather up any survivors and get them to the rendezvous."

"Got it. How many survivors are we talking about?"

"Six possible in Delta's shuttle, another fifteen from Charlie's losses."

"What about _our _lot?"

Murphy had to admit, he shared Yui's priorities – cruel as it was, he was more concerned with his own charges than the faceless marines of the Midway or Bunker Hill.

"Four possible survivors from our own crew. Rilum confirmed Kyra was alive, last he saw of her. Vor, Andersen and Klara are all unknown. Given the circumstances... expect the worst."

The krogan nodded, silently and sombrely, as Murphy continued:

"You can pick your team. Whoever you take, you'll have nobackup other than the survivors you might pick up. Hawking can provide limited air support, but you'll be on your own down there until you make your way to the rendezvous."

"That's the temple, right?"

"Right."

Yui didn't seem to think about it for very long – Murphy had to admit, he already had suspicions as to who the krogan would pick, and they were the same men he had thought to send himself.

"Vresh and Dax," he rumbled, predictably. "If we're on our own down there, I want krogan."

"Understandable. You have to endure down there – take as much ammo as you can, you'll need it."

"We'll grab extra weapons, too," Yui nodded. "Machine guns, shotguns, maybe snipers... What else have we got in the armoury?"

"Are you asking to take the heavy guns?" Murphy murmured, shrewdly.

"You got me there... can we?"

Murphy hesitated for a moment. The 'heavy guns' were the Cambrai's range of missile launchers, grenade launchers and other heavy weapons, and conventional wisdom held that they should be stockpiled for the hour of greatest need. Right now, however, seemed as good a time as any to use them. With a reluctant sigh, the captain nodded, and muttered:

"Tell Dax to grab the M-100s, he knows where they're kept."

"Much obliged," Yui grinned, cracking a sharp-toothed smile. "How long have we got to arm up?"

"Ten minutes to grab your guns and get to the shuttles. You're on the ground in twenty..."


	179. Operation Thunder Part 9

_**Polos West, Cyone**_

_**Day 1, 2000**_

"Anything?"

"Two hostiles. Cannibals, about thirty feet away."

"What are they doing?"

"_Feeding_," Andersen growled, and Klara couldn't help noticing the tone of disgust in his voice. The two of them were sheltering on either side of a square archway, and the human had just finished surveying the courtyard began. Without warning, he muttered: "What do you think? How do we do this?"

"Err... Sentry up, twenty second delay...?"

"Good, come on..." the other engineer coaxed – it felt like training all over again.

"Anti-armour rounds to take out the plating," she continued, remembering the Alliance training manual – Cannibals developed rudimentary armour after consuming a body. "Then let the drone finish them."

"Then _run_," Andersen added. "Reaper troops work in swarms – take down these two and all the others come running, so we need to move quickly."

"Where?" the quarian wondered aloud.

"See that alley on the opposite side of the courtyard?" her colleague-come-mentor murmured.

With that, Klara leant out of cover ever so slightly – just an inch or so, enough for her to get a look at the area ahead, but not so much that the Cannibals would get a look at her. Sure enough, the little square courtyard sported another alleyway on the far side, smaller than the one they now occupied, and a good deal darker. Between it and them, however, were the two Cannibals, who were distractedly feasting on the corpse of an asari civilian.

"I see it," she nodded.

"Once they're dead, make a run for it, and don't stop."

"Where are we heading after that?" Klara inquired, curiously. "Surely we should find some cover, there are loads of buildings..."

"No," Andersen replied, shaking his head. "If we hide in a building, they can just bury us in the rubble – remember those artillery units, the rachni ones? Besides, the sun's setting."

"So?"

"_So_, it'll be dark soon. Husks are synthetic, they can work in the dark. _We _can't, not unless you've got night vision in that hood of yours. The only way we're going to see them coming is to move by moonlight..."

"Got it. When should I pop the sentry?"

"Now."

With a brief nod, Klara plucked the tear-shaped metal drone from its place on her waist, ran it under her omni-tool to program the firing delay, then tossed it at the wall above their heads - the sentry needed a kinetic impact to 'trigger' it. The oddly-shaped canister bounced off the wall, a few feet over the top of the arch, and with a faint _whir _it turned into a recognisable turret – a little thruster levelled it out and kept it hovering, while a tiny three-barrelled cannon emerged from the nose, aiming but not firing.

She peered across at Andersen, simultaneously counting down the twenty-second delay. Her fellow engineer had a Predator pistol in hand, and the little golden hologram surrounding it told her he had loaded the anti-armour rounds already.

"Where's the turret aiming?" he muttered.

"Headshots," she replied, quickly – clearly, he was deciding where to place his rounds. "Switch?"

"On my mark. Mark... _switch_."

Klara went low, diving into the messiest of combat rolls, while Andersen went high – the human engineer strode boldly into the open archway, pistol raised, and began firing without a moment's hesitation. As her world span upside down, the quarian caught a rather dizzy view of his handiwork:

_Bang, bang, bang. _Three slow, measured shots pounded the Cannibal on the left – the first shot stung its shoulder, but the next two found the creature's head. It didn't die, thanks to the armoured plating now protecting its face, but that plating was torn away by the two livid shots. Both Cannibals were on their feet, though, and readying weapons. Her count had just reached five-

_Bang bang_. Two more shots, much quicker this time, hit the right-hand Cannibal. The plating around its face was torn clean off, and the second round drew blood – or at least, the dark, silvery cocktail of cybernetics that _passed _for blood in these creatures. Then, with a slick, natural grace, Andersen slid into the far side of the arch, just as Klara straightened up opposite him. The two Cannibals were charging angrily towards them-

And her mental countdown hit zero. A high-pitched rattle of gunfire blared out from above their heads, as the turret let rip. Klara chanced a quick peek around the corner – the Cannibals were distracted, after all – and saw the two monsters squirming and falling in a hail of fire. Heads were torn open, blood spattered the floor, and in the space of ten seconds, the hideous creatures fell dead. Klara was grinning proudly beneath her visor, but her human companion's face was grave.

"That was loud," he grimaced. "Grab the sentry, we need to _move!_"

A quick wave of Klara's omni-tool caused the turret to fold in on itself once more, and drop out of the air, straight into her outstretched hand. Wordlessly, she clipped the pod onto her belt once more, and made to follow Andersen, who was already sprinting across the courtyard. The human engineer, much to her surprise, had unclipped a hefty-looking assault rifle from his back – a turian Phaeston, if she wasn't mistaken...

"Alleyway, turn right," he began. "Head for-"

Then, quite suddenly, Andersen fell silent. He was still running, sprinting for the alley with Klara in his wake, but his head was raised, and he seemed to be listening intently. The quarian soon realised why – the twilight was blotted out by a flash of dark blue, and a roaring noise in the sky above.

"Is that a _shuttle?_" she asked, incredulously, as the _thing _disappeared behind the rooftops.

"Alliance markings," Andersen muttered – his voice was an impossible mixture of tension and relief, as he continued: "That's our route out of here... Double time, follow that shuttle!"


	180. Operation Thunder Part 10

_**Polos East, Cyone**_

_**Day 1, 2005**_

"Temple in sight!" Gunney roared, and Sarah could practically _hear _his grin. "Almost home, people..."

"Are we the first ones here?" the young lieutenant called, from her perch on One-Three.

"Looks that way," Irving grunted. "Bravo was meant to be right behind us, last I heard..."

The convoy's passengers fell silent. The twilight was just shifting to night proper, and they were increasingly tense – the Reaper resistance had grown fiercer the further east they got, and punching through to the temple promised to be a... _tricky _task.

The temple itself was now looming large in their vision – it was an elegant, curved tower, surrounded by high, square walls and accessible only by a lone gatehouse. The avenue they were now traversing ran straight up to the formidable gates, and provided a stark contrast – the two rows of houses and shops on either side were dwarfed by the siari temple in both size and splendour. The building looked slightly less magnificent now, however – the walls were scarred and ruined by fire, and the top of the temple itself sported a deep blast crater, which billowed forth red flames and smoke.

More importantly, the place was _surrounded _by Reaper troops. A mob of a dozen husks was baying at the closed gates, backed by three imperious-looking Marauders, evidently directing them. Furthermore, a troop of Cannibals was stalking through an adjacent storefront, and one of those hideous Ravager creatures was scuttling over the rooftops, cannons swinging towards the temple.

"Multiple targets," Victor Cross muttered, at Sarah's side. "I make the Ravager top priority, followed by the Marauders. Once they're down, the rest are cannon fodder-"

_Bang._ With a deafening report, a shot rang out from _somewhere _up ahead. One of the Marauders took the hit, crumpling instantly to the floor with a hole in its head.

"Sniper," Victor mused, after a mere moment's delay. "Bolt action."

"How the hell do you get that from a _gunshot?_" Sarah scowled.

"Practice," he replied, laconically.

Any further explanation was cut off by the sounds of vicious battle. Another _bang _of sniper fire rang out, this time accompanied by the high-pitched chatter of an assault rifle, and the flare of biotics – there was no immediate effect, but after a few moments the rooftop beneath the Ravager _exploded_, catapulting the spidery monster through the air to the street below. It rolled around helplessly on its back, found a little footing – and then burst into a haze of green... _stuff_ as a third sniper round hit. Whatever that _stuff _was, it appeared to be corroding everything it touched...

"What are you waiting for?" a frustrated voice yelled over the short-range radio, and Sarah thought she saw a flicker of blue atop the temple walls. "Get in here, now!"

"Well, open the damn gates then!" Gunney cried, but Sarah's attention wasn't on the Texan driver – she was becoming aware of a dull rumbling behind them...

"Friendlies, coming in hot!" Irving roared, and from the junction behind, another convoy was rolling into view. The justicar Saffiya was sat atop the lead vehicle, one hand clutching a pistol, the other glowing with biotics. Her stern face, however, softened slightly at the sight of them.

"Took your time, Two-One!" their own convoy's leader called, jubilantly. His voice soon fell, however, and he continued: "You're missin' a vehicle..."

"Harvester got Two-Three," the other driver replied, sadly.

"Then let's get the hell inside afore we _all _get killed," Gunney muttered.

"Gate's wide enough for two," Two-One's driver mused. "Double column?"

"Double column it is. Hey, asari? You hear me? Open the damn gates!"

With a deep _crunch _and the grinding sound of metal on metal, something within the gates stirred – the defenders behind had clearly set about opening them, and a sliver of the courtyard beyond became visible between the great steel gates. At that moment, another flare of biotics ripped across the road, hurling three or four husks away through the air. Even as it did, however, there was a great _surge _towards the gates from the Reaper forces, and the defenders' next cry was rather panicked:

"Get in here!" an asari voice screamed. "Now!"

"All forward!" Gunney bellowed, in immediate response. Nine engines rumbled in the darkening twilight, and the high-pitched whine of nine machine guns spooling up filled Sarah's ears. Then, a few seconds later, the crescendo broke:

In one single instant, all nine vehicles shot forward, and every one began to pour rounds towards the asari gatehouse. They had an immediate effect – Sarah saw one of the remaining Marauders crumple to the ground, bullet-riddled, and the husks were falling in droves as the two convoys rather rapidly closed down the gap. A band of Cannibals came clambering out of the buildings to the left – the first two were smashed down by MG fire, but the rest were pouring forward as the Makos finally reached the mob-

The tanks ploughed in as if they were breaking waves, and bodies seemed to melt away as they did – One-One was the first to hit, and two husks disappeared screeching beneath the front axle, even as the machine gun atop the tank cut a Cannibal in half. Irving was punching rifle rounds into the mob too, fighting viciously-

In her fixation on the lead vehicle, Sarah utterly failed to notice the husk leaping at her own – somehow it had survived the slaughter ahead, and managed to jump up, fixing a vice-like hand over her ankle. She fought back, kicked out, and on reflex, her fists began to clench, swirling with blue fire – Victor was leaning over, bracing his rifle, but before he had the chance to fire, she had raised the hissing creature high into the air with a glowing hand before tossing it aside like a ragdoll. It crashed into a building off to the right, and fell dead, bones broken and smashed.

After that brief interlude, Sarah's attention returned to the charge, and she was rather surprised to find that they were already thundering through the gates – the Makos were quicker than they seemed, apparently... They were drawing up inside the frankly _huge _temple courtyard, and the two lines of tanks wheeled apart, slowly grinding to a halt – as they did, each and every one turned their guns back towards the gates, laying down a curtain of fire to stop the pursuing Reaper troops. One husk slipped through the deadly veil, sprinted a few feet towards them-

And was put down by a vicious biotic punch from an approaching asari commando. The last of the tanks was past the gatehouse now, and commandoes on either side were hammering the attacking mob with biotic shockwaves to keep them out as the gates shut. Sarah spotted Alec hopping off the back of One-Five and striding over to help, peppering a few encroaching Cannibals with well-aimed bursts from his rifle. At the same time, her attention was distracted by a new arrival approaching the front of their convoy – a black-armoured commando, who spoke up only once the gates were finally shut.

"Glad to finally see you," the asari called – she had a clipped, measured voice that sounded tense and strained, presumably from the days of siege she and her fellows had endured. "Matriarch Carenna requests an audience for tactical talks. Who are your representatives?"

"Our representatives?" Gunney echoed – the driver had popped out of the topside hatch of his Mako, resting his arms on the tank's roof and watching the asari carefully. "Hell, I'm leavin' that to you spec ops types. I got shields to fix..."

"I'll go, then," Saffiya sighed, jumping down from Two-One. Sarah had to admit, as 'representatives' went, a justicar was a pretty damn good one for dealing with the asari... "Maelar, Aeryn... Liselle... stay with the convoy."

Was it her imagination, or had Sarah heard a slight subtext in that command? Liselle in particular looked rather nervous, and she certainly didn't protest at the prospect of staying put.

"Let's make it one from each battalion," Sarah piped up. "I'll come too."

"I would appreciate that," the justicar nodded, polite as ever.

"Boys!" the biotic shouted to her own squad – Victor and Irving were already watching her, and Alec had just sauntered back to the group after securing the gates. "Dig in and hold out! If the cavalry need help with repairs, give 'em help. Otherwise, just lock down the area, and make whatever preparations you have to before we move out again..."

"Our medics could do with another pair of hands," the matriarch's representative chipped in. "I don't suppose any of you have training?"

"I do," Victor grunted, jumping down behind Sarah. "Nothing special, just battlefield emergency training."

"Same here," Maelar interjected, motioning to herself and Aeryn – the two asari commandoes had hopped down to join the conversation.

"Emergency training is all we need. Our wounded are in the plaza to the east."

The three volunteers nodded, stashed their weapons, and set off at a brisk jog towards the archway leading to the adjacent plaza. That left Irving, Alec and Liselle to guard the convoy, while Saffiya and Sarah paced over to the matriarch's envoy.

"Come with me..." she murmured. "There isn't much time, and the matriarch is eager to strike back at these fiends..."


	181. Operation Thunder Part 11

_**Polos East, Cyone**_

_**Day 1, 2015**_

The interior of the siari temple was just as contradictory as the exterior – the grand entrance hall Sarah found herself striding into was impressive, yet scarred. The figures of a great pantheon of gods were carved into the walls, but the bright lights which had once lit the silver hall were dimmed, or even dead – the whole place had a slightly dark, dejected feel, and the few asari scrambling around amidst the rubble-strewn interior had a desperate air about them.

"There's the matriarch," Saffiya whispered – she was pointing past their black-armoured guide to a rather imperious figure ahead. Inches taller than the comrades she was talking to, and clad in fine gold armour, the asari leader was rather hard to miss...

"Matriarch Carenna!" their guide called. "The Alliance representatives are here."

"Finally," the matriarch sighed, turning away from her fellows and striding over to meet the two new arrivals. "I'm Matriarch Carenna."

"Saffiya," Sarah's fellow murmured. "I'm-"

"A justicar? I know."

"How?"

"The way you carry yourself, the vibrations in your blood... they all mark extreme power, but in one so young? You could only be a justicar..."

"I see."

"And you?" the matriarch continued, turning to the young human soldier.

"Lieutenant Sarah Jade, Alliance Navy."

"So, Lieutenant Sarah Jade... what's the status on my backup?"

Sarah couldn't help gulping slightly with nerves. She had faced plenty of drillmasters and generals in her time and in her training, but Matriarch Carenna was more intimidating than the lot of them. She had a genial smile and an encouraging voice, but she was tall and imposing for an asari, and more importantly, she had _centuries _of experience. As a matriarch, Sarah guessed she must have been at least six hundred, and asari could live anywhere up to a _thousand _years. This one woman had more experience of war than the entire Alliance admiralty...

"Two battalions here and accounted for," the lieutenant reported, finally. "One tank lost in the second, none in the first."

"I was promised three battalions and infantry," Carenna replied, frowning. "What happened to the rest?"

"The third battalion is an unknown," Sarah explained. "They were attacked by a Harvester, we don't know how many of them survived, and those that did are going to be delayed. As for infantry, now we've confirmed the temple is safe, we can drop in reinforcements from the Cambrai."

"How much space do they need to drop?"

"Well, they're using Kodiak shuttles," she murmured, hesitating for a moment to ponder the question. "In a hot zone... call it twenty feet square for a safe landing."

"Understood..." the matriarch nodded, before turning to one of her aides. "Aysha! Get out there, and tell them to set up a landing zone – twenty feet square, marked with IR beacons. And tell them to keep it away from the medics! A dustoff would just make their work harder..."

The asari soldier nodded and jogged off towards the outside world, as Carenna turned to the two 'Alliance representatives' once more.

"Have you made plans for the counterattack?" she asked.

"Only the vaguest," Sarah muttered, shaking her head. "Captain Murphy should be landing with the infantry, he's the one you need to talk to about plans."

"How long until he arrives?" Carenna inquired, and a note of impatience was rising in her voice. "I was hoping to strike back immediately after you arrived..."

"Not an option," the lieutenant replied, immediately and rather more frustratedly than was appropriate. "The Cambrai might have troops here within the hour, but we're in no state to move. We've got repairs, a lot of our guys are exhausted, and we're still waiting on surviving troops in the city. We won't be ready to go for at least two hours."

"Then you need to accelerate your plans," the matriarch scowled, and Sarah felt infinitely insulted by the condescending manner in which she said it. "We don't _have _two hours."

"Yes, you do," Saffiya murmured – her tone was even and calm, far more so than the one Sarah wanted to use... "You've been holding out here for three days. With our reinforcements and air support, one more night is nothing. If you try to fight now, you will defeated, and we both know it. I doubt your soldiers have access to the best of their equipment, and but for a few infiltrators, our forces aren't equipped to operate at night either... We should wait for the dawn, and strike back then."

"A wise point," Carenna sighed, "but one proviso – if that Reaper gets anywhere near the city, we drop everything to try and take it down."

Saffiya nodded in agreement, and the matriarch turned to leave, striding back to the crowd of aides awaiting her orders. Once she was out of earshot, Sarah let a low growl escape her lips, and grumbled:

"So when I say wait, it's stupid, but when _you _say wait, it's genius?"

"Don't take it personally," Saffiya urged. "It's not you, it's humans in general. I mean you're... twenty-one?"

"Twenty-three," Sarah corrected, desperately resisting the urge to smile at her underestimation.

"Okay, you're twenty-three years old. Matriarch Carenna is over_ eight hundred _years old. She was born at a time when your people were first toying with the musket. You can understand why she doubts your experience, can't you?"

"I guess..."

"It might not help for you to hear it, but she's one of the best of the matriarchs. She's not a social climber or a political aspirant, she's a soldier. Her loyalty is to herself and her people, not to any sense of class or status."

"And yet she listens to everything you say because you're a justicar," Sarah pointed out. "Isn't that a bit contradictory?"

"'Justicar' isn't a class," Saffiya smiled, calmly. "It's an order, a rank. We're warriors, and that means we're some of the few people that soldiers like Carenna _do _respect."

"Good for you..." she replied, sarcastically.

"Come on, then," the justicar sighed, changing the subject abruptly. "We've got work to do, and we need to set up a link with the Cambrai-"

"Already done," a familiar voice called, from across the hall, and Sarah's jaw almost dropped at the sight of Lynus Rilum staggering towards them. The salarian looked battered and exhausted, and was _limping _slightly, but he was alive, and he looked as sharp as ever, Locust still clutched tightly in his hand.

"Rilum!" she cried, in surprise, "Good to see you..."

"Likewise, lieutenant, justicar."

"How was the trip?" Saffiya asked, pensively – her voice was still serene, and ever so slightly tense, but the justicar didn't seem to be able to stop a smile spreading over her lips. "It was chaos in the streets, the Cambrai couldn't update us after you were attacked..."

"Understandable. Tanks took heavy damage, only two made it out at all, and comms were the least of our priorities. But, here now... Comms link established in the courtyard, Arrete is calling for reinforcements. How did your talk with the matriarch go?"

"Carenna wanted to attack now," the justicar explained, "but we talked her out of it. We're going to wait for dawn, then counterattack with everything we have."

"Good plan," Rilum nodded. "Nice and simple."


	182. Operation Thunder Part 12

_**Polos West, Cyone**_

_**Day 1, 2025**_

"These Makos are scrap," Vresh grunted. "Any survivors?"

"No..." Yui sighed, frustratedly. "Four marines dead on the road, three guys buried in the shop window, three cooked in _that_ Mako, three barbequed inside _that _one... Only two bodies missing."

"Kyra," the younger krogan replied, and there was a glimmer of hope in his voice.

"And the batarian," Dax added – the Urdnot scout was some way away from Yui and Vresh, acting as a lookout at the edge of the highway. "Any sign of a trail?"

"None," Yui grimaced. "Just like the engineers."

They had landed just a hundred metres or so from Delta's crash site, and had immediately checked the downed shuttle, finding the crushed pilot and the four dead engineers. Andersen and the quarian, however, had been nowhere to be seen...

"We could call in air support," Vresh suggested. "Get a gunship to hover over and scan for them?"

"That'd be like looking for a pyjak in the bloody desert," Dax interjected. "And with the spotlights blazing? One of those rachni bastards'd just take a shot and knock them out of the air. No, we should search on foot."

"That could take hours!"

"Then it takes hours," Yui grunted. "We don't stop until we've got them all. Just give me a minute to confirm these poor bastards. Murphy wanted the casualties reported..."

"Might want to hurry it up," his Urdnot colleague muttered, out of the blue. "I've got contacts in the street below. Can't quite tell in the dark, but they look like husks, at least four of them."

"Smoke 'em," the old mercenary ordered. "We'll be gone before any others come up here for revenge..."

His fellow krogan didn't need any second bidding – with a brief nod, Dax turned back to the edge of the elevated highway, propped his trusty Revenant against the steel barrier, and let rip. Machine gun rounds chattered out into the night, the monstrous screeching of husks rose up through the air, and a mere thirty seconds later, the firing stopped, as silence reigned once more.

"All down," Dax confirmed. "But anything within two miles of us would've heard the noise. There'll be more coming."

"Understood," Yui sighed. "Let's move-"

"Contacts!" Vresh yelled, interrupting the two of them. Sure enough, as Yui wheeled around he saw two dark silhouettes advancing along the highway. They were moving too quickly to be husks – those turian Marauders, maybe? Whatever they were, the young mercenary beat Yui and Dax to the draw, grapping the Widow rifle from his back, and-

_Bang. _The rifle's deafening report broke through the air, and a single white-hot bullet shot along the road – the two silhouettes dove away with a screech, one left, one right, as the other two krogan went for their weapons – Yui snatched at his Scimitar, and Dax was reaching for the grenade launcher on his back.

As he braced his shotgun in one powerful arm, Yui set about filling the air with buckshot. A relentless series of _bang_s rang out in harmony with all twelve rounds of the Scimitar's expanded magazine, and the air was a mess of glittering shot and sparks – fragments of shrapnel were springing off the road, the buildings, the ruined Makos... Finally, as Yui reloaded with a dull _click_, silence seemed to reign. And then...

"What the _fuck _did I tell you about friendly fire, Yui?"

The three krogan stopped dead, and stared dumbstruck at each other, weapons lowering. Finally, Yui called out:

"That you, human?"

"Very nearly _ex-_human!" an engineer's familiar voice shouted back. "You almost bloody shot me!"

"You snuck up on us!" the krogan retorted.

"It's dark, I couldn't _not _sneak up on you!"

There was silence... and then, quite suddenly, laughter broke out. A rough chuckle escaped Yui's own jaws, and Andersen was laughing in a breathless, _exhausted _manner from somewhere out of sight. A nervous, filtered burble of laughter from his left gave away the quarian, too – that was good, that meant two survivors, not just one.

"You're a sight for sore eyes, human," Yui muttered through the chuckles, as Andersen and Klara'Tseni came into view once more. "We saw your shuttle and thought you were... y'know..."

"Bloody good to see you too, you big lug," Andersen grinned through the darkness.

"How the _hell _did you two survive down there?" Dax chipped in, smiling too. "_We_ struggled in the lower streets, and we were carrying half the armoury on our backs."

"Well, unlike you, we don't move with the grace of a small _mountain_. We travelled fast and quiet, picked our fights..."

"I'll stick to 'guns blazing'," Vresh interjected, then added: "Yui, shouldn't we be moving? Still two more out there."

"There are?" Andersen murmured, sounding nervous. "Who?"

"Kyra and Vor Hebat," Yui explained. "They've been missing since Charlie got hit, but their bodies ain't with the others."

"At least they're still alive..." the engineer sighed. "Hopefully."

"We're heading into the streets to search for them," Vresh interjected, more _suggesting _than explaining. It was clear from his body language that the young krogan wanted to get moving, and Yui knew exactly why – he was bloody attached to his mercenary partner, and he hadn't wanted to waste a second of the search since they landed.

"That... might be a problem," Andersen grimaced. "I'm down to one clip, she's down to two, and we won't be able to keep up with krogan pace. We'll head out on foot, try to make it to the end of the highway."

"No need," Dax interrupted, stepping forward and shaking his head. "We've got a priority line to the Cambrai, I can send for pickup."

"Do it," Yui nodded, as his companion looked to him for confirmation.

"Cambrai, this is Dax," the Urdnot scout called, into the radio. "What's your status?"

"We're just about to start dropping infantry," the yeoman's voice replied. "Armoured teams have secured the temple, and shuttles are en route – Captain Murphy's on his way down there right now."

"Tell him to make room for a couple of passengers," the krogan muttered. "We've got two of the missing operatives, and we need a pickup from the south highway. Transmitting co-ordinates now..."

"Got your co-ordinates, Dax. Can you confirm, you've got _survivors _down there?"

"Affirmative, Andersen and Klara'Tseni. They're a little worse for wear, but they're both alive, and they need to reach the temple with the rest."

"Copy that, we'll try to divert a shuttle. ETA ten minutes."

"Thanks, Cambrai. Dax out."

The Urdnot warrior closed his radio, straightened up, and looked expectantly to Yui for further orders. It was Vresh, however, who spoke up first:

"We don't have ten minutes to spare," the young mercenary rumbled. "We need to get moving _now_."

"The shuttle gets here when it gets here," Dax argued. "We're not leaving them to fend for themselves."

"Err... we're right here," Andersen pointed out, sarcastically.

"Enough!" Yui roared, snapping everyone to attention, as he continued: "Enough bloody bickering... Vresh, I know you want to go save Kyra, and we will, but he's right, we can't leave them stranded."

"But-" Vresh began – he was silenced, however, by a firm glare from Yui.

"Dax, stay here," the krogan leader muttered. "Lock the area down, keep them safe, and get your arse on the shuttle. They'll need a krogan on the barricades. Vresh, you and me are going back on the search – two soldiers can move quicker than three."

"Got it," Dax and Vresh nodded, in worryingly perfect harmony.

"How are you going to find them?" Andersen asked, rather nervously.

"Not a clue," the big krogan admitted. "Keep moving until we find them, I guess..."

There was an awkward, tense silence at that admission. And then, quite suddenly:

"I can help."

The group turned collectively, incredulously, to Klara'Tseni. The quarian was tapping away at _something _on her omni-tool, and continued:

"I've got a tracker on Vor Hebat. Assuming he's with the other survivor, it should lead you to both of them..."

"Why didn't you mention this before?" Andersen gawped. "And why do you even _have _a tracker on Vor?"

"I've had... _problems _with batarians," she murmured, nervously. "I wanted to keep track of him, just in case. It wasn't even activated until now, but... well, it should help, shouldn't it?"

Andersen looked rather annoyed, and Dax looked incredulous, but Vresh looked bloody grateful, and Yui certainly felt it. Rather embarrassedly, the quarian swiped her omni-tool over his own, and a map, complete with a single glowing beacon, lit up a section of its display. _Bingo_, his brain muttered.

"Brilliant..." Yui grinned. Then, rather more vocally, he bellowed: "Move out! We haven't got all day! Err... night... whatever!"


	183. Operation Thunder Part 13

_**Polos West, Cyone**_

_**Day 1, 2030**_

"You know, I really thought you were dead," Kyra muttered, as she and Vor traipsed through the ground floor corridor of a deserted industrial building. It was the first time either of them had spoken since running from the highway, almost an hour before. Even in their brief bouts of combat they had moved silently, fluidly, proceeding without so much as a check on each other. The silence was... tense, to say the least.

"No need to sound so disappointed," the batarian grumbled.

"I'm not disappointed, you saved my life!" she retorted. "_God_, are you always this grumpy?"

"Grumpy? We're running for our lives, sorry I'm not all sunshine and rainbows," Vor hissed, sarcastically.

"I'm not on about _that_," Kyra muttered. "I'm on about the fact that you seem _convinced _I hate you."

"Well, don't you?"

"No! Why would I?"

"Because you're human."

Silence broke over them, at that remark. Kyra was lost for words, Vor turned away as if the matter was settled, and the mercenary was left scrabbling for some retort, _any _retort. Eventually, she settled on the most confrontational words of conciliation she had ever spoken:

"I _should_ hate you," she laughed, darkly.

"Why?" he scowled. "Because batarians are evil, bloodthirsty killers? I'll bet you've lost more friends to your _own _people than to mine."

"I'm from Elysium," Kyra growled, "so I wouldn't be so sure of that..."

"And my comrades used to put in at Torfan," Vor snarled. "We're even."

"I'm a mercenary, not Alliance! I had nothing to do with Torfan!"

By now, the two of them had stopped moving – they were stood in the centre of the abandoned corridor, facing each other with determined glares, as the batarian continued to argue, and mockingly echoed:

"I'm a slaver, not a pirate! I had nothing to do with Elysium!"

Kyra couldn't reply to that, and the batarian gave a victorious little smirk. His curiosity seemed too compelling, however, and after a moment he gave in, adding:

"You _think_ you should hate me, for hypocritical reasons, but you don't. Why?"

"Because you're fighting with us," she sighed, "and that outshines everything else. Look at our crew – pirates, mercenaries, assassins. Yui, Raziel, Tyco... _me_ – if any of us had run into the Alliance before this war, Murphy and the others probably would have ended up shooting us. Instead, they're fighting with all comers – _you're_ fighting for the Alliance, for God's sake!"

Judging by the expression on his face, it took every ounce of the batarian's self-restraint to prevent himself from snapping at that last comment. Instead, he channelled his apparent anger into arrogance, and corrected, shortly:

"We."

"What?"

"_We're _fighting for the Alliance."

"Yeah, well..." Kyra grumbled, "Not for much longer..."

This time it was Vor's turn to mutter: "What?"

"God, I don't know why I'm telling you this," she began, "but maybe I just need _someone _to hear how I feel, in case I don't make it out of here. That means talking to you, or the wall..."

"I'm sure the wall would love to listen," he replied, sarcastically, but there was less of a malicious edge to his voice than before.

"When we get back for our next shore leave..." Kyra continued – she chose that moment to slump against the wall, sliding gracelessly to the floor – "I'm leaving. Just... skipping right off the ship. If Vresh comes with me, he comes with me. If not... well, I'm leaving behind my oldest friend."

"You'd do that? The krogan seems pretty attached to you..." her reluctant companion frowned, coming to sit next to her against the wall.

"I don't feel like I have a choice... I can't take this anymore. The death, the destruction... it never used to get to me, but today, it just... _snapped_."

"Why today?" Vor probed, and there was a hitherto unused tone in his voice – it was still blunt and coarse, but there was at least some empathy behind it. "You said you were a mercenary, you must have seen death before."

"I did, I just... nothing on this scale, nothing this _real_. Everything on Omega happens in a little bubble, away from the rest of the galaxy, and you never fight in groups of more than half a dozen. Here, though? We're deciding the fate of a whole _planet_, not some poxy arms deal. And we just saw damn near a whole battalion get wiped out in front of us... It's more than that, it's the stakes, too. You let your guard down on Omega, you get burned: you get stiffed on a payment or you get set up. I let my guard down a week ago, and a Cerberus agent shot me point blank through the stomach."

"Those are the risks," the batarian shrugged, unhelpfully. "You could die at any time. It's always that way..."

"See? That's what I'm talking about!" Kyra choked – it was all starting to come out now, a week of sleepless nights all spent in contemplation... "It doesn't get to you! You might be a cold-hearted bastard" – he raised a ridged brow at that remark – "but you're a good soldier! You can fight, you can kill, and you can carry on at the end of the day! I don't have that anymore... I used to, but now I just... don't."

"Rash choice," he muttered, evidently trying and failing to sound sympathetic. "It's a heat of the moment decision, you're probably still in shock..."

"No, no I'm not... I haven't slept for a week, not since Illium. I spend every night wondering what I'm going to do, where this is all heading... I almost ran away after the last shore leave, but I wanted to try and convince Vresh, make him understand. I haven't even told him yet..."

"What would you do? If you left, I mean... seems there isn't much call for people with your skills."

"I don't know... I thought about joining C-Sec? Captain Marin would probably have me, after everything he's been through with our crew. I could join up, serve as a sharpshooter, just like Omega..."

"But for the 'good guys' this time," the batarian concluded, grimly, and she could practically _hear_ the air quotes around his words.

"C-Sec isn't all bad," she sighed – she couldn't really be bothered to argue with him that strongly. "I know, it wouldn't be much of a change. I'd still see death, I'd still have to fight, but... not like this. Not with this pressure, with this many people depending on us..."

"What do you want me to say?" Vor shrugged, bluntly. "I can't try to change your mind, because I don't know you, and I'm not entirely sure your mind should be changed. Smoke?"

"What?" Kyra murmured, very quietly – now that she had finally stopped _running_, it was all getting a bit overwhelming...

"Smoke?" he repeated – he was holding out a gauntleted hand, with a couple of white cigarettes resting in his palm.

"Huh," she replied, hesitantly. "Ah, screw it. Not long left to live, we might as well make the most of it, hey?"

With that, she grabbed one and popped it between her lips, and Vor did the same, shoving the rest back into the box on his belt. To her amazement, he grabbed a thermal clip from his spare ammo, and set about using it as a lighter, pressing it in such a way that it vented heat and sparks, just as it did when ejected from a weapon. As his own cigarette burst into life, he leant over and lit hers.

"Ah..." Kyra sighed, taking a quick drag. Whatever the tobacco was, it wasn't quite _normal_, not by human standards at least. There was a slightly bitter tang to it, and a similar aftertaste that reminded her of the streets of Omega, smog-filled as they were. "Haven't done that in a while..."

"Old habits die hard," Vor said, ruefully. "Never been able to kick these things..."

_Crack crack crack._ Kyra yelped and spat her cigarette out in surprise as three quick shots rattled through the air somewhere nearby. Vor's eyes had gone wide too - all four of them - but the batarian was a good deal calmer than her as he peered around.

"Stay down," he instructed quietly, stubbing out the light of his own cigarette on the metal floor.

_Crack_. The shot was closer this time – much closer. One of the windows of the very corridor they now sat in was blown inwards, scattering glass across the floor just a few feet to Kyra's right. Hideous, lumbering silhouettes were becoming visible beyond, and the mercenary's heart was hammering in her chest.

"Searching for us," the batarian muttered, more to himself than to Kyra. "Probably heard us talking... saw the light... smelt the smoke... _shit_, basic mistakes."

"It's just a couple of Cannibals," Kyra murmured. "We can take them."

"They're all over the _city_," Vor argued, as if he was stating the obvious. "We take these out, more'll be on the way. You've only got a shotgun, right?"

"Right... So?"

"_So_, you can't take them on at range. You need to dig in somewhere."

"Back the way we came, to the south," she concluded almost instantly, drawing on all her knowledge of urban combat. "That office in the corner of the building? Perfect for point defence..."

"Good enough," he grunted. "Head there, shoot anything that gets near."

"Why, where are _you_ going?"

"To fight. If we split them between two choke points at opposite ends, we won't get surrounded."

"So you go running off, play the hero, and leave me to clear up here?"

"Exactly. You're smart for a human," he muttered, flashing a sarcastic smile – it struck her that that was the first she'd ever seen the batarian _smile_, even he was mocking her as he did it. "I'll head north, draw them off."

"Good luck, then," she sighed, as he clambered to his feet as quietly as possible.

"Err... you too, human," Vor nodded.

With that, the batarian was off. He let out a bellicose war cry and dashed off along the corridor, spraying shotgun rounds through the corridor windows – the two Cannibals who had been 'investigating' went down with Graal darts buried in their heads, and a great chatter of hostile gunfire rose up to greet Vor as he disappeared from sight around the next corner. Kyra scrabbled to her feet, rather more stealthily than her erstwhile companion, and began to sprint off in the opposite direction...


	184. Operation Thunder Part 14

**A/N: Apologies for the lack of an update yesterday, guys. If possible, I'll be making up for it with another update today - but then, if I stick to Double Mondays, an extra update would make this a *triple* day... Well, whatever I can get written by the end of the day, it's going up for you to read. Keep an eye out for more updates...**

**PS. I'm also working on *finally* updating Defiant To The End again, and maybe rebooting This Means War (without Reconstruction, which I'm looking to delete), so keep an eye on those too.**

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><p><em><strong>Polos West, Cyone<strong>_

_**Day 1, 2040**_

"You hear that?" Vresh asked, rather excitedly.

"Yeah..." Yui nodded. "Gunfire. _Lots _of gunfire."

"Got anything on the tracker?"

"Close, just up ahead. This has to be them..."

"That big building," the younger warrior began, pointing to the three-storey steel construction that dominated their view from the road, "are they in there?"

"Could be-"

_Bang_. As if to confirm their suspicions, the violent flash of an exploding grenade lit up the near side of the building, scattering dust and debris into the surrounding air. Wordlessly, both krogan went for their machine guns, scanning the end of the road for targets.

"Fighting on two sides," Yui grunted. "North and south. I'm guessing Kyra and Vor split up."

"Which one's which?" Vresh muttered, tensely – it was quite clear where his priorities lay...

"Beacon's up to the north, so the batarian's there..." the big warrior replied.

"And Kyra's south," his friend concluded. "I'll take her, you get the batarian?"

"In and out," the other krogan nodded, hefting his machine gun into one hand. "Last one to the temple's a lily-livered turian?"

Vresh grinned, the two krogan clapped each other on the back, and then they were off. They ran at a thunderous pace, side by side, weapons in hand, and didn't so much as slow until they reached the end of the road – there, Yui went left, and Vresh went right, sprinting off on their separate paths.

From that moment on, Yui was in mental solitude. His brain wasn't even considering Vresh, or Kyra, only his own body, and the batarian he was looking for. Whatever happened elsewhere would happen, and he would deal with it in due course – his planning, however, was reserved for his own part in the battle. And _planning _was used sarcastically at best, because... well, he was a krogan.

Rounding the corner, he spotted his target almost immediately – a mob of husks and other Reaper troops were bombarding a corridor on the north wall, and Cannibal bodies were _piled up_, killed mid-stride as they tried to pour through one of the windows that led to that corridor. Yui could just make out vicious war cries over the Reapers' screeching, and the near-constant sound of a shotgun blasting out.

Without any further thought, the big warrior hurled himself towards the fight. The first two enemies in his way were a couple of stumbling husks, and even as he sprinted towards them, a ton of armoured krogan muscle, they were completely unaware of his approach. He _broke _one with a spine-shattering backhand, then crushed the second's skull with a blow from the butt of his Revenant. That certainly got the attention of the rest, and as rounds began to crash off his armour, he turned to the right and bolted towards the Cannibal-heaped window now centred in his view.

In his mind's eye, Yui saw himself hopping nimbly up the pile of Cannibal corpses, leaping gracefully yet powerfully through the window, and making his hero's entrance. In reality, however, it didn't go _quite _so smoothly – on the second 'step', his hefty cybernetic foot _sank _through a corpse's back, the rest of him twisted sideways, and he tumbled through the window in the most ignominious fashion possible, bouncing off the sill and crashing to the floor beyond on a carpet of broken glass.

"Nice entrance, genius," a low voice rumbled, to one side. As Yui looked across and spotted the batarian crouched by the window, a husk chose that moment to storm through the open precipice – Vor punched it to the wall with a hefty fist, then tore the thing's face off with another blow, this time wrapped in an enforcement gauntlet.

"You alright, batarian?" Yui muttered, ignoring the insult.

"Yeah..." Vor grunted, through clenched teeth – his shoulder had been torn open by what looked like a rifle round. "Low on ammo, but I'm fine."

"Here," the krogan replied, reaching for his belt and tossing a couple of thermal clips Vor's way. "For the road."

The batarian took them wordlessly, clipped one to his belt, shoved the other into his shotgun – an impressive krogan Graal – and poked his head into the window frame once more.

That head was almost removed as a Marauder lashed out through the broken glass, raking a claw-like hand over the batarian's face. He dodged the worst of it, but the turian husk drew blood nonetheless. A moment later, snarling with anger, Vor took his reprisal – a quick burst from his shotgun left two steel darts buried in the Marauder's face, and it fell away with a ghastly scream, as the batarian's eyes widened in confusion.

"They're falling back!" Vor shouted from the window, much to Yui's surprise. "Pulling out and heading south..."

"Why would they run away?" the krogan bellowed back. "Maybe-"

_Maybe _they're about to bring the building down, Yui's brain sighed, far too late, as a hideous wail filled the air. The krogan grabbed the window sill, dragged himself up to his feet, and saw a hideous visage screaming in the darkness outside. Dead, blue-grey skin, soulless black eyes, claw-like hands-

_Wham._ A vivid flash of blue rent the air, and moments later, that air became a swirling maelstrom – biotic fire, concrete, steel and broken glass, all stinging at Yui's face as he was torn off his feet. A dull _crunch _accompanied his smashing against the far well, and as he slid down it, he caught sight of Vor falling at his side, beneath a torrent of falling debris. The roof was creaking dangerously, and even as that thought passed through his mind, a vicious crack was spreading ponderously along its length.

Finally, as the blue fire dimmed and fell away, the crack widened, _snapped _viscerally, and the roof gave in – a flurry of stone and steel came crashing down from on high, and the krogan warrior was plunged into darkness.


	185. Operation Thunder Part 15

**A/N: Not sure about FanFiction's timezones, but I think I've managed to sneak this one in. If so, enjoy Double Monday! This is a big chapter, in more ways than one...**

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><p><em><strong>Polos West, Cyone<strong>_

_**Day 1, 2050**_

_Bang bang bang. _Kyra sent three quick Scimitar rounds through the office window, and the two husks charging in from the other side were smashed to the ground, torn apart by shrapnel.

The mercenary had no time to celebrate that little victory, however – more husks and a couple of Cannibals were lumbering towards her flank, from the corridor outside. The office door had originally afforded some protection, but had been torn apart by the vicious explosion of a Cannibal's grenade, leaving Kyra fighting on two fronts. She wheeled to the right, stared down the approaching mob, and opened fire once more:

_Bang bang bang. Bang bang. _The first burst of three tore the husks apart, and the double that followed knocked a Cannibal lifelessly to the floor. A second was rushing towards her, however, and she barely had time to leap into cover at the side of the doorway before the hideous creature peppered her surroundings with a burst of red-lined fire.

Now pressed into the door frame, Kyra had precious little time to make her plans – the thing was getting closer and closer with each passing second, and her shotgun was empty. Without time to reload, she settled on a decent Plan B, and readied her omni-blade with a dull _swish_.

She counted the seconds as the Cannibal lumbered ever-closer. One... Two...

Three! She lunged out of cover, span on her heel, and swung out her wrist with a vicious yell. The omni-blade sank deep, burying itself in the monster's neck with well-timed precision. A bloody gurgle escaped the once-batarian jaws, before she yanked the blade out, flipped it away, and kicked the creature's corpse back into the corridor. One more down, although she couldn't help but be concerned – if the Reapers were coming from the corridor now, then clearly Vor was no longer able to hold them back... A loud explosion had reached her ears a few minutes prior, and the attacking waves had certainly intensified since then...

"Argh!"

The sudden cry was well-justified – as Kyra considered her predicament, a Marauder had found time to stride to the window, take aim, and put two well-placed rounds into her flank. Her shields broke with the first, and the second embedded itself a few inches above her hip, prompting a trickle of warm blood to seep out from beneath her armour. Slumping to the ground and reaching desperately for another clip, she saw the Marauder's eyes rove over her once more, saw the monster brace its rifle, ready to fire-

And then saw a giant hand sweep out of nowhere, crushing the Marauder's skull against the window frame. The thing's corpse slid lazily to the ground, and there was a grunt from outside, before:

_Boom._ The office wall was torn away by a fiery blast which damn near deafened her. Smoke and dust and bits of pulverised debris were scattered throughout the inside of the room, but through it all, Kyra could see a hulking silhouette rushing towards her – Vresh had entered, _quite literally,_ with a bang.

Her mercenary friend backed into the room, in fact, with an especially deadly arsenal at arm's length – his right hand bore the grenade launcher which had forged his entrance, and which was still smoking gently, while his left held a Revenant machine gun aloft. He was pumping rounds back into the street outside with reckless abandon, and as he flashed her a broad grin over his shoulder, Kyra saw at least three blurry forms collapse under the lead rain.

"You took your time," she laughed darkly, finally slotting a new clip into her shotgun and scrabbling to her feet.

"Sorry to disappoint!" Vresh bellowed. Then, rather less cockily, he continued: "Cover the corridor! They're coming in in strength!"

Nodding wordlessly, Kyra span back around to cover the corridor. A lone, skeletal husk was sprinting along it, glowing eyes fixating on her – not wanting to waste a precious round, she waited until it was two paces away, smashed it against the door frame with the length of her gun, and then dealt the thing a savage blow to the face with her omni-blade.

The husk, however, was shortly followed by a trio of Cannibals, and this time she did have to use her shotgun – even as rounds bit at her now-recovered shields, she was tearing into one of the monsters with two quick rounds to the head, which felled it instantly. She rolled back behind the doorpost as more shots stung the air, waited until the Cannibals were closer – or at least, until her mental estimations _told her _they were closer – then whirled out again, bringing one down with a shot to the chest, dealing the other a crippling blow to the gut, and dropping into the opposite doorpost as adrenaline continued to course through her blood. The third Cannibal was crawling futilely along, clawing at the floor as its guts bled slowly, and when Kyra popped into the doorway for the second time, she only had to stamp on the thing's head to finish it off, albeit messily.

"Vresh, you alright?" she called, over her shoulder – machine gun fire was still chattering in the air behind her, but a deathly scream was rising over the din. The krogan merely grunted in reply, and she wheeled around to check on him-

_Wham._ A blue flash lit up Kyra's world, and her momentary vision of Vresh gunning down husks was replaced by the disconcerting sight of her krogan friend being tossed through the air like a hunk of meat. Moments later, even as he sailed towards the back wall, the shockwave reached Kyra, and she found herself knocked off her feet with ludicrous ease. She tumbled backwards, her head hit the doorpost with a terrible _crack_, and the world went blurry, as a horrible sight presented itself to her. A hideous form was _stalking _into the room – long, dead legs bore an equally skeletal body, and the screeching monster's clawed hands were glimmering with the last remnants of the biotic fire which had just torn through the room.

The scream rose once more, and even as Vresh stumbled to his feet on the far side of the room, the creature was turning to face Kyra. As the nightmarish visage came into view, she finally realised what it was – a Banshee, an asari turned Reaper thrall. The pointed crest was still visible atop the monster's head, and the resemblance was uncanny, yet twisted horrifically - several of her crewmates had tried to describe these monsters, but none had done them justice. Kyra snapped out of her trance as the Banshee raised a single, clawed hand high into the air, and she dove for her shotgun, discarded at her side.

_Bang bang bang. _Straightening up, the mercenary smashed three quick shots into the monster's torso, marring its stomach and chest with buckshot. The Banshee recoiled, clawed hand wavering in the air – and then it struck.

"_Argh!_"

As a rule, Kyra didn't like screaming – it was an admission of weakness, after all – but she didn't have much choice, as the Banshee's hand punched down, and sank deep between her ribs. She could already feel warm blood bubbling up to her skin, and the skeletal claws stayed deep within her gut – a moment later, she heard a roar of dismay and anguish from Vresh as the Banshee begin to lift her up the wall, screaming terribly in her face as it did.

From then on, everything was a horrid blur. Blackness was creeping in at the edges of her vision, and her ears were becoming deafened to the Banshee's scream. Her body fell limp, shotgun clattering to the floor, forgotten, and she barely noticed the huge form bolting across the room towards her...

Vresh crashed into the Banshee's side with an unearthly roar, closer to a _scream _than anything else, and he latched two hefty arms around the thing's midriff, dragging it with him as he threw all his weight to the floor.

Kyra had to suppress another scream as the Banshee was tugged away, and its clawed hand was _ripped _out of her midriff, unleashing a torrent of seething, crimson blood. She collapsed limply to the floor, a ragdoll discarded on the rubble, and her blurring eyes were struggling to focus as Vresh finally broke away from the monster – as best she could tell, he had no gun, only a dagger in his right hand, as the creature came to hiss and scream at him, in turn.

The krogan and the husk struck in harmony – even as a clawed hand raked down and slashed deep into his shoulder, Vresh charged the Banshee down, slamming a shoulder into its midriff to knock it off balance, before swinging out wildly with his dagger, gouging a deep, jagged line along its skeletal arm. A flurry of biotics from the other hand knocked him back, but he plunged in again, this time stabbing straight, driving his blade deep into the Banshee's stomach, once, twice-

"Urk!"

He had lingered a moment too long in the creature's grip, and the thing's left hand punched down, sinking wholly into his chest. To her dazed amazement, however, he barely seemed to falter – Vresh's eyes, usually so bright and full of vigour, were cloudy now, and it didn't take her more than a moment to recognise the blood rage in him.

Furiously, Vresh swept forward, _punching _the monster's face to knock it back, before bringing his blade down on the hand now embedded in him – it cut roughly through the creature's wrist, and the Banshee fell back with a scream, even as its disembodied hand began to dissolve in biotic blue _inside _his chest.

Vresh attempted to follow up that grievous wound with a stab at the Banshee's throat, but it hissed, screamed, and smashed him against the wall to one side with a surge of biotics from its free hand. Undeterred, the krogan darted in again, ducked under a clawed swing, and drove his dagger deep into the creature's chest, dragging down, cutting deep...

Kyra's brain felt _numb_, but she still winced in sympathy as the Banshee tore at her friend in retaliation – a swing of its free hand cut across his neck, and then across his cheek, before he finally fell back... Blue-silver blood was trickling to the floor from the monster's wounds, and orange from the krogan's, as he dove in _again_ – this time, he drove deep into the creature's throat, ignoring the claws raking at his blade-arm, and the Banshee's scream grew more desperate and terrible than ever. It was a death throe now, not a war cry, and a vicious kick from Vresh brought the thing to its knees. He yanked his blade back out, glared furiously at the dying monster, and then slashed angrily at its throat.

Finally, and as if in slow motion, the Banshee had the good grace to die for good. It lurched forward, tumbled down the little pile of rubble it and Vresh had been fighting atop, and rolled onto its back as a hideous scream filled the air once more – the lithe, skeletal body was curling in on itself, crumbling away to blue fire and ash...

Kyra's attention was drawn away from the Banshee instantly as Vresh stumbled down next to her – he had his blade in one hand, and pulled up his shotgun in the other as he hit the floor. A great sigh tore itself from between his jaws, and with the blood rage fading, his wounds looked worse than ever – blood caked his throat, his chest, his arm and one side of his face...

"Still with me?" he murmured – there was more uncertainty in his voice than she had ever heard before.

"Yeah..." she sighed, faintly. Her vision was going dark now, and she could feel her blood mingling with the dust beneath her.

"Come on now, stay with me," Vresh rumbled, sounding pained. "We'll get out of here. Yui's nearby, he'll come help."

"Yeah..." Kyra echoed, forcing a smile. "We'll get out of here..."

Silence reigned. Even the Reapers outside seemed to have gone away, perhaps assuming that there was nothing left to find inside but carrion. Vresh tossed his dagger away into the rubble, and crawled back up towards the wall, still waving his shotgun in the direction of the world in general. His free hand, a muscular, armoured hand, was reaching back through the silence, scrabbling towards her own.

She grasped it tightly, with a little gulp of fear, as the darkness finally swallowed her...


	186. Operation Thunder Part 16

**A/N: For those of you who are interested, one of our regular readers and reviewers, BlackBox Inc, has just released a new fic which ties in directly with Galaxy at War. It's called "For Courage, Duty and Honor", and deals with experiences of BlackBox's N7 Irving Wolfe during his escape from the Fall of Earth. It also features Andrigno's Sarah Jade, and AXL999's Alec Carter. Give it a read!**

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><p><em><strong>Polos West, Cyone<strong>_

_**Day 1, 2055**_

"Raargh!"

That bellow rang out as Yui quite literally _tore _his way out of the rubble. The steel panel that had fallen over him was kicked away by his cybernetic foot, and two huge, muscled hands ripped debris away from his face and chest until, with a great, heaving groan, the krogan launched himself upwards and staggered to his feet, sliding along what felt like a small landslide as the heap cleared...

"Bloody hell," he muttered, more to himself than to anyone in particular.

"Quite..." another voice sighed, to his surprise. Looking across, he saw Vor Hebat extricating himself from beneath a metal girder – the batarian's jaw was bloody, adding to the crimson oozing from his shoulder wound, but he was nonetheless alive.

That wasn't the only surprising thing – Yui had expected his reappearance to be greeted by a hail of fresh gunfire, but instead, only silence hung in the air. It was... unnerving. There wasn't so much as a hint of a husk in the vicinity – no screeches, no groans, no shuffling footsteps...

"You alright?" Yui rumbled absent-mindedly over his shoulder, addressing the batarian.

"Just fine," Vor nodded, with a hint of sarcasm. That said, he didn't seem to have even _noticed _the blood on his face and neck, and was instead fussing over his shotgun as he yanked it out of the rubble.

"It's too quiet..." the krogan blurted out, rather suddenly. "No shots, no fighting..."

The two of them turned, realisation dawning, and shared a remarkably panicked look – neither of them were terribly used to panicking, but the situation rather deserved it...

"Vresh?" Yui barked, into the radio. "Can you hear me?"

Static was the only reply.

"Kyra?" Vor murmured, a few feet away. "Human, are you there?"

Silence once more.

They exchanged another meaningful, worried look, and then the two of them were off, sprinting down the now ruined and abandoned corridor with fire in their eyes and wings on their feet. Realisation was clashing with denial, and the former was winning, leaving a dreadful, sinking sensation in the pit of the krogan's stomach. Vor knew the way, and Yui stayed a couple of paces behind the batarian as they charged along the straight, barren pathway, then veered left at the corner of the building, then left again, hopping through a shop floor to avoid a collapse section of corridor, then right, left, back onto the straight path, and finally, at the very end, right into the adjoining office.

The sight that greeted them stole the breath from Yui's lungs, far more so than their little sprint had done. It was a scene of devastation – one of the walls on the outside of the building had been caved in, from outside by the looks of it, and the floor was littered with rubble and detritus, from broken glass to broken steel. Reaper corpses were piled up in impressive numbers, but alone, backed up against the far wall...

"_Fuck_," Vor Hebat swore, angrily punching the wall beside the door and leaving a sizable _hole _in it. Yui had to clamp his eyes shut to quell down the rage building in his stomach, but for all his effort, he knew the view would be the same when he opened them again – sure enough, as he willed them to open, Kyra and Vresh still lay dead before him.

They made for a sorry sight, he mused, sadly – death had taken something out of them, had stripped away those larger than life personalities to leave a single broken body as evidence. In life, Kyra had been fiery, feisty, _ferocious_, even, but in death, she looked rather frail. Her human form looked very small, battered and bloodied on the rubble, red hair splaying out messily amongst her own crimson blood. Even Vresh seemed somewhat... diminished. The big krogan still dwarfed his friend, but lifeless, he had none of the stature of the towering warrior he had been. He still had the ferocity, though – even now, with his eyes glazed over, he loomed protectively over his old friend, shotgun in one arm, her hand clamped tightly in the other.

As he continued to stare at them in the unnerving, unending silence, any number of questions were competing for Yui's attention, with _"How?" _and _"Why?" _taking the forefront. The former was easily answered – the Banshee that had so nearly killed him and Vor had been conspicuously absent when they awoke, and the walls here were marred with the same biotic fire... A livid puncture wound in Kyra's midriff had left her _caked _in crimson, human blood, and claw marks ran rampant over Vresh's tough hide, along with a deeper gouge in his chest. The two of them had quite simply been overwhelmed...

"_Why?" _was proving to be much more tricky to answer, and his brain was resorting to paranoia to do so. After an innumerable numbers of explanations passed through his mind, the one that settled was at the same time reasonable and _utterly _crazy.

"Why the hell did you split up?" he muttered, under his breath.

"What?" came the batarian's terse reply.

"WHY DID YOU SPLIT UP?!" Yui bellowed, jumping to his feet and half-reaching for his shotgun. Vor was now clutching his Kishok rather tightly, staring the krogan down, even as Yui began to see the red haze bubbling up and continued, furiously: "If you hadn't _run away_, I wouldn't have had to come save your arse, and we would have been here to stop this."

"I _ran away_ to try and buy her time," Vor snarled, and the warning tone in his voice caught Yui by surprise – the batarian had a quad, he'd give him that – before he added, wryly, "the irony isn't lost on me, krogan. But if we'd have been here, we'd be dead too. Now get a grip, we need to move before the Reapers come back..."

Something deep within Yui's brain needed to hear that – the paranoia dissipated, and his fury, although still present, was nonetheless falling back under his control. He nodded wordlessly at the batarian's admonishments, casting his eyes around the room in awkward silence.

"I'll check the road's clear," the batarian muttered, finally. "Sixty seconds to do what you need to do, okay?"

"Okay..."

With that, Vor stepped out through the gaping hole in the wall, clutching his Kishok tightly and watching for hostiles. Yui, meanwhile, turned back to the chaotic scene all around him. It was finally starting to sink in, acceptance and realisation closely following the initial shock. He slapped his brow plate hard with an open palm, as if trying to _strike _some sense into his brain, and then, finally, he traipsed over to his two fallen comrades, committing the image – the two of them clasped together – to memory before he could bring himself to break them up.

Just as he went to, however, something caught his eye – a little glint amongst the rubble heap that held the two of them. He scrabbled away at the debris, shifting a little layer of steel scraps and concrete, and found, much to his surprise, the hilt of a dagger. Yanking it clear, Yui suppressed a weak little chuckle – the blade was Vresh's, he'd have recognised it anywhere. How ironic...

But, the batarian was coming back now. Yui slipped the blade into his belt, shook his head wearily, and reached down for his fallen comrade.


	187. Operation Thunder Part 17

_**Polos East, Cyone**_

_**Day 1, 2120**_

The siari temple was abuzz with activity. The rest of the Cambrai's marine contingent had arrived to reinforce the troops who had come in with the 4th Armoured, and the entire group was now gathered in the cavernous main hall of the temple. Matriarch Carenna's asari were flitting about in all directions sorting out the defences, but the Cambrai's crew, for their part, were simply stood about, watching as their captain gave his brief. Andersen, who had arrived with the first wave, accompanied by Dax and Klara'Tseni, had provided a holographic projector which was now displaying a shimmering blue map of the city.

"Alright," Murphy began. "Phase two starts here..."

"Phase two?" Tyco interjected, from the crowd. "What the hell's phase two?"

"Revenge," the captain muttered. "The Reapers pushed us hard – it took blood, sweat and tears to get us to this point, but now we're here, we're going to take the fight to them. _This_ is your target."

With a slight flourish, he swung his hand over the holographic map, and a red form dissolved into view above the blue of the city. The map span once fully, flickered as it processed... something technical, and then settled. The red shape now towering over rooftops and highways alike was unmistakeable... it was a Reaper, and its appearance heralded a buzz of dismayed chatter, which was neatly summed up by Malcolm Thorne:

"You've got to be bloody kidding me..." the biotic muttered.

"Not at all," Murphy replied, straight-faced. "You want payback? We're going to step it up a notch – no more husks, we're going for the big guys..."

"This is crazy," Liselle interjected – the asari was in the midst of the assembled crew, wearing an expression of utmost scepticism. "How are we meant to bring down a _Reaper?_"

"By throwing every gun we've got at it. It's a destroyer-class, not a full size Reaper, and it would have had to void its kinetic barriers to land. That means it's weak right now – or... as weak as a Reaper gets, anyway."

"So... we're going after it?" Andersen murmured.

"No, we're going to let it come to _us_. As we speak, it's moving on the city – it should arrive on the outskirts some time after dawn. And when it does, we pounce. I'm not going to lie, this is high risk, but it's the best chance we'll get to take down a Reaper – we pin it down and distract it from the ground and air, then hit it with a god-damn sucker punch from above..."

"A... sucker punch?" Dr O'Leiph piped up, in a tone of confusion.

"The Belfast," Murphy explained. "She's holding in high orbit, and her main gun's trained on the city. Once we've pinned the Reaper down with suppressing fire, she'll nuke it."

"The Belfast can't make that shot," Rilum pointed out, instantly – it seemed damn near everyone on the crew was having a say in things today – and continued, "firing a high-yield weapon from high orbit, the error margin would cover half the city..."

"That's why we're going to give them a bit of help," the captain grinned. "I'll explain... You're all going to be moving out into the streets with what's left of the 4th, save for three teams. Firstly, Matriarch Carenna requested a few of our commandoes to help defend the temple. Maelar, Aeryn, I want you two helping the defence, and Dr O'Leiph, you're with the matriarch's medics."

"I... understood," Ria sighed, and there was no small amount of relief on the doctor's face at not having to face down a Reaper. Her two colleagues, the commandoes, just nodded their assent.

"Secondly, I'll also be taking a three-man team of snipers over the rooftops. We'll be spotting for the Belfast – once we're in range of the Reaper, we paint its weak spot with laser targeting systems, and the Belfast has something to aim by."

"Firing guided, not manually..." Rilum interjected. "Error margin of... six feet at most. Much better."

"Exactly. Any volunteers?"

"Takin' down a Reaper?" Tyco called out. "What the hell, count me in."

"Alright, that's one... and, the second?"

"_You two?_" came a murmur from the back of the crowd. They parted slightly, and the captain saw Vimes grinning at him through the gap. "That team needs some bloody brain cells – I'm in."

"Good," Murphy smiled back. "That sorts out the second exception... So, thirdly, and finally... I need a heavy weapons team."

There was a vague muttering amongst the crew at that – snipers were common enough in their operations, but heavies weren't...

"What do you mean by... heavy weapons?" Dax asked, with a wry smile.

"Cains," he replied, and the krogan's grin widened. "If we're going to hit them, we might as well hit them hard. I need four solo operators who think they can lug a nuke launcher through Reaper territory..."

"Me," came a hoarse growl – it was Lisk. "I take nuke."

For some reason, that mental image inspired a certain amount of _dread _in the captain, but he nodded nonetheless, and looked around, searching for another volunteer. After a few moments, it was Victor Cross who spoke up next:

"Aww, hell," the rogue muttered, shaking his head. "The vorcha's in... so am I."

"Alright," Murphy nodded. "That's two. I need another... oh, God..."

His sudden verbal u-turn drew a whole host of confused stares from the crew, but they were facing in the opposite direction – they couldn't see what he could see, and what had provoked the reaction. Two figures were traipsing across the hall towards them, and they made for a startling sight indeed:

Hei Yui led the way, his metal foot clanking loudly on the temple's steel floor. He was hunched over, grunting slightly with each step, and it didn't take a genius to work out why – the one-ton mass of Uthar Vresh was hung limply on his shoulders, and the elder krogan had a grim expression on his face as he carried his younger comrade in. At his flank, a few steps back, was a battered Vor Hebat – one side of his head was _covered _with blood, and there was a bullet in his shoulder, but Murphy noticed neither of these things. What he noticed was the tiny form of Kyra Tabris, draped restfully in the batarian's arms. Quite slowly, the crew turned to look, and the two new arrivals were greeted with a mixture of sighs, gasps, and stunned silence...

"Somebody say something about a suicide mission?" Yui rumbled, darkly. "Count us in..."


	188. Operation Thunder Part 18

_**Polos East, Cyone**_

_**Day 1, 2200**_

"I saw your little briefing," Matriarch Carenna murmured. "Very impressive. You make something utterly impossible sound trivial. I'm almost surprised you're waiting for dawn..."

"We're brave, not _stupid_," Murphy grinned, sarcastically. "We'll wait till we can see it before we kill it."

The two leaders lapsed into silence – they were stood, leaning over the battlements of the temple gatehouse, peering out over the city in its night-time shroud. It was utterly silent, and that worried Murphy. Yelling and gunfire would have been better – at least they hinted at some resistance. Polos, however, was deathly quiet, and he got the impression that the only people left fighting were now in the temple with him.

"Wait," he muttered, as a sudden realisation hit him. "Impossible? You think it's impossible?"

"Every smart bone in my body _knows _it's impossible," the matriarch sighed. "Look at it this way, captain: this planet has _never _fallen to an outside force. The Rachni Wars, the Krogan Rebellions, it survived them all. But this _one _Reaper – and you said it's not a proper one, either – has levelled six different agricultural settlements, three Alliance outposts, and a whole _regiment _of asari commandoes sent to slow it down. By my reckoning, that makes one Reaper worse than the entire krogan race. And you make it sound like it'll all be over and done with in a matter of minutes."

"What's your point, Carenna?"

"No point as such, it's just... interesting. I guess it's why you're doing so well in this war."

"What?"

"You humans. You never accept anything as impossible – never have, since you came into the galaxy. You don't sit around like my people, debating whether or not you can do something, you just try and _do it_ as quickly as you can, and that's the only way to fight the Reapers – urgently, before they have a chance to strike first. You've lost Earth, I know, but you've been fighting the Reapers off better than any of us, and your Commander Shepard is bringing the whole galaxy under your banner... My people are sat around arguing while the Reapers march on Thessia, and when they hit, there's no way we'll be able to resist them – we didn't strike fast enough. I guess that's what comes of living for a thousand years. You don't have any sense of _urgency_, because you're in no rush to live your life."

"I don't know, matriarch... The krogan are fighting pretty well, and they live even longer than you," Murphy pointed out.

"True, true," Carenna laughed, weakly. "But the krogan have _never _fought badly. _Never_. We had to sterilise them just to get them to _stop _fighting."

Murphy chuckled too, at that, and shook his head with a wry smile.

"Did you fight the krogan?" he asked, finally.

"I'm not _that _old," the matriarch scowled. "The Rebellions were fourteen hundred years ago, and I've only been around for _eight _hundred, thank you very much. My mother fought, though... she was a huntress around the time the war started, fought in several campaigns. The retreat from Lusia, the _relief _of Lusia, the campaigns on Gellix and Gembat... several sieges here on Cyone, too..."

"Really?"

"And you wonder why I put my blood and tears into defending this place," Carenna smiled, sadly. "She didn't let it fall, neither will I..."

"What about your father?" Murphy asked. Mere moments after he opened his mouth, however, he realised his blunder. If her 'father' had been alive to fight in the Rebellions, he... or, err, _she_... was either another asari, which made her a pureblood – a sensitive topic, to say the least – or a krogan, which meant her parents had _fought _each other. He wasn't sure which one was preferable – they both seemed equally awkward. Thankfully, there was no hint of annoyance on the matriarch's face, and she replied:

"Nah, he wasn't around. He was a turian – probably explains why I'm still fighting when most matriarchs retire to politics... She didn't meet him until about five centuries after the Rebellions ended. He was an officer in the turian peacekeeping fleet, and she was a Spectre by then..."

"Talk about a high-flying family," the captain laughed, wryly. "Any sisters? A war hero, perhaps?"

"Ah, if only... What about you, captain?"

"What about me?"

"Your family? Any war heroes there?"

"Depends on your definition of hero, ma'am. No medals, that's for damn sure. Both military though – my mother was a gunnery officer, retired now, and dad's a navigator. He fought at Shanxi, won himself a couple of scars there, but... yeah, no medals, and he's on a desk job now on account of his age. Whole _family _was military, really... I've got a cousin in logistics, a second cousin who's a fighter jock, an uncle in engineering..."

"All spacers," Carenna observed. "You broke the trend rather..."

"Yeah... Dad was pretty stunned when I went to join the marines," Murphy muttered, grinning slightly at the memory. "Expectation in the family was that I'd enlist, spend twenty-five years on the deck of some frigate, then retire to a desk job, or a military pension. Still, that was nothing – he almost died of shock when I made N7..."

"I'm sure he's very proud," the asari general smiled, placidly.

"That he is... now I've just got to make sure I deserve that pride."

"I think you've done that already, captain. I see the way your men look up to you. It took me the best of my matron years to get that kind of loyalty, and you've inspired it in...what, six months?"

"Three, I think..." Murphy laughed. "God, I've lost track of time – feels like forever since this all began. When it's over, N7 or not, I'm taking one bloody long vacation. Somewhere warm, and sunny..."


	189. Operation Thunder Part 19

**A/N: Here's another little skit in the calm before the storm. It feels weird writing what are essentially downtime chapters in the middle of an operation, and seeing as this is quite a short one, I'm going to try my damnedest to give you guys a double update today.**

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><p><em><strong>Polos East, Cyone<strong>_

_**Day 1, 2230**_

"Can you feel this?"

"Yes."

"And this?"

"_Yes_."

"How about now?" Dr O'Leiph said _yet again_, jabbing the point of her scalpel into Vor's index finger this time, albeit quite lightly.

"Still bloody hurts," the batarian growled. "But then you are _stabbing _me, so I guess that's to be expected, huh?"

"Well, that rules out nerve damage," she continued, ignoring him completely. "You're good to fight... but next time you get _shot_, put some medigel on it, okay?"

"Noted," he grunted in reply – with that, he hopped down from the makeshift examination table, and set about clipping the chest and arms of his armour back into place. The bronze-coloured metal was scratched and battered in about a hundred different places, and there was a gaping hole where the bullet had punched into his shoulder, but he was going up against a _Reaper_, so it didn't really matter what state his armour was in... Once it was all in place, he grabbed his weapons, clipped them into place, shot a brief, rather apathetic nod to Dr O'Leiph, and went on his way.

Wandering away from the medical centre – the place had a depressing stench of death and antiseptic, and he wasn't keen to linger – Vor was possessed of a strange... disquiet. He wasn't even sure what was troubling him, the events of the day, or the task that was still to come. The former had been... tough, surprisingly so. He'd survived two near-death experiences, seen a heck of a lot of people succumb to _actual _death experiences... The latter was no better, either – a damn near suicidal mission to take down a _Reaper_, of all things, and he'd allowed the krogan to volunteer him for nuke duty. He'd be lucky to end the day in one piece, let alone alive...

"Hey, batarian?" a meek voice called, as he passed through the archway that led back into the courtyard. Whoever the voice belonged to, they were leaning on one side of the arch, behind him.

"Yeah?" he muttered, spinning around – a human face was presented to him, sharp-featured and framed with black hair. Gah, what was her name? Vanay... Vanya... _Vanyali_.Yeah, that was it...

"I need to talk to you," she murmured. "It... might be a bit awkward, though."

"Go on..."

"I was talking to Andersen, and Yui, and they both said you were with Kyra before the krogan caught up to you. According to Yui... you were the last person to see her alive."

"Yeah, I was," Vor nodded, still not feeling awkward at all. Maybe humans had different standards when it came to these things...

"What did she say, before... y'know?" Vanyali asked. "What was the last thing she said?"

"Why do you ask?"

"She was my friend, Vor... A good friend. I just... need to know what she was thinking before she went. Whether she was scared, hopeful..."

She trailed off, and Vor felt an odd – not to mention _new _– surge of pity in the pit of his stomach. That really wasn't _normal, _not for him.

"We... didn't say much," the batarian sighed. "Just talked about a few things. My being a batarian, for one."

"You talked... about you being a batarian?" Vanyali frowned.

"Alright," he admitted, "it was more about how she doesn't... didn't... hate me _even_ _though _I'm a batarian. We had a smoke, too..."

"Huh," she laughed, wryly and rather sadly. "Was there... anything else?"

Right there, and right then, a mental dilemma presented itself to Vor Hebat, as a series of quotes began to blossom in his mind. _"You can fight, you can kill, and you can carry on at the end of the day! I don't have that anymore... I used to, but now I just... don't," _Kyra's ghost murmured, in his mind. _"When we get back for our next shore leave... I'm leaving."_

There, then, was the choice. The truth, or... _not _the truth. In any other circumstance, it would have taken him less than a second to choose, especially as the truth meant showing a human to be a coward, but... no, that was too harsh on her, she wasn't a coward. _"Too harsh?" _his brain chided. _"We're talking about a human here!"_

Nonetheless, the crossroads were there, and there was actually a choice to be made this time. And for whatever reason, after what felt like an eternity of awkward staring, Vor replied:

"She said she was going to fight. To the end."

"She said that?"

"Yeah," he lied. "And she followed through on it, didn't she?"

"I guess... I guess she did," Vanyali nodded, quietly. Then, without another word, the human turned on her heel and departed, leaving Vor to watch her retreating back with... more than a little confusion.

"_You're growing a conscience?" _his brain muttered, quite separately to the rest of him. _"That's new..."_


	190. Operation Thunder Part 20

**A/N: Another short one, but with the previous chapter, today's total should add up to a regular chapter. Enjoy!**

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><p><em><strong>Polos East, Cyone<strong>_

_**Day 1, 2320**_

"Three threes!" Gunney roared, happily. "Beat that!"

"Straight flush," Kan'Sura replied, instantly. "Consider yourself beaten, courtesy of diamonds three, four, five, six, and... beautiful little seven."

"Dang it, this ain't fair," the Mako driver muttered in protest. "You've got a _mask _on, how am I meant to tell when you're bluffin'?"

"You're not," the quarian retorted, promptly dragging a whole pile of credits to his side of the table.

"Never play a quarian at poker," Sam Vimes grinned – true to his suggestion, he was sitting out the game with a smug grin. "You can _never_ read their faces. And don't play salarians either, they can _always _read yours."

Arrete looked equally smug at that, because the sniper's last remark had been directed at the back of his head – like Kan, the salarian had a fairly large pile of winnings building up...

"Never play a krogan, neither," Araya piped up – the vanguard had folded long ago, and was sat back drinking what seemed to be a bottomless bottle of Tupari.

"Why?" Irving asked, curiously.

"They'll rip your arms off if they lose," she grinned.

"That's scary," the big marine muttered, "I'm not quite sure if you're kidding or not..."

Irving had to admit, it was a weird little group that was gathered around. Running clockwise around the table there was Gunney – who was mumbling to himself as he gathered in the cards and shuffled them once more – then Araya, Thorne, Alec, Kan'Sura, Arrete, Zel Manado, and finally Irving himself. Sat outside the circle, observing but not taking part were Vimes, who had declined due to his aforementioned 'rules of poker', and Lisk, who had made an enthusiastic enough attempt to join in, at first. The vorcha's game had rather fallen apart, however, when counting became involved...

It was also odd that _this _was how the crew dealt with grief. There was no doubt they were all grieving – Kyra and Vresh's deaths had hit them hard, especially those like Sam and Vanyali who had been close to the former, or the latter's krogan brothers in arms. Instead of any kind of silence or memorial, however, they had struck up a card game out in the night, beside one of the Makos. Gunney had produced a battered set of cards – the corner of which seemed to have been _burnt_, rather worryingly – from his pocket, and a spare Mako wheel had been upturned to act as a table. Now, they were all tossing one-credit chits around the table, and but for the lack of alcohol it would have been worthy of shore leave. Sure enough, the next words out of Gunney's mouth echoed Irving's thoughts:

"_Damn it_ I wish I had a beer right now..."

"God forbid," a new voice purred, half-laughing as it did. "You're meant to be our ride tomorrow, so _try _not to drink and drive."

"Laugh it up, ma'am, but poor ol' me's dyin' of thirst here..." the driver replied, and Irving turned around to see Sarah approaching them, flicking an errant wisp of hair out of her rather tired-looking eyes.

"I thought you were meant to be getting some rest?" Irving pointed out.

"Message from Murphy," she muttered, waving her hand dismissively and grinning broadly at the same time. "He says you're meant to be playing at _soldiers_, not poker."

"Come on, Sarah," Alec sighed, from the other side of the table. "We're going on a suicide run in the morning. Might as well cut loose while we can..."

"Alright," the lieutenant relented, "just make sure you get a _couple _of hours' sleep. "I don't want you falling asleep on the job tomorrow, suicidal or not."

"Got it, ma'am."

As Sarah retreated back towards the temple steps – the crew had forged a makeshift sleeping area inside – the group gradually returned to a casual chatter, and to Irving's side, Gunney struck up the conversation once more with:

"_Is _there any alcohol round here? I could do with one for the road..."

"One for the crash, you mean..." Irving grinned, wryly.

"I heard Ria talking about some spirits," Araya murmured. "Over in the medic's camp?"

"Araya, those are _surgical _spirits," Vimes sighed, despairingly.

"Rubbin' alcohol?" Gunney mused. "Can't be that bad, can it?"

"My uncle was a first-wave colonist on Watson," the sniper continued boredly, as if relating a story he'd told dozens of times before. "He used to make homebrew in the basement, and one day he had the _brilliant _idea of using surplus surgical spirits. Ninety percent proof."

"Did it taste good?"

"I don't know, but he was blind for a week..."

"Ah. Maybe we _won't _be trying that one, then…"


	191. Operation Thunder Part 21

**A/N: Feels like a fairly momentous update, this one... As of the last chapter, we crossed 1,000 reviews, and now the story's rocketing towards 200 chapters. In addition, this particular update makes Operation Thunder the longest story arc to date... enjoy!**

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><p><em><strong>Polos East, Cyone<strong>_

_**Day 2, 0300**_

"Morning," Yui rumbled, tiredly, as he traipsed into the makeshift armoury Dax had assembled. It was quite impressive, really. In the space of a few hours, the Urdnot warrior had managed to drag together a couple of makeshift camp tables and pile them high with weapons – his Revenant lay disassembled on one, and on the other sat the four Cains, every part of which Dax appeared to have cleaned and refitted at least three times, with considerable attention to detail...

"Can't sleep?" Dax called, over his shoulder.

"No. Anxious for the off. You?"

"Work to do," his friend grunted, as he fiddled with the muzzle of what _appeared _to be a bayoneted Claymore, and then handed it to Yui. "Here, try this."

"A Claymore?" he muttered.

"That Scimitar doesn't have much... _punch_," Dax explained. "For charging down a Reaper, you need a proper gun."

"Why is it _red?_" Yui asked, instantly, as he admired the new paintjob.

"I replaced the casing with a new alloy. Greater heat resistance, which means you don't need as big a heat sink. And _that _means I could fit in a more complex choke, a larger calibre barrel and muzzle..."

"Which means...?"

Dax scowled as if Yui were some sort of philistine, then continued:

"Which _means_, it can do more damage, more accurately, and over a greater range. I also tweaked the pump action to work one-handed, sped up the loading sequence, and that bayonet? I made it out of ship-grade alloy. You could hang a _tomkah _off it and it wouldn't snap."

"Very impressive," Yui nodded, running a finger along the bayonet – he recoiled as orange blood began to issue forth, and added, "very sharp, too..."

"What the hell did you expect?" Dax frowned, nonetheless wearing an expression of pride as he looked at his creation.

"How long have you been working on this?"

"A couple of weeks, maybe? The design was easy, but it took a while to salvage the parts."

"And you're sure _you _don't want it?"

"Nah, I prefer this beauty," the Urdnot warrior grinned, nodding to his half-dissected Revenant, on the workbench. Then, he added: "What do you think?"

"I think it's a bloody good gun," Yui nodded, turning the Claymore over in his hands. "Mind if I make an adjustment?"

"Err... _what_ adjustment?" Dax asked, cautiously.

"Purely cosmetic," the other krogan chuckled, and he grabbed Vresh's knife from its resting place on his belt. He carried the Claymore over to one of the workbenches, found a tiny bit of free space amongst the parts Dax had scattered _everywhere_, and held it down as he set about carving along the side of the gun the words:

PROPERTY OF HEI YUI. HANDS OFF.

"Just so you know," the Urdnot warrior laughed, "I consider that defacing of my work."

"It's... customisation," Yui muttered, grinning at his friend.

"Wait..." Dax frowned, as a sudden realisation seemed to hit him. He was staring not at Yui, or his shotgun, but at the dagger in his hand. "Is that...?"

"Vresh's. Yeah."

"Where the hell did you get that?"

"He dropped it in the rubble. I found it and just... took it, heat of the moment. Can't really say why. Sentiment or something."

"You? Sentimental?" his fellow krogan replied, sarcastically. "Besides, shouldn't that thing be buried with him?"

"Why?" Yui shrugged. "He's got no use for it now. We both know he'd want it to kill a few more Reapers after he passed."

"I... suppose you've got a point," Dax nodded. "Just don't lose it, okay?"

With that, they lapsed into awkward silence. Neither of the two krogan met the other's gaze, and they were reduced to looking at their now-shuffling feet for a few silent minutes. The conversational dam finally burst on the Urdnot side, and the erstwhile weaponsmith muttered:

"How are you holding up?"

"How d'you mean?"

"Come on, Yui... You can't pretend it doesn't hurt, losing a brother like that. Finding the body, being so close... it can't have been easy."

"We're krogan," Yui snapped, with a probably undeserved glare at Dax. "We're tough."

"Yeah, and bloody stubborn..." Dax murmured, so quietly that his fellow didn't hear. Rather more loudly, he continued: "Alright, if you don't want to go all emotional, let's talk guns. You're on Cain duty tomorrow?"

"Damn right," he nodded.

"Then I'd better show you how to use one of these things."

"How hard can it be?" Yui shrugged. "I know they're all... complicated, but nuke or not, it's just a big gun. Point and shoot."

"You're damn right it's complicated," Dax chided. "Particle accelerators and dust-form eezo chambers combine, produce mass effect fields, and propel a twenty-five gram, high-explosive slug at five kilometres a second."

"And they propel it in a _straight line_. I repeat: point and shoot."

"Fine! But if you _point and shoot_ by accident... well, you're probably dead, but more importantly, _I'm _the one who gets a bollocking from Murphy for letting you blow yourself up."

"Alright..." Yui grumbled, sarcastically. "Can't sleep anyway, might as well let you teach me how to shoot."

With that, he leant down and plucked one of the Cains off the table, whirling it around in his arms. No sooner had he done so, however, than Dax leapt to attention and snatched it out of his hands.

"By the Void, man!" the Urdnot warrior cried. "That one's live! At least let me load a bloody dummy round – I don't want to see the look on that matriarch's face when you blow a hole in her temple..."

"It would be a shame," Yui laughed. "Her face looks so good, don't really want to spoil it..."

"As your fellow krogan, I can't _believe_ I'm saying this," Dax groaned, "but you're a bloody dog, Yui..."

Yui didn't deign to reply to that. He merely took the now blank-firing Cain that Dax handed him, and chuckled heartily as the two of them strode off for target practice.


	192. Operation Thunder Part 22

_**Polos East, Cyone**_

_**Day 2, 0600**_

"This is Alpha," Sarah reported, into the radio, "we're on the move!"

As they rolled out from the siari temple, the convoys had been much strengthened from the day before. The marines from the Midway and Bunker Hill had stayed behind to help guard the temple, but the armoured had been reinforced with more of the Cambrai's commandoes, and Charlie's two remaining Makos had joined up with Bravo. Alpha, for its part, had lost Victor to the heavy team, but they had gained Dax, Araya, Thorne, Andersen and Klara'Tseni.

Sarah was now perched atop One-Three, with Araya at her side and an SMG in her hand. Andersen and Klara'Tseni were on One-Four, behind her, and Alec was once again taking the rearguard on One-Five. That left Irving on One-One, Thorne on One-Two, and Dax jogging alongside the convoy – apparently, the tail platforms couldn't hold the weight of a krogan, which left him on foot...

"_Holy_," Gunney cursed, rather suddenly. "Reaper, on our three o'clock! Look at the size o' that thing!"

Sure enough, as she peered to the right, Sarah couldn't _not_ see the giant form looming over the city's boundaries. It wasn't the first Reaper she'd had the displeasure of seeing – between Vancouver and Rio, she'd seen enough of them to last a lifetime – but for some of the others, it was a new and horrific sight. Araya let out a little gasp of shock, and even the usually unshakeable Thorne was staring wide-eyed at the monstrous form. Behind her, Andersen even seemed to be _scanning _the thing from a distance with his omni-tool. Ironically, Sarah knew Murphy was right on one count – it was a small one, as Reapers went... This one towered over most of the city, but was exceeded by a few of the larger apartment blocks. The Reapers in Vancouver, by contrast, had seemed to block out the very sun above their heads, reaching almost two kilometres into the sky.

"Stick to the plan, people," Murphy's voice urged, over the radio. "Armoured convoys draw it into the centre of the city. My team will intercept with laser guidance on hand, and try to give the Belfast a shot. Heavies, try to stay close to the convoys, just in case you need support. Yui, Victor, follow Alpha on the rooftops. Lisk, Vor, follow Bravo. Once it's close, we hit it with everything we've got..."

"What about air support?" the justicar Saffiya asked, from the other convoy.

"We're co-ordinating from orbit," a new voice interjected – Yurai, the co-pilot. "Matriarch Carenna and her forces have half a dozen gunships ready at the temple, and the Hawking has several fighter squadrons mobilising now. Call it in, and we can get close air support to you within... two minutes, maybe three?"

"Anything heavier on hand?" Dax muttered. "Fighters won't stop that Reaper..."

"If it gets that desperate, we can commit frigates," Yurai replied. "The Cambrai has a Thanix cannon, and the Midway and Bunker Hill both have sizable main guns. I'd prefer it not to go that way, though – can't say I've charged a Reaper before, but I don't think we'd last more than a couple seconds under direct fire. Commit the frigates, and there's a good chance we lose them."

"Understood," Murphy sighed. "That's our last resort, then. All teams, you have your orders. Move up!"

"You heard him!" Sarah bellowed. "Push up, double speed!"

With a throaty roar from each of the five Makos, the convoy began to thunder ever-faster along the road, as the accompanying marines swept the flanks for any sign of husks. Amazingly, Urdnot Dax was _ahead _of the convoy, moving even faster than the tanks, and his machine gun was braced in his arms already.

"Irving!" she called, over the din. "You're up front, I'm leaving air support to you!"

"Got it, ma'am!" he shouted back. Just as he did, however, a loud _crack_ rang out from up ahead, and Sarah's eyes snapped forward, trying to spot the shooter.

_Crack crack crack_. Three more shots rattled out up ahead – the road split into a T-shaped fork, and Dax was already at the junction, taking aim with his machine gun and sending shots haring down the road. Another _crack _signalled a fifth shot – he was firing the machine gun like a semi-auto, for some reason – before he ducked back behind the building on the corner, taking cover from a shower of red-lined rounds now racing back at him in retaliation.

"Patrol right!" the krogan bellowed. "Cannibals, about half a dozen!"

"Spool up the MGs," Gunney began, "hit 'em-"

"No need!" Dax interrupted. "Swing left and keep moving, I've got these!"

Sure enough, the krogan warrior followed up his words by diving left around the corner, yanking his machine gun back up to his shoulder, and letting loose with a _torrent _of gunfire, even as hostile shots whistled back towards him, stinging at his shields and armour. As the convoy finally rumbled around the corner, and Sarah was _swung _into the firing line by the motion of the tank, she saw the Cannibals practically melting beneath the warrior's fire – three were down already, two were killed as she watched on, and the last only lived long enough to bury a single shot in One-Four's tail, before it too crumpled to the ground, dead.

"All hostiles down!" she called, as if somehow, the krogan wouldn't have _noticed_. "Dax, come on!"

"No!" came his rather surprising reply. "I hear something. Something-"

_Something big,_ Sarah guessed, because at that moment, one of the buildings to the right _exploded_. Debris and dust billowed into the open air, and the sheer force of... whatever it was hurled Dax to the ground like a ragdoll. Even worse, the krogan was utterly dwarfed by the dark form now emerging from the dusty haze...

Hulking body, skeletal shoulders, leering turian face... The Brute that now came clambering out of the ruined building was a hideous sight, from its disjointed, almost grotesque skull to the steely claws that now tore at the ground.

It took the convoy a few stunned moments before they actually got their act together, and resolved to _shoot _the damn thing. Makos One-Four and One-Five, which had now paused half way around the corner, began to pour machine gun fire towards the Brute, and Alec joined them, peppering the creature's flanks with rifle rounds. All they achieved, however, was to piss it off. With a bellicose roar, it took a stumbling step towards them – them, as a well-placed shot from Alec stung it in the eye, it screamed again and whirled around, heading for the opposite side of the road. Its back was left open to the hail of fire now filling the air, but there wasn't time enough to bring the beast down – it smashed clean through a shop front to the left, and disappeared from sight. Sarah, for one, was relieved at that.

"Regroup!" she called aloud – the whole convoy had stopped dead to watch proceedings, and now rumbled back into formation. One figure, however, remained distant, picking himself up off the floor, and she continued: "Dax! Get up here!"

"Push on!" the krogan yelled back. "I'll get after that thing!"

Before Sarah could protest, the krogan was off – he swapped his Revenant for a Mantis rifle as he ran, and disappeared into the ruined building the Brute had just crashed through, letting out a blood-curdling war cry as he did. Events were accelerating rapidly, and before she could quite react to the krogan's disappearance, another form was slipping past her – Malcolm Thorne had hopped down from One-Two, with a machine pistol in one hand and biotics flowing from the other.

"He'll get the Brute," the big biotic sighed, "and I'll get him. I'll try to pull his arse out alive, and we'll regroup to the south, okay?"

"Err... okay," Sarah nodded, bemusedly. "Good luck."

With a brief nod and a little skipping step, Thorne broke into a sprint, powering off down the road in Dax's wake.

"Well, looks like they've got _that _under control," the lieutenant murmured, not even convincing herself. "Convoy, push to the south..."


	193. Operation Thunder Part 23

_**Polos East, Cyone**_

_**Day 2, 0615**_

"Bloody hell, that thing moves fast," Thorne grumbled aloud. He was sprinting heavily through the back streets of the city, following the trail of destruction left in the Brute and krogan's wake. Windows – or at least, those that had survived the initial armageddon intact – were shattered, walls were caved in, and several of the walkways had collapsed to the ground below, although he had a feeling that was more the work of Harvesters and the Reaper than the earthbound Brute. Sure enough, a loud, almost indescribable scream rent the air, as somewhere in the distance, a red beam billowed down and _shattered _the top half of an apartment block. The few remnants that survived went tumbling to the ground in a dreadful cascade...

Shaking his head to wipe the image from his vision, Thorne set his thoughts back to the matter at hand. He was thundering along an emergency gantry, one storey above the alleyways the Brute and Dax were charging along. Below, he saw the Brute wheel around briefly, as if contemplating a fight – it struck out, pulverising a nearby wall but missing Dax, who took the opportunity to bury a sniper round in the thing's neck, just beneath what remained of the original creature's collarbone. It screamed and whirled around once more, taking flight, and a horrible thought passed through Thorne's brain.

Brutes didn't run. He had never faced the creatures first-hand before, instead drawing his information from the crew's accounts of Tuchanka, and the Alliance's documents, but every one of those accounts and documents gave the impressions that Brutes were decidedly better at moving _forward _than back. They could crush anything in their path, besides which running away was nigh-on fatal – almost every ounce of armour they possessed was devoted to the head, chest, and arms, with their back and flanks representing the only weak spot for shooters to exploit. Running was a downright stupid move for a Brute, even when faced with a charging krogan.

The more worrying thing, in Thorne's mind at least, was that Reapers were _smart_. If the Brute's running was risky, then there had to be a payoff, and... _ah, shit_.

"Dax!" he bellowed, shortly but concisely, "Trap!"

To the krogan's credit, he was a lot less dumb than he looked. Once someone actually bothered to appeal past his rage and tunnel vision, he seemed to _snap _upright with realisation, and there was a new urgency in his step. Up ahead, the alley blossomed out into a wide highway, and the biotic had a terrible suspicion that the enemy lay beyond, in considerable force.

Luckily, Dax already had a plan. _Un_luckily, it was a rather dangerous one for Thorne. In a single, fluid motion, the krogan brought his sniper rifle up in one hand, aiming far past the Brute, and high above it...

_Bang._ With a deafening report, the Mantis blared out, and a single round was sent whistling through the air. It struck a few metres in front of Thorne's sprinting feet, right where the emergency gantry met the wall of the adjacent, gutted apartment building. There was a subtle _ping _from up ahead, and something that looked remarkably like a bolt flew out and downwards, bouncing noisily to the floor... There was a great _groan _of bending steel, rising to a deafening crescendo, and Malcolm's heart sank.

"You've got to be _bloody _kidding me," he muttered – and then the floor ran out.

The whole gantry tipped earthwards with a baleful moan, and Thorne found his legs pounding at midair for a few brief moments. As he hung there, he saw the far end of the steel platform slam down – right between the Brute's shoulder blades. It was a beautiful piece of timing, and Dax whooped in celebration as the monster was pinned forcibly to the floor – Thorne however, had just forgotten how to fly. He slammed down hard on his back, spine jarring against the cold steel, and began to slide earthwards, getting ever-closer to the monster's back-

In a fit of panic – or inspiration, as he would later claim – he slammed against the gantry with all his might: kicking legs; flailing arms; arching back, and succeeded in propelling himself a foot or so into the air, aided by a flair of panic-induced biotics. The Brute's back was still rising up to greet him, however, so he did the only thing that remained to be done: he wrapped his arm in a swirling mass of biotics, and twisted himself to land fist-down, driving that fist deep into the dark, struggling form beneath him.

When the adrenaline finally faded, he was in a rather uncomfortable position, elbow-deep in the Brute's skull, with an incredulous Dax watching on. Slowly, and rather resignedly, the biotic drew his arm back, to find it _covered _in a silvery mass of dead blood and cybernetics.

"That's bloody disgusting," he growled. "Why the hell did you-"

_Crack crack, crack crack crack. _A bevy of crimson shots came whistling at Thorne's head, and suddenly the adrenaline was pounding once more, coursing furiously through his blood as a mob of Cannibals came pouring towards the alleyway entrance. He slid down the Brute's back and legs, taking cover half behind the body, and half behind the fallen gantry still resting on the great form's shoulder blades. As he did, Dax stepped up – the krogan dashed his Mantis to the ground, and whipped out a Scimitar shotgun, peppering the approaching horde with eight rounds of glittering death. At least half a dozen Cannibals withered and died beneath the barrage, but more were coming, led by the commanding forms and twin Phaeston-chatters of a couple of Marauders.

"Little help?" Dax bellowed, dropping away to one side as he scrabbled for a new clip. His armour was already pock-marked with shots, and even the crude layer of krogan shielding he put up – Fortification programs, were they called? – did sod all to hold off the fire. Resignedly, Thorne picked himself up to his feet, and shot out both palms.

Almost instantly, a glistening blue barrier came to hover a few feet ahead of the two warriors, between them and the horde. He could _feel _the flow at his fingertips, swirling and twisting upon his bequest, and a quick flick of his wrist caused the barrier to advance a foot or so, vaporising the two front-most Cannibals as it did. Something was wrong, however – even as those two crumbled to blue ash, the others were moving. They were still shooting, each round causing a tiny jolt of pain to flicker through Thorne's nerves, but they were no longer baying and charging – they were unmistakeably _parting_, and a hideous form was skulking between their ranks.

"Bloody hell," the krogan muttered, moving to Thorne's side. "Banshee..."

Sure enough, the form approaching them was _definitely _asari, as the field manuals said. The head fringe, the lithe, female form, albeit horrifically mutated and twisted... With a great screech, the monster held up a single, skeletal hand... and the guns fell quiet. The Cannibals seemed to stand there in obedient silence, not daring to move or fire. Even the Marauders had turned subservient, a far cry from their previous, commanding stature.

Then, Thorne's nerves began to _burn_. A single grey, clawed hand was pressed against his barrier, and rather than crumble away as the Cannibals had done, it remained very much intact. In fact, it was raging with biotics of its own, if his senses were to be believed-

_Wham_. The biotic felt his arms _shake _and convulse as a dreadful burst of biotics rang out, smashing into the barrier with a dull noise and spreading wildly through the air. He held, however, as the monster's hand rose back, and-

_Wham_. Again, the Banshee struck down, testing his skills, not to mention his resolve. The burning in his nerves had become a full-scale inferno, and he wasn't sure he could last a third, crippling blow. Just keeping the barrier up was a titanic effort, and his heart was pounding so loudly against his ribs that he was _sure _the creature could hear it. Then, just as the Banshee seemed to draw back for another strike, a low murmur filled his ears, and he felt _something _being pressed towards his struggling hands:

"Take this. Count of three, alleyway on our left. Keep moving, don't let that thing get a clear shot."

He nodded silently, still gritting his teeth against the sheer force now rattling his bones, and allowed his left hand to fall away, grabbing the object Dax was handing him – to his surprise, he found it gripping the stock of the krogan's dropped Mantis, with a fresh clip loaded.

Even as his left arm was granted a reprieve, however, his right was going numb with pain. Taking over the entire burden of holding the Banshee, that arm was very grateful as Dax began to count down:

"Three... Two... One!"

With a last, painful swing of his arm, Thorne sent his barrier rushing forwards in a cloud of fierce blue – the Banshee shrieked and fell away, but was nonetheless intact when the blast faded. The Cannibals on either side weren't so lucky, and three were torn apart by the swirling maelstrom. Thorne followed it up by swinging the Mantis around and taking the roughest shot he could – he was firing from the hip, but was pleasantly surprised to see his shot take the head off one of the leering Marauders. At the same time, Dax drowned the air with shotgun rounds once more, exhausted his clip, tossed it to the ground – and then they were running, diving off along their escape route to the left.

"This alley runs south!" Dax bellowed, as the Banshee ushered her minions forward with a scream and a wave of a bony finger. "That's where the convoy's heading – run till you hit daylight, human!"


	194. Operation Thunder Part 24

_**Polos East, Cyone**_

_**Day 2, 0625**_

"Look at that big bastard... How the hell are we meant to take it down?" Tyco muttered.

"With a hell of a lot of firepower," Murphy replied. "Sam, sitrep?"

"I've got eyes on Bravo convoy, as well as Lisk and Vor."

"What about the others? Alpha, Yui, Cross?"

"Off to the south. No visual."

"Alright... what about Bravo convoy, then?" the captain sighed. "How are they doing?"

"Bravo's kicking ass," Sam chuckled. "Moving along the highway at speed, lots of kills piling up on the side of the road..."

"And the heavies?"

"Vor's a little off the pace. Looks like he's doubled back to get to a higher rooftop. Lisk's keeping up with Bravo, though – quick little bastard, ain't he?"

There was a slight pause, as Murphy stared out over the Polos skyline. The sniper team had climbed and breached their way up to the executive landing pad of a spacious office complex, and were now looking out over an entire district, rifles jutting into the open air as they swept the rooftops for targets. Murphy and Vimes had both opted for the one-shot Mantis, while Tyco, taller and – not that Murphy would admit it – a little stronger than the other two, was hefting his trusty Black Widow.

"Sounds like Bravo's fine on their own for now. Tyco, keep an eye on Vor," Murphy instructed, "and Vimes, watch Lisk. Any hostiles get near, mark the targets. If they open fire, smoke 'em."

"Aye aye," the two men replied, moving to the railing around the landing pad and resuming their vigil.

Murphy, meanwhile, retreated back towards the centre of the pad, grabbing one of the three little laser modules from his belt. He slipped his rifle to his back, and began to fiddle determinedly with the dials on the little black box's side.

"Belfast," he called, to the radio and the sky in general. "Are you catching this signal?"

To test his point, he flashed the crimson laser into the air three times, and sure enough:

"We read it, captain, but it's patchy. Dial up the frequency a few hertz."

"Better?" he prompted once more, after a few more moments of working the dials.

"Much, we've got a clear signal now. What's your estimated distance from the Reaper?"

"About ten kilometres, best guess," Murphy muttered, eyes nervously wandering to the hateful form now _crunching _its way over the suburbs.

"That may be a problem, then," the Belfast's representative replied. "Gunnery's telling us the laser guidance system is only effective within a kilometre range. Any further out, and the beam dissipates too much for an accurate shot."

"You're kidding," the captain growled, frustratedly. "We've got to get within a _klick _of that thing? We'll be dead before we get near!"

"And we'll all be dead if you don't try. Good luck, captain."

With that, the Belfast's radio faded to silence, leaving Murphy to grumble unheeded. The problems didn't seem to stop there, either, because moments later, Sam reported:

"Hostiles on the rooftops! I see a troop of Ravagers, coming up the top of that building with the angled roof, just below us..."

Sure enough, as Murphy joined his two fellows at the edge of the landing pad, he could see the skulking forms less than a hundred metres away. They were scuttling to the right, along the sleek steel roof of what was, if his memory of the map served him correctly, a bank, and mercifully, they hadn't spotted the snipers yet.

"Do we waste 'em?" Tyco grunted, already lining up his Black Widow with one of the skeletal rachni.

"Hold your fire," Murphy ordered, taking a moment to consider the decision. "Ravagers don't turn so well. If we wait till their backs are to us, we can tear them apart before they get a shot in."

"Right."

And so, they waited. Slowly, the Ravagers – five of them, in all – came traipsing out across the roof, twisting clumsily until they were facing away from the three men on the pad above. They were lumbering slowly, but nonetheless with purpose, and Murphy wasn't sure why that worried him until Sam made a rather astute observation:

"They're... _aiming?_"

Sure enough, the long, sturdy barrels that seemed to be _grafted _to the Ravagers' heads were swinging around in a single, harmonious movement, and a dull feeling dread accompanied realisation as it clambered into Murphy's brain.

"Trajectory's on the trade tower," he observed, quickly. "Vor, what's your location?"

"Inside the trade tower," Vor muttered, just as sod's law dictated. "Heading for the roof."

"Scratch that," Murphy interjected, firmly. "Get out of there. Jump, if you have to!"

"Human, I'm five floors up," the batarian replied, frustratedly. "Jumping isn't really an option."

"Then run!"

_Bang bang, bang bang, bang bang, bang bang... bang bang. _With a firework flash of orange from the rooftop below, all five Ravagers opened up, and ten furious, roaring shots went racing towards the sleek trade tower which now filled Murphy's attention span.

The effect was instant – across three different stories, the near wall was _pulverised _by artillery fire, stripping it almost completely away and causing a cascade of steel and other debris to crash down to the ground.

"Open fire!" Murphy bellowed, and moments later, Tyco and Vimes were pumping rounds down towards the Ravagers. He saw the mercenary put three rounds through the armoured back of a Ravager, downing it, while his former C-Sec fellow took a rather cleverer option, using his single Mantis round to puncture one of the fleshy sacs under the creature's belly – it exploded, showering what looked like _acid _across the floor, and the Ravager crumpled, shrieking as it did.

Moments later, however, as Murphy moved to join his two colleagues, his actions were interrupted by an unfortunate cry over the radio:

"Under attack!" Lisk's hoarse voice rasped.

"Oh, that's just brilliant!" the captain bellowed aloud. "Ladies, gentlemen and assorted disasters, please wait your _bloody _turn!"

"Just help him!" Sam called over his shoulder, as he slid a new clip into his rifle. "He's on a three-storey apartment building, visible from the corner of the pad!"

Wordlessly, Murphy sprinted to the edge of the landing pad, sliding out his Mantis as he did, and leant over the railing, hurriedly searching for the vorcha on the rooftops below...

It didn't take long to find him – as the captain centred his scope over Lisk, the vorcha was fending off two Marauders which had _smashed _their way through the door of the building's stairwell, and were now approaching with Phaestons drawn. Lisk, for his part, was in a rather poor situation. His shotgun had fallen by the door, presumably dropped during the initial attack, while his rifle was still hanging on his back – drawing it would have wasted precious seconds, so he instead settled on using the Cain… like a club. He plunged forward, dealt one of the Marauders a hefty blow to the gut-

And then took a smack from the head from the other's Phaeston. Lisk crumpled to the floor, rolling away as Murphy hesitated – his trigger finger refused to _work_, for fear of hitting his ally. While he waited, however, one of the Marauders strode up and drove a hefty kick towards the vorcha's midriff – the turian's heel spur had been reinforced and riddled with cybernetics, and drove down like a dagger.

Luckily for Lisk, the heel spur buried itself not in his chest, but in the Cain he was clutching tightly in his arms. A mass of circuitry and wires were scattered around as the spur was withdrawn, but no blood. The former turian drove in again – and found the Cain's body again, this time by design, not luck. Lisk had pressed it hard against the Marauder's heel to block the strike, and he used the dead weight of the Cain against his opponent, sweeping the turian's knee out and toppling it to the floor, heel still wedged in the big yellow weapon.

As Lisk pounced, tearing at his grounded opponent with viciously sharp claws, Murphy finally had his opening – the other Marauder, still on its feet, had stepped back to line up a shot. The captain centred his cross-hairs over the target, pulled the trigger, and the skeletal creature's head simply... _popped _off its shoulders, taking a good chunk of spine with it. At the same time, Lisk was finishing off the other Marauder, slicing deep into its throat, face, chest, anything that might conceivably hurt it. Once the monster was dead, the vorcha warrior stumbled to his feet, and went in search of the abandoned Cain, which still lay dismembered at one of the corpses' feet.

"Don't bother, Lisk," Murphy sighed. "That Cain's wrecked, you've got as good a chance of blowing yourself up as the enemy."

"Got it," the vorcha replied, frustratedly. "What now?"

"Get off the rooftops and head for the highway. Bravo will pick you up," he muttered. Then, with the vorcha's only reply being silence, he barked into the radio: "Bravo, hold your position! We've lost a heavy – I repeat, Lisk is combat ineffective, he'll be joining up with your squad for the remainder."

"Understood, captain," came Saffiya's reply, serene as ever.

Okay, that was one crisis dealt with – on to the next...

"What's the situation on the trade tower?" Murphy inquired, pacing back over to his two fellows. "Vor? Sam? Anyone?"

"Ravagers are armoured on the back," Sam grunted, with no little irritation in his voice. "Can't take them from this angle-"

_Click_. The two snipers look across to the third member of their squad – Tyco had just primed a grenade in his hand, and with the most casual of throws, he sent it over the precipice. It tumbled, span, and finally came to rest on the rooftop below, sat perfectly between the three remaining Ravagers.

_Boom_. With a vivid flash and a roar of noise, the explosive went off, and all that remained of the Reaper artillery was spattered gorily across the rooftops, a mingled mess of flesh, cybernetics and livid green acid.

"Alright..." the captain sighed, taken aback at the rather _sudden _solution. "Good work. Vor, how's it going on your end?"

"Down to the third floor," the batarian replied, shortly. "Stairwell's blocked, doubling back – what's that?"

"Yeah," Sam murmured, slowly. "What the hell _is _that?"

_That _was a rather contradictory noise rising in the air around them. It was far off, and at the same time felt close enough to make Murphy's teeth rattle. For all that it was a high-pitched scream, it was also a dull thrum, as if the air were being sucked out of their surroundings.

Not for the first time that day, realisation hit the captain like a speeding truck, and his eyes darted to the city's outskirts, far in the distance. The obsidian form of the Reaper, towering over the buildings as it did, now bore a growing, swirling mass of scarlet in its maw...

"Christ," he whispered, then shouted, rather more loudly: "We need to move! Go, go, g-"

_Boom_. With a hideous, hellish scream, the Reaper unleashed its firepower. A beam of vicious red came billowing over the rooftops, cut a swath through the surrounding district, and then slammed, not into the office block they occupied, but into the trade tower they had paid such close attention to moments earlier. The top floors were pulverised, sending up plumes of smoke, _clouds _of shattered glass and steel, even as the beam swept downwards, _cutting _down to the ground and cleaving a huge, burn-like wound in the side of the building.

Everything was very still, in the aftermath of that. No-one really dared to speak a word. And then, with a hideous _groaning _noise, the tower fell. The upper layers smashed down on the lower, the lower rushed to meet the ground, and the whole thing became one terrible cacophony of noise and motion and churning chaos...

Then, quite suddenly, logic overpowered shock, and the captain snapped out of his awful reverie:

"Move!" he bellowed, furious at the world in general. "Get off the rooftop, _now!_"


	195. Operation Thunder Part 25

**A/N: Well, it isn't Monday, but I might aim for a double update anyway. The reason? I just got my exam results for this year (and the results I'll be applying to university with), and I'm in a bloody good mood as a result...**

* * *

><p><em><strong>Polos East, Cyone<strong>_

_**Day 2, 0635**_

"Bravo, this is Murphy. Did you see the trade tower go down?"

"It was quite hard to _miss_, captain... What do you need us to do?"

"Head for the tower, and wait. Lisk's on his way, and I want you to send a small team to look for Vor."

"You really think he survived that fall?"

"Saffiya, all I know is that he had a Cain with him. If that thing's still intact, we _need _it. Besides, Cyone hasn't managed to kill him yet."

Indeed it hadn't. As he lay buried in the rubble, however, Vor Hebat was starting to wish it would just get it over and done with... Three times now he'd survived a supposedly fatal experience. First, that wretched Harvester had _blown up _the tank he was riding on. Then, a Banshee had collapsed the corner of a building on top of him. And finally, the Reaper itself had gone the whole hog, dropping what felt like an _entire _building on him.

An attempt at movement proved rather futile – the steel beam now pinning the batarian's legs to the ground seemed immovable, and just _trying_ to shift it caused pain to burn through the lower half of his body. He relented, lay back on the rubble, and took in his surroundings, blurry though they were.

The ground floor of the tower had survived, _somehow_, and the remaining walls and ceiling seemed to be the only thing that had stopped the whole mass of debris coming down on top of Vor's head – the three-storey fall had buggered his legs, and his lungs were choking on the cloud of dust now rising around him, but he had at least escaped being crushed. Pinned into a pile of stone rubble, however, that felt like a rather hollow victory.

As the batarian's senses re-asserted themselves, he gradually became aware of a dull rumbling in the distance. The shattered walls afforded him a little glimpse of the outside world, and he could see dark shapes emerging through the gloom...

"Closing in on the trade tower," a serene female voice chattered over the radio. "Zel, Kan, Arrete, sweep the ruins for survivors. The rest of you, just keep your eyes open – the Reapers will start to close in once they realise we're stationary."

Even as her words drifted through the air, Vor wasn't exactly... _relieved_. He made another desperate attempt to shed the length of steel resting on his legs, and then, in utter desperation, he called on a tool that he hadn't used in some... five or six years. He clamped his hands _under _the bar, and after a great degree of mental effort, allowed the blue fire to swell up once more, his oft-neglected biotics working strenuously at the obstacle...

In the end, though, they failed, and he lamented his lack of training. Before, biotics hadn't seemed necessary. The last time he'd used them, it had been to intimidate a pirate captain into surrendering – mere moments later, he had killed the man, not with biotic fire, but with a good, dependable bullet to the heart.

His mental ramblings were interrupted by a loud _crash_, as someone forged a rather crude path into the room from somewhere off to the left – with a grunt of exertion, the figure on the other side of the wall had knocked it clean through, scattering the steel remnants to the floor, while at the same time causing the ceiling to groan ominously...

"What the _hell _are you doing?" a harsh, filtered voice snapped – the quarian, maybe? "You'll bring the whole place down around us!"

"You wanted a way in, didn't you?" replied a female speaker – her voice was flanged with sub-harmonics, but was far less clipped and sarcastic than the first. "We- oh, spirits, there he is!"

Three forms came running to Vor's side, rather too quickly for his befuddled senses to process – the first one into the room was also the largest, and judging by the heel spurs pacing into his field of vision, it was the turian, Manado. Closely following her into his sight were the armoured legs of the quarian, Kan'Sura, and then a concave, rather unnatural looking pair of salarian legs – Rilum or Arrete, presumably the latter, judging by the radio conversation.

"Get the bloody beam off him!" Manado shrieked, grabbing the middle of said beam as she did. Arrete and Kan grabbed either end, and between the three of them – not to mention with _proper _biotics from the turian aiding the task – they managed to lift it skywards, carry it to one side, and then dump it unceremoniously to the floor, kicking up a cloud of dust in the process. Vor, now freed, attempted to clamber to his feet-

And instead found himself tumbling down the rubble heap, as pain blossomed through his legs. Rolling to a halt on the floor, he found the salarian – it was red-skinned Arrete, he noted, rather than green Rilum – rushing over to him, with a worried expression on his face.

"Can you move your legs?" he jabbered.

"Evidently _not_," Vor growled, trying not to wince from the throbbing pain still radiating through his bones.

"Alright, alright," Zel Manado soothed, coming to crouch at his side. "Can you feel any pain?"

"Oh, I don't know, why don't you stab me and find out?" he snapped, sarcastically. Then, as the turian leant over his legs, he hurriedly added: "No, I didn't mean literally-_argh!_"

Zel had just stabbed at his calf with her left hand, burying her three claws through his armour and into the flesh beneath. When the scream of pain finally subsided, Vor barely had the willpower to _glare _at the turian, let alone yell at her...

"It's not spinal, then," Arrete observed, as if nothing had happened. "Just broken legs. That makes things easier."

"_Easier?_" he hissed through the pain. "Broken legs are _easier?_"

"Compared to a broken back, yes," the salarian muttered, bluntly. "All relative. Manado, can you carry him?"

Before Vor could protest that _no_, she certainly couldn't, nor should she be allowed to, the turian had plucked him up off the floor and slung him over her bony shoulder. She was surprisingly strong – that came with being a turian, he supposed – and still managed to wield a Phalanx pistol in her free hand, even as she carried him towards the outside world. Arrete and Kan'Sura, for their part, were advancing well ahead of her, sweeping the exit route with their sniper rifles.

With no choice but to let himself be carried along, Vor couldn't help noticing that the world got a lot _louder _as they emerged into the street. The convoy was waylaid by crossfire – Reaper troops were shooting at them from the far rooftops, and a small army of husks was pressing in from the right, racing along the highway into a hail of MG fire from the tanks. The commandoes, for their part, had dropped to take cover _behind _their vehicles, and were fighting furiously against the tide of hostiles.

"You got him?" an astonished voice cried, from the head of the convoy. It was the justicar, Saffiya – she was speaking over her shoulder, even as she pounded one of the adjacent rooftops with a storm of biotics. "Is he alright?"

"Legs are broken in more places than I can count," Arrete called back, "but he's alive. What about the vorcha?"

"On his way," she replied. "He says he'll be five minutes, maximum."

"You really think _Lisk _can count properly? Besides, what are we meant to do with the batarian?"

"Put him on Three-Two, and-"

_Crack_.

"_Argh!_"

That scream, oddly synthetic in timbre, came from neither the justicar, nor the salarian, and Vor's stomach lurched as his turian bearer span around to follow it. _Someone _had tumbled off the side of one of the middle Makos, and was face-down on the road.

"Zya's hit!" Arrete reported, dashing to the fallen human's side.

"Is she alive?" Kan'Sura asked – the quarian had pressed himself against one of the Makos, rifle loaded and at the ready.

"There's a pulse," his comrade frowned, "but she's out cold..."

The moments that followed seemed to constitute an odd pause. Even as shots crashed down around their heads, the whole party seemed to _freeze _in indecision, until the justicar finally made up her mind:

"Arrete, grab her, get her onto Three-One's tail. Zel, put Vor on Three-Two. You two go with the Makos, get the wounded back to Carenna's force at the temple. They've got medics who can deal with this."

"What about you?" the turian protested.

"We'll be fine!" Saffiya shouted back. "Four tanks and a company of commandoes? We can hold them off until Lisk gets here, then push back out into the city. Liselle, cover them, Kan, get up her and take her place!"

That seemed to end all discussion – Manado turned and dashed towards the tail end of the convoy, as the grey-skinned asari who had been with Saffiya detached herself from the justicar's side, and allowed a glimmering barrier to billow into the air. Arrete had grabbed the fallen assassin, and the asari's barrier now enveloped the whole group as they wound their way through the impromptu battlefield. In his befuddled state, Vor wasn't quite sure _how _long it took, but by the end of it, he was being bundled onto the low platform on the back of one of the Makos, and the turian was fixing a length of steel cable over his waist, before hopping up onto the tank, opposite him.

Finally, with a rumbling – not to mention rather painful – jolt, the two Makos at the back of the convoy growled into life, whirling around in a dizzying half-circle before shooting off along the highway. Crossfire still chased them for a little way, and the churned, crater-marked road hardly made for a _comfortable _drive, but the batarian had to confess, he was rather glad to leave the noise and the chaos behind...

"You're going to be alright," Manado sighed, looking down at him with an annoyingly _pitying_ expression.

"I'd better be," he growled, with a mixture of sarcasm and dark humour. "If I die, I'm coming back to haunt the lot of you."


	196. Operation Thunder Part 26

**A/N: As promised, a double update today. Now, I need some sleep...**

* * *

><p><em><strong>Polos East, Cyone<strong>_

_**Day 2, 0645**_

"Gunney! Rooftop, bearing two-ninety – two Ravagers on the roof, give them the heavy guns!"

_Boom_. With a deafening report, One-One's mass accelerator fired, crashing into the low rooftop Sarah had pointed out and toppling two decidedly _deceased _Ravagers into the street below. Subsequent rounds of MG crossfire slashed across the bodies, with gory results – the bright orange sacs on the former rachni's bodies were _burst _open, showering the road in lime-green acid and burning the feet of several approaching husks.

Alpha's convoy was having... _mild _difficulties. Put simply, a small army of Reaper troops was charging its way down the road towards them, several dozen husks and Cannibals pouring down on their ranks, while Marauders and Ravagers took the more tactical approach, striking from the rooftops and the distance. Three of the Makos had pulled up end-to-end to barricade the road, and were drowning it with machine gun fire as the two remaining tanks sat behind, taking precise shots with the larger, more damaging mass accelerators.

The commandoes, meanwhile, were crouched behind the barricade line, taking cover from the hail of hostile fire behind the steel beasts. Thorne and Dax were still absent, and Andersen had taken a bullet to the gut, but they were holding out surprisingly well, all things considered – no fatalities, for a start... The wounded engineer was providing surprisingly good suppressing fire with a turian Phaeston, while Irving and Alec picked off targets of opportunity with their own rifles. Araya and Sarah were screening the boys with biotics, from barriers to shockwaves, and the quarian, Klara'Tseni, was sending up any number of sentry turrets, combat drones and the like, replacing them whenever they fell and occasionally programming the damn things to fire _rockets _at the enemy. The Reaper tide was still coming on strong, though...

"Marauders!" Andersen called, dropping down from a burst of fire to reload and catch his breath. "Four of them on the right flank, leading the charge!"

"Tactical approach," Sarah mused, loudly enough for the others to hear. "I mark the targets with biotics, Irving gives them a barrage, then Alec finishes off what's left. Ready?"

"Ready," her two fellows N7s nodded.

Without any further ado, Sarah peered _beneath _the Mako she was crouching behind, spotted the cluster of Marauders Andersen had indicated, and then rocked back on her feet – she let the blue fire flow, and with a sweep of her arm she launched a biotic cannonball in a high arc over the tank. It soared through the air, glistening in the dawn sunlight, and then, at a flick of her wrist, dropped to earth, smashing into the Marauders' midst as it did. One of them was vaporised instantly, dissolving into blue-grey ash, while the other three began to _burn _with biotic fire – blue embers flickered and danced off the creature's skin, marking it for all to see.

Irving took his cue in similar silence to Sarah – he hopped up, planting his foot on top of the right-hand Mako's wheel, then propped his arms and rifle over the tank's body, opening fire as he did:

_Crack crack, crack crack, crack crack. _Three two-round bursts billowed out from the gunnery sergeant's Valkyrie, whistling across the boulevard battlefield with lethal precision. The first two cracked across a Marauder's torso, riddling it with four livid, bleeding wounds – _oozing_ was probably a better description, given that the bluish liquid was more a cocktail of cybernetics than blood – and causing it to crumple to the floor. The third and final burst caught a second Marauder square in the head – the thing's skull juddered on its neck and it too collapsed, dead.

"Alec!" the elder marine prompted, leaping from his perch to take cover once more. Alec sprinted up, nimbly, with a Valiant sniper rifle in his arms. He was barely atop the Mako for a second, before:

_Crack_. A single, well-placed round found the last Marauder's heart, and the bullet – along with the scalding biotic fire Sarah had launched at it – was enough to take the monster's life.

"All targets down," Irving confirmed, this time peeking around the nose of Mako One-Three. "Somebody give me something to shoot!"

"Your wish is my command!" a new voice yelled, over the radio. It was deep, slightly hoarse, and interspersed with heavy breathing that seemed to indicate equally heavy running. Shots were crashing down around the new arrival's head, by the sounds of it, and amidst all the background noise, Sarah was struggling to identify the voice...

Moments later, however, she realised e_xactly _who the voice belonged to, as the alleyway on the left side of the road _exploded _with a thunderous roar of biotics. The two buildings on either side were pulverised, torn to shreds, and at least a dozen unlucky hostiles who had been in the vicinity were reduced to dust.

Through all the smoke and debris, two figures were sprinting out – Malcolm Thorne's arms were still _burning _with biotic fire from the wrist up as he dashed into the street, and Urdnot Dax looked as powerful as ever as he followed the human in, grabbing a nearby Cannibal and crushing its skull in a single, strong hand, while simultaneously blowing a second away with the shotgun in the other.

"Christ!" Sarah exclaimed, aloud. "Cover them! Everyone, cover them!"

As Thorne and Dax rushed down the road, barrelling towards the Makos at considerable speed, the lieutenant finally realised _why _they were running. A couple of human husks chased them out of the alleyway, followed by Cannibals, Marauders, and the unearthly screech of what sounded worryingly like a Banshee. These pursuers merged fluidly with the crowd of Reaper troops already pushing towards the barricade, and now even the Makos were hard-pressed. MG shots were criss-crossing the road, fired in intelligent, sweeping diagonal patterns to maximise their effect, while the two mass accelerators worked on picking targets of opportunity – the commanding Marauders, or the artillery-like Ravagers. Husks were falling in droves, but there was a feeling in the back of Sarah's mind that it wasn't quite _enough_.

It _was _enough, however, to cover their two returning comrades. They stopped occasionally to take a shot at their pursuers, but for the most part, the two ran and didn't look back. Thorne, the lighter and quicker of the two, was first to make it back. With surprising grace for such a vicious, scrappy fighter, he launched himself two-footed into the air, and his entire body was framed by a storm of biotics as he glided down, over the nose of Mako One-Four, and came to land neatly at Sarah's side – the residual biotics enveloping him caused the hairs on her own arms to stand on end, and her blood to _thrum _resonantly.

Dax was rather _less _graceful about – the big krogan stopped about ten feet from the barricade, emptied what remained of his shotgun's magazine, and then sprinted in a full charge towards them. He hurled himself into the air, bounced heavily off One-Four's nose – causing the suspension to dip about a foot, and the driver to swear – and then rolled to the ground on the other side, forcing Sarah and Thorne to leap back to avoid being crushed.

"What'd we miss?" the Urdnot warrior laughed, from the ground. He was breathing heavily, and looked rather _excited_, as if he were enjoying the thrill of the fight.

"Hell," Sarah answered, flatly. "We've been holding this line for about half an hour. Any longer, and that Reaper's going to get ideas and take a shot."

As if to perfectly illustrate her point, a high-pitched scream and a dull roar filled the air all at once, and a _flash _of scarlet on the horizon signalled another shot from the Reaper – the vivid beam carved its way through a nearby apartment block, reducing it to dust and debris, before slicing across the rooftops of a few nearby, smaller buildings.

"Any longer," Thorne echoed, gravely, "and you'll need to start digging graves..."


	197. Operation Thunder Part 27

_**Polos East, Cyone**_

_**Day 2, 0650**_

"_Easy, Victor. Recon, plan, then execute."_

As he followed his brain's own instructions, Victor Cross was currently on the planning stage. Recon had already shown him the five Marauders huddled on the roof outside – now it was just a matter of taking them down. Solo. Great...

Despite his misgivings, he had to admit he _probably _had the upper hand, mostly thanks to his armour. The Terminus model not only had servos which afforded him some extra strength – useful both for carrying the heavy Cain and for fighting hand-to-hand – but the onboard tactical suite made his aim deadlier than ever, and the clever thermal system, which channelled heat through his boots to dissipate it into the ground, made him virtually invisible to synthetics and scanners.

The plan, then, was fairly quick to formulate. He shifted his Argus rifle into his left arm, wielding it with a single hand and allowing the tactical suite to compensate, while popping out the omni-blade on his right wrist, as quietly as he could manage. With that done, he took one last scan of the area outside with his omni-tool, to see if the Marauders were still in the positions he had observed earlier. They were – there was one directly outside, with his back to the door, and beyond him another two, standing by with rifles in their arms. Finally, at the edge of the roof, there were two final Marauders, raining shots down on Alpha convoy in the road below.

Without further ado, Victor swept forward, and switched firmly from "plan" to "execute" – rather literally, in fact. As he charged through the door, he dealt a vicious stomp to the back of the nearest Marauder's leg, causing it to crumple pathetically easily to its knees. It was a trivial matter to slip his omni-blade around its throat, crouch behind the monster's hissing form, and use it as a meat shield while he aimed left with his Argus:

_Bang bang bang. _Three quick rounds hit one of the rooftop shooters in the back, blindsiding it before he got a chance to see his attacker. The thing dropped silently, dead before it even fell over the edge, and hit the street below with a dull _thump_, almost imperceptible amidst the chaotic din of gunfire from the road below.

_Bang bang bang. _A second three-round burst tore at the other shooter on the edge, but here, the tactical suite let him down. One shot _punched _into the Marauder's gut, but the other two found knee and thigh, stumbling the creature while failing to kill it. Nonetheless, he had no time to finish it off – momentum was key, and the rest of his opponents were readying weapons...

Victor swung forward and sideways, stepping _around _his synthetic hostage and launching into a precise, almost balletic spin. He span around, whirled to a half circle, and as he did, the rifle in his left hand came within inches of the kneeling Marauder's chin – at the last moment, he flicked the gun upwards a few inches, digging the barrel in beneath the monster's chin and _pulling _it to its feet, even as he continued to spin. A quick _bang bang bang_, and the thing dropped dead, brains splattered across the rooftop – Victor dropped his rifle with it, and carried his momentum through, whirling back towards the starting point-

As he approached full circle, he hopped upwards, spinning through the air in a motion that his bulky Terminus armour seemed to think was impossible – as he came down to the ground, however, he lashed out with a _vicious _strike from his omni-blade, driving all that whirling momentum into a single, lethal blow. It crossed the throat of one of the remaining Marauders which had strayed too close, _cutting _the thing's neck open and causing it to fall limply, almost pathetically sideways, to the ground.

That just left two – the wounded Marauder on the edge of the roof, and its fellow, which was a few feet away and readying a rifle. Victor launched himself into a hasty combat roll, diving towards the nearer of the two, the one getting ready to fire – as he swept forward, half a dozen rounds whistled past, missing by mere inches, but his brain, his muscles and his suit were combining to produce a rather amazing manoeuvre, even if he said so himself... As he came out of the roll, he – or rather, his suit – launched a heavy, two-footed kick to the Marauder's chest, causing it to stagger back with a yelp. Landing the kick reversed his momentum, and he rocked backwards, flipping heels-over-head to land roughly on his feet.

Popping an omni-blade out of his left wrist to match his right, the former marine wasted no time plunging into the fight once more. The dead turian was still trying to raise its rifle as he slasheddown with his right hand, carving a deep wound into the creature's arm and through the main body of its rifle. He dodged left, seemingly leaving himself open, and the Marauder swept around almost _gleefully_, aiming its Phaeston anew and pulling the trigger-

Which resulted only in a hissing noise, before the rifle backfired violently, steam spraying from the ruined thermal clip and scalding the Marauder's face. As it fell back with a yowl, Victor darted in, crossed with his left, and impaledthe monster's rifle upon his wrist. A quick tug wrenched it from the ailing Marauder's hands, before he brought his left back across, simultaneously _crack_ing the creature in the face with the butt of its own weapon. With the Marauder dazed and staggering, he finally went in for the kill – a quick flick of his wrist shed the ruined Phaeston from his left blade, before he plunged in with both, driving them deep into the creature's neck. It gurgled, fell limp, and he shook it off, discarding the corpse on the floor.

Down to one. The last Marauder was still struggling to stand on ruined, bullet-riddled legs, and as it vainly tried to stagger upright, Victor paced towards it in a matter of moments. Any number of solutions presented themselves – recovering his rifle and shooting the thing, breaking its neck, stabbing it with an omni-blade... In the end, however, he settled on an old favourite. With a furious yell, he planted his boot on the creature's ribs and _kicked _out – it scrabbled at the concrete, vainly, and then dropped over the edge.

The Marauder's shriek was quickly stifled by the loud _crunch_ of its impact – looking over the precipice, Victor saw it splayed out, quite dead, on the tail of one of Alpha's Makos, much to the surprise of Alec Carter.

"_Job done," _Victor's brain applauded, but his eyes remained transfixed on the scene below. He had only seen it in passing – saving Alpha from the sharpshooters was a welcome side effect, but not his main intention – but now his gaze was locked on the struggle in the street beneath him. The convoy was _flooding _the street with fire, but it didn't seem to be enough, and from up here, he could easily see why – a Banshee was striding through the small army of husks now filling the road, and the dead asari's barriers were rendering the marines' guns impotent. Even the biotics had no success – as he watched, Araya and Sarah teamed up to send a _fierce _torrent of force and fire at the mob, which on any other occasion would have pulverised it. Now, however, they found their efforts cancelled out by a mere wave of the Banshee's hand, and a subsequent counterattack levelled them both, knocking them painfully to the floor.

It was at that moment that an idea struck Victor, at the same time wonderful and terrible. He was well aware of the Reaper threat – the thing was looming over the city, just a few klicks away – but his gaze was drawn invariably back to his struggling comrades. The phrase 'no-one left behind' was a horrible cliché, but hell, it applied, and his conscience made sure the Cain on his back weighed at least three tons...

He was biting his lip indecisively as he dragged the bright yellow weapon from his shoulders – once it was in his arms and aiming at the enemy below, it seemed light as a feather, funnily enough. The debate was still present, however, because he was well aware of the weapon's importance... in the worst case scenario, it came down to the mission, or the team. When he put it like that, though, it was no choice at all, and he hefted the weapon up to his chin to aim.

His suit's tactical suite finally lived up to its cost as he locked the heaviest weapon of all on the street below – it painted his helmet's display with a bright red circle representing the blast radius, and allowed him to make sure the convoy and its defenders were _well _outside that circle, while the main body of the Reaper were locked in its crimson midst. The hateful Banshee was dead-centre in his aim.

As resolve finally overcame doubt, his finger hesitated on the trigger only long enough to activate his radio:

"This is Victor," he called. "My Cain's out of action. Sorry sir, we're down to one – I'm linking up with Alpha for evac."

Then, he squeezed the trigger, released the warhead, and allowed the road to burn with cleansing fire...


	198. Operation Thunder Part 28

_**Polos East, Cyone**_

_**Day 2, 0655**_

"_This is Victor," _the static-y radio burbled. _"My Cain's out of action. Sorry sir, we're down to one – I'm linking up with Alpha for evac."_

"Damn," Arrete muttered. "Down to one Cain? That's not good... they're still a few _kilometres _from the Reaper, and they're banking on a single strike..."

"Murphy's team are still moving," Manado pointed out, optimistically. "They can get a strike from the Belfast, even if the Cains don't get through."

The two snipers had arrived back from the front some five or ten minutes ago, bringing with them Three-One, Three-Two, and the wounded forms of Vor and Zya. The latter two had been rushed into the medical area for treatment, and the tanks were being repaired by a couple of asari engineers. That left Arrete and Zel with pretty much nothing to do – they would have volunteered to help guard the walls, like Aeryn and Maelar, but Matriarch Carenna had told them that was pointless, because the temple was experienced a lull in the fighting. That made tactical sense, unlike most things the Reapers did – why bother committing troops to a holdout like the temple when attacking teams were running rampant in the city? They could crush the armoured teams, and _then _come back to drive the temple into the ground.

So, the two of them were left in the middle of the courtyard, sat beside a makeshift listening post assembled by one of the asari comms officers, listening to everything that passed back and forth across the network. Victor's withdrawal was by no means the only point of notice – judging by the chatter, Alpha was experiencing as much trouble as Bravo had at the trade tower, and was dug in tight...

"This is Sarah Jade," the radio announced, as the lieutenant prepared to stomp on that theory. "Barricade's clear – we've got Victor, and we're on the move!"

"Good," Murphy replied, in a tense mutter. "Draw back towards the temple – you too, Bravo. If you lure the majority of the horde back with you, it might clear the way ahead for us and Yui."

"Understood," Sarah and Saffiya murmured, in eerily perfect harmony. With that, the radio fell silent once more, and they were left to their own devices.

They didn't have to wait long for a distraction, however. It was Arrete whose keener senses picked up the newcomer first, and by the time his turian friend caught on and turned around, Dr O'Leiph was already half way across the courtyard. As the asari approached, Zel couldn't help noticing that her usually beautiful face – speaking objectively, of course – was looking rather strained, and her eyes were tired. She was nonetheless trying to keep an expression of bonhomie on her features, to look at least _hopeful_, if not cheerful.

"How are they?" Manado called, striking up the first conversation that came into her head.

"Good, all things considered," the doctor replied. "We've... had a lot of people pass tonight. I'm glad that our own made it, at least."

"Our own?" Arrete frowned. "The other patients are asari, your own people..."

"Salarian, I've been working non-stop in a _makeshift _surgery since midnight," O'Leiph sighed. "I'm exhausted, so please forgive the turn of phrase... The point still stands, though. Zya's injuries weren't bad – a bullet wound to the torso is a combat medic's bread and butter. A clotting agent and a couple of sutures, and she's on the road to recovery, should be combat-ready again in a couple of days. The batarian, though... well, let's just say he's lucky to be alive."

"I sense a pattern emerging," the salarian chuckled, darkly. "The world just can't seem to kill that one today..."

"Quite... You said he had a _building _dropped on him?"

"Well, we were exaggerating a _bit_," Manado muttered. "Vor was on the third floor of a building when the Reaper took it down. He fell three storeys and ended up pinned under a steel beam."

"That... would explain the broken legs," Ria murmured. "You know he had half a dozen different fractures? Four in the left leg, two in the right – tibs and fibs in the left and right, as well as a broken ankle and kneecap in the left."

"No wonder he couldn't walk," Arrete observed, drily. "Question is, will he walk again?"

"I should think so. I couldn't treat him here, the theatre isn't equipped for anything more than basic combat surgery, but then, his injuries were... not too bad."

"Not too bad?" Zel gawked. "What about half a dozen fractures? How is that _not too bad?_"

"Not compared to the others," O'Leiph explained, and she began to rattle off a list of averted maladies on her fingers: "No organ damage, spinal damage, no blood wounds, no infection... Not even shrapnel or a lodged shot. Just broken bones and a mild concussion. I've sedated him for now, and set his legs with a couple of basic splints. Once we're back on the Cambrai, I can see about fixing the bones properly. He might need some steel in them, but living with steel bones hasn't been a problem for centuries..."

"Good," the turian nodded. "That's... good."

Awkward silence reigned, from there. Throughout the conversation, Ria had been moving closer and closer to the two seated snipers, and now she was sat with them, lounging back on her tired arms and closing her eyes in blissful abandon. When she opened them again, her subsequent question came completely out of left field, and knocked Zel for six:

"Are we going to win this? Are we even going to make it out of here?"

"Where the hell did that come from?" Manado replied, aghast.

"I don't know..." Ria sighed. "I've been stuck here for hours, and all I've seen is the stream of wounded coming in. You two have been out on the battlefield for real, you've _seen _the Reaper. Do you think we can actually beat it?"

"I... sure we can," the turian murmured, placidly. "We'll be alright..."

"Gee, really reassuring, Zel. Salarian, you're up – give me the _honest _verdict this time."

"Well..." Arrete sighed. "I can't pretend it's good. Three Cains combat ineffective, for one reason or another. That just leaves one, as well as Murphy's team attempting to signal the Belfast. If three heavies went down in less than an hour, though... it doesn't bode well for them. Murphy's team is good, and Yui's unstoppable, but... well, the Reapers don't really obey convention, do they? They can destroy anything if they put their minds to it. The real problem for us is what happens if the strike teams fail. The only options left would be for an aerial assault, and the odds of the Belfast landing a nuclear round blind are... small. They'd level several blocks before they got a decent hit. The Cambrai has a Thanix cannon at her disposal, but she's a relatively big target – accounting for Solov's prowess, she'd get... maybe two attack runs before the Reaper tore her out of the sky. The Midway and the Bunker Hill would get one at best, and their weapons are too outdated to damage the Reaper. I daresay we'd be left here, stranded, and it would come for the temple last of all..."

"So, in your _informed _opinion," Zel scowled, "if neither Murphy nor Yui gets through, we're all dead? You're right, doc, that's _so _much more reassuring than 'we'll be alright'..."


	199. Operation Thunder Part 29

_**Polos East, Cyone**_

_**Day 2, 0715**_

"Status?" Murphy murmured, rather quietly.

"Not brilliant," Sam chuckled, darkly. "Take a look at this."

The captain shuffled up to take Sam's place, as the former C-Sec sniper stepped aside to let him through. The three snipers were packed into what had once been a rooftop garden atop a two-storey residential building – now, the garden just consisted of dead, scorched plants and shot-riddled arches, the latter of which were providing cover to Murphy's team. As he peered through the little round window Sam had been stood by, Murphy quickly began to observe the 'not brilliant' situation:

First and foremost, there were two human husks roaming the stretch of rooftop in front of them. Only the dawn shadows and furtive movement kept the three snipers out of sight and earshot. Beyond the husks was an equally attentive Marauder, brandishing a Phaeston rifle and scanning the surroundings, and finally, behind him, was a solid steel wall, punctuated only by a little door that led to the next stretch of rooftop. The more pressing issue was the rooftop to the right – it was crowded with Cannibals, about twenty of them if his estimate was right, and...

"Are they _hanging _corpses?"

"No..." Sam sighed. "They're _eating_ corpses, and _then_ hanging them."

"Psychological warfare," Tyco grunted, from the other side of the archway. "You want proof that Reapers are smart? There's your proof..."

"It didn't need proving," Murphy muttered, rather bitterly. "But we've got bigger things to worry about than the dead. We need to reach that Reaper – ideas?"

"I guess 'guns blazing' is out?" the mercenary replied, sarcastically.

"_Yes_. We'd be cut down in the crossfire before we got half way."

"Pick them off from cover?"

"Against twenty-odd shooters? We'd never be able get a shot in..."

"What about air support?" Vimes piped up, suddenly. "We've gone this long without bloody using it – the Hawking's just sat in orbit, waiting!"

"Fair point," Murphy nodded. "Air support it is. Call it in, Sam."

With that, the sniper drew up his omni-tool and called, rather quietly:

"Hawking, this is Operative Vimes, of the Cambrai. Our strike team's pinned down on the way to the Reaper, we need close air support as quickly as you can manage."

"This is Serviceman Clark, Hawking comms. What kind of air support do you need?"

"Err... two fighters, fit for _very _low-altitude flying and armed with anti-infantry payloads."

"Got it. ID the target, and they'll be with you in thirty seconds."

"Will do. Vimes out."

There was a slight pause, as the C-Sec officer closed down the radio and took the initiative, unclipping the little laser module from the muzzle of his rifle and pacing over to the window.

"I'll paint the target," he muttered. "Can you two take the bastards outside?"

"No problem," Murphy replied. After a brief consideration, he cracked his knuckles and continued, "Thirty seconds. I'll take the husks - Tyco, nail the Marauder."

"With pleasure, boss..."

That was all the planning the two of them needed – as Sam stepped up to the window, holding the laser pointer in his free hand and aiming it towards the opposite rooftop, Murphy and Tyco wheeled out into the archway, weapons drawn. Tyco was hefting his Black Widow up to fire, while the captain had abandoned his Mantis in favour of the ever-reliable omni-blade...

_Bang. _Even as Murphy charged in, his mercenary colleague sent a Widow round whistling past his head – it missed by mere inches and buried itself in the gut of the Marauder ahead. The dead turian leapt back as its shields fell apart, but the shot did little more than that, and moments later, the thing rolled away to the side, taking aim with its rifle...

The captain left _that _problem to Tyco, and turned his own attention back to the husks, which had now turned to hiss and leer at him as he approached. The first one was only a couple of feet away – he picked up the pace, sprinted the last few steps, then lunged forward with a wide sweep of his omni-blade, separating the husk's head from its body.

"Twenty seconds!" Sam called, tensely.

Even as the first husk slumped lifelessly to the floor, the second was rushing at Murphy from the left. He darted right to buy himself space and time, then whirled left, struck out... and found his blade plunging right through the skeletal creature's chest. It stuck fast, but the husk _wasn't dead_. It continued to hiss and spit, flailing and scratching at him with cold, dead hands, until-

_Bang. _The husk's head _exploded_ as Tyco put his second Widow round right through its temple. A moment later, as he dashed the corpse to the ground, Murphy saw Tyco sweep forward, kneeling to avoid a string of shots from the Marauder, before a third _bang _signalled his final shot – the Marauder was _nailed _against the wall, head juddering, and slid down it slowly, leaving a blood-like smear down to the ground.

"Ten seconds," came their fellow's cry, from the ruined garden at their backs. "Hold onto your-"

_Whoosh_. With a deafening roar, two blue forms sliced through the air over Murphy's head – the two fighters, early by a matter of seconds, whistled past at insane speeds, then hit the brakes, spinning on a dime to shoot back towards the mass of targets, and-

_Boom_. Out of nowhere, a lance of bright crimson speared through the air, slammed into the tail of the leading fighter, and reduced it to a burning mass of scrap metal... a moment later, the beam swung across to the right, and the second craft's pilot screamed for one horrible moment, before he too was snuffed out. It was a dreadful sight, and the wreckage, which mere moments before had been two healthy, working ships and their pilots, seemed to dangle in midair as if to taunt the captain.

He stood there in awed reverie for a moment, before reality finally came crashing down – along with bullets. All across the opposite rooftop, the leering Cannibals were lighting up the rather grey morning with a terrible volley of fire, a steady _crack crack crack _breaking the awful silence. Red-rimmed shots were skimming through the air, and before he could even move, Murphy felt one crash into his stomach, jolting his shields.

"Boss!" a deep voice yelled. "Move!"

Tyco's shout was just enough to rouse Murphy's stunned body into action – the mercenary was already running, and was ducking through the archway to join Vimes even as the captain began to run. He tore across the rooftop, darting left to right every few steps to try and throw off the enemy's aim, but the sheer volume of fire raining down on him was almost insurmountable – as he closed in on the shelter of the archways, a shot slammed into his shoulder, causing his shields to flicker, and another bounced worryingly off his visor. That last one finished his shields off completely – they screamed, flashed, and died. No matter, though – he was only a few feet from shelter, and he could _see_ his two comrades up ahead-

"_Argh!_"

Two shots had just smashed into him from behind, one between the shoulder blades and one in the small of his back, knocking him for six. He stumbled, lurched forwards, and fell flat to the ground – in hindsight, being pressed against the floor probably saved his life, because the Cannibals' shots were still whistling past his head, but crucially, they were _missing_. Before he had time to clamber back onto his feet, a strong hand latched around his shoulder, and he found Tyco dragging him into cover while Sam popped off a couple of blind shots to cover the two of them.

"Hawking, requesting another strike!" Sam shouted, into the radio. "Fighters are down and they gave away our position! We're pinned down, close on twenty hostiles!"

"That's a negative, Vimes. The Reaper's too close – more fighters won't reach the target, they'll just end up as more casualties..."

"Then what the _fuck _are we meant to do?" Vimes retorted, far angrier than Murphy had ever seen him before. "We're still a klick out, and we're dead men if we move! The captain's wounded!"

"It's not that bad," Murphy mumbled, trying to blot out the now-searing pain in his back. Tyco was rummaging around for a medi-gel syrette, and as Sam temporarily muted the radio, he hissed:

"If it gets us backup, I'll tell them you're dead, sir!" Then, he brought the Hawking back into the conversation, and growled: "There's _nothing _you can do?"

"Affirmative. You'll have to hold out on your own for now."

"Well that's just bloody brilliant! If I ever catch up to you, serviceman, I'm going to shove your head so far up your-"

Sam was silenced – mercifully – by a round _crack_ing through the window and slamming into his flank, causing his shields to flare violently. He pressed himself hard against the wall, swearing under his breath, and the radio conversation fell away rather.

"Call in armoured support," Murphy grunted – the wounds were really burning now, even as Tyco began to slap medigel on the upper one. "The convoys can clear that rooftop... And get a message through to Yui. If we can't get out of here... he's on his own."


	200. Operation Thunder Part 30

_**Polos East, Cyone**_

_**Day 2, 0730**_

"What the hell do you mean _I'm on my own?_" Yui growled, angrily.

"I'm not happy about it either, Yui, but we're pinned down," Sam replied, with equal indignation in his voice. "The Hawking's left us out to _bloody _rot – Murphy's hit, and we can't even get a shot in!"

"So what you're saying is, I have to take this bloody Reaper all by myself?" the krogan grumbled, stepping over the fallen corpse of a Marauder as he did.

"Well... yes."

"Great. That's all you've got? _Yes, now go get it done?_"

"Actually..." an audibly pained Murphy interjected. "I might have an idea."

"Well, I'd love to hear it," Yui laughed, darkly, "because I don't really fancy charging that thing. I might be a pissed off krogan, but I'd quite like to keep my limbs."

"Reapers aren't stupid," the captain continued, almost ignoring Yui's outburst. "We're outside targeting range by a fair way, but if we start waving these laser designators around, it's going to realise what we're planning. It'll draw husks towards us, and away from you..."

"And what if it just levels the building?" the krogan grunted.

"Then it'd be playing into the trap perfectly."

"_What?_"

"Look, Yui, one Cain isn't going to stop a Reaper – not conventionally, at least. But these destroyers have a weak spot, and the Alliance has been exploiting it for weeks now, in ship-to-ship skirmishes."

"I'm listening..."

"When the Reaper prepares to fire, retractable armour plating opens up to free those bloody guns of theirs. That exposes the firing chamber – we were planning to get the Belfast to hit it, but a Cain might work too. One nuke in the firing chamber, and the whole thing goes up."

"Bit of a design flaw," he grunted, then summarised: "So you draw the infantry away, I piss the Reaper off, and when it tries to blow me up, I shove a _nuke _down its throat?"

"Precisely."

"Eh, better than my plan."

"Which was...?"

"I didn't have one. Yours wins hands down, to be honest..."

"Ha," Murphy laughed, wryly. "How far out are you?"

"About a block," the krogan muttered. "There's a bloody great tower in the way, once I'm on the other side, I'm staring that thing in its ugly face."

"Then get running, Yui. That Reaper needs killing..."

With a grunt of assent, Yui closed down the radio, and started running. The rooftop around him was littered with nothing but corpses – his fury at the day's events had lent him strength, and that strength had decimated the Reaper hordes around him. Consequently, the route was clear as he set off at full sprint. No husks lurking in the shadows, no shots crashing towards him... he slowed slightly as he turned off to the left, following the walkway around the great tower to the far side. When he _reached _that far side, however, the situation changed entirely. Not only was the Reaper now fully visible, leering down in his general direction, but the roof was packed with a veritable army of the monster's minions – husks, Cannibals, Marauders, all snarling and turning to face him...

"Alright..." he growled, reaching for his Revenant. Even as he drew the machine gun, he was readying a grenade – he had taken several from a fallen human marine – in his free hand. "Come on then, you bastards!"

With a roar that must surely have been bloodcurdling, Yui launched himself into the fray. His trigger finger clamped down like a vice, spraying the air with machine gun rounds, and he saw at least three hostiles drop beneath the hail before he even reached them. As he closed to melee range, he tossed the grenade in his hand far over the heads of the mob, and _laughed _jubilantly as it clattered to the ground and exploded, taking half a dozen wretched creatures with it. Then, jubilance over, he threw himself back into the scrimmage, smashing a husk to the floor with the butt of his machine gun while continuing to spray rounds from it.

"This distraction of yours..." he called over the radio, as he knocked a Marauder to the ground and _stomped _its head into a pulpy mass, "it isn't working!"

"Give it time," Murphy replied, "and watch the skies!"

The radio clicked and faded, and Yui cursed the captain's sense of theatre as he hurled himself away from a lunging Cannibal. He hit the ground, rolled roughly over on his shoulder, and activated a fortification program to buy himself a few extra shots' worth of protection, before springing back up to his feet. A Marauder got perilously close to savaging him with its claws, but a quick three rounds from his Revenant sent the turian form back to the hell it came from, and he darted aside, trying to start up some momentum once more...

He barely noticed the two rounds that crashed against his shoulder, ineffectually chipping into his shields, as he slammed headlong into the nearest enemy, a startled Cannibal – as he trod it underfoot with his steel leg, he hopped as high as his bulky frame would allow, ploughing two husks into the floor as he landed. Even as he did, however, he was becoming aware of a dull murmur in the air, and a rising roar that sounded like _engines_. Then, quite suddenly, with a scream of deliverance:

"Up, up, up! Open fire!"

Ghostly steel forms began to rise up out of the surrounding streets, and a moment later these apparitions made it rain. Machine gun rounds rattled out from all sides – ahead, behind, to left, to right, streams of golden death began to lance through the air, knocking the husks down in droves. Even as Yui watched on, he saw a missile spiral down, smash into the corner of the rooftop, and condemn some ten or more monsters to death.

Finally, with the smoke clearing and the chaos become ordered in his mind, he got a clear view of the gunships. There were six of them in all, Mantis models that were all too familiar from his time as a mercenary. A grin broke over the krogan's scarred features as he realised these were the gunships the asari matriarch had been readying at her temple. Clearly, they had flown through the streets for stealth's sake, and now they were mowing down the legions that stood before him...

"Krogan, this is Chimera One," a pretty asari voice called. "We'll get you to the target. There's a low rooftop, about two hundred metres north – you can get a clear shot from there!"

He nodded – although admittedly the chances of them _seeing _a nod from the air were miniscule – and set off at a sprint once more. The Reaper's monstrous form was looming high over the rooftops, and the single, central 'eye' that also acted as its main weapon gave the eerie impression that it was watching him, wherever he happened to be... Just as it had done so many times before that morning, the Reaper let out a horrible whine, and a dull _thrum _in the air rang out, as Yui was afforded his first glimpse at the object of Murphy's plan.

Just as the captain had described, two odd, angular chunks of metal slid back to make space around the 'eye' of the Reaper's laser, and crimson fire began to swell up between them. Pure _energy _seemed to spin and whirl in the maelstrom, building and building until the core of the fire was white-hot, not red, and then-

_Skree! _With that hideous scream, the Reaper opened fire. A scarlet lance tore through the sky, almost knocking the air out of Yui's lungs as it swept past him, and one of his gunship-borne saviours just... disappeared. No scream, no warning. The craft merely disappeared beneath a stream of scarlet, and mere seconds later the beam swept across to eviscerate a second, wiping her out of the air in the blink of an eye.

"This is Chimaera One to base!" the squadron leader screamed, "Two and Four are down, I repeat, we've lost two gunships!"

"Then get the hell out of the way!" a brusque voice replied, not from the temple but from the skies above. As Yui sprinted closer and closer to his target, the smaller, lower rooftop up ahead, the clipped, familiar tones continued: "Clear us a firing lane, first one's free!"

"I... you heard her! Clear a lane-"

_Skree!_ Once again, the Reaper struck with terrible precision. Once again, two gunships were knocked out of the air, silenced permanently.

"Six!" the asari squad leader called to her last remaining squadmate, her voice a cocktail of sorrow, frustration and sheer anger, "Keep manoeuvring, give the krogan his cover, we – what the _hell _is that?"

_That_ was a dark shape swooping down out of the sky, filling the air with a rather different roar to the Reaper's. As he dashed towards the precipice at the edge of the roof, Yui saw a familiar flash of black and white, saw gun barrels emerge from the diving frigate's nose, and watched on, astonished, as a blue maelstrom began to build beneath the Cambrai, causing the air to _crackle _and his nerves to buzz excitedly. The frigate was a beautiful sight as she soared through the air, hung in space before the Reaper for a moment, and then, with a vicious report:

_Boom._

"Boom!" Erika Solov echoed, jubilantly. Her words followed a dazzling blue shot from the Cambrai, which had speared clean through the crest-like top of the Reaper's body. Fire and smoke belched out from the wound, and debris was showered over the surrounding area, but the shot had done nowhere near enough damage to bring the Reaper down, and Yui didn't think it had even been _meant _to – it was a distraction at best.

It was a distraction that worked, though – as the Cambrai spun over and dove beneath the skyline to safety, Yui reached the very edge of the rooftop, and looked down at the smaller building the asari pilot had recommended. Just as he did, however, he became aware of two spider-like forms on that same roof, leering up at him, and moments later:

_Bang bang._ Two bright, orange fireballs came whizzing up at the krogan warrior – he dove back, felt the two projectiles miss him by inches, and then watched on helplessly like a turtle on its back, as the shots raced upwards and clipped one of the two remaining gunships now moving up in his support.

"Six! No!" the squadron leader shrieked, as her fellow's wing exploded in a burst of flame. The wounded gunship spiralled down, groaning under the strain of its sudden descent, and then ploughed into the next row of buildings – it was reduced to scrap and fire instantaneously, the pilot killed on impact. For some reason, that last death hardened Yui's resolve. He could nothing about the Reaper – yet – but he could kill those bloody rachni... With a bellicose roar, he sprinted back towards the edge, grabbing his new, modified shotgun as he did, and kicked off hard.

The next building was a whole storey lower than the one he was leaping off, but as it turned out, one storey was quite a short distance when propelled by gravity alone... The floor came rushing up to greet him and he slammed into it _hard_, causing a mass of cracks to spread out like a spider's web from the spot where he landed. The Ravagers were hissing and scuttling towards him as he hurriedly picked himself up, whirled Dax's shotgun around, and pulled the trigger.

_Bang_. With a deafening roar that was beyond even Yui's expectations, a single slug erupted from the Claymore's muzzle, burning through the air before slamming into the Ravager on the left. The big, bulbous orange sac beneath the creature's torso _burst _into a mess of flesh and acid, and the creature itself was propelled through the air for a few _feet _by the shot, before slamming down at the edge of the roof. The second was advancing, however, and-

"Ungh!"

That grunt of pain accompanied the second Ravager _reaching _Yui and stabbing one scythe-like leg through his good foot. He lashed out angrily, first with his fist – it clattered hard against the creature's hard carapace, but did little more than make him feel better – and then with his Claymore. The gun was empty, but a slash from the bayonet severed the Ravager's sac, and he followed it up with a deep stab that left the gun embedded in the bug's gut.

Letting go of the shotgun, Yui found himself in a... less than ideal position. His good leg was pinned to the ground by the Ravager's leg, his steel foot was swimming in acid from the punctured sac, and the top half of his body was wrestling with the thing – it was hissing vehemently, and had locked one of its cannons around either side of his torso, wrenching him about like a broken doll, but he retaliated by grabbing one of the cannons in his left hand and yanking it back, trying to pull the thing off balance...

"Krogan!" his last asari companion called, as her gunship flitted through the air in front of him. "Fire that bloody nuke! Now!"

"I'm kind of... _busy_... _down_... _here!_" he growled, punctuating each of the last three words with a heavy punch to the Ravager's skull from his free right hand.

Off in the peripheries of his vision, he saw motion, sliding steel, and scarlet light began to taint the world once more. There was a dull _thrum _in the air, his teeth were starting to chatter, and he heard a sharp intake of breath from the pilot above. Even as he wrestled with the Ravager, she was making a vain effort to distract the Reaper, pouring machine gun rounds towards its invincible maw... Then, in a burst of deliverance, Yui's right hand seemed to hover down to his waist, to his belt-

And to the handle of the dagger that was hung through it. With a victorious snarl, growing to a roar, he grabbed Vresh's blade in his free hand, holding it blade-down, raised it high into the air, and then threw his entire weight behind the blow – from his hips to his shoulders, every formidable muscle worked to drive it through the Ravager's head... and succeeded. The creature screamed, cold blood sprayed up and spattered Yui's face, and finally, it slumped to the floor dead.

Still tangled up in the hideous corpse's grip, Yui left Vresh's blade buried in its head, and swung both hands towards his back – they grabbed the hefty Cain that rested there, brought it down, and he braced it in his arms as he finally turned to stare the Reaper down.

"Chimaera One," he rumbled, firmly. "You're in my shot..."

Silently, the gunship drifted away, the pilot abandoning her attempts at distraction, and Yui was left face to face with the Reaper. The monstrous figure seemed rather taller and closer than before, looming over him menacingly, but the krogan warrior's gaze was transfixed on one thing in particular – the swirling, scarlet maw coming towards him. It was growing, expanding, and all the while that menacing _thrum _continued to whip the air into a frenzy, caused his skin to crackle with static, his bones to rattle, and his heart to race...

Just as the whining and the screaming reached a crescendo, just as the scarlet haze grew to its zenith, Yui pulled the trigger. After a mere moment of whirring and charging, the oh-so complicated weapon in his arms produced one very simple result:

A single warhead came rushing from the weapon's barrel, and time seemed to slow down as it flew. It span in the air, revolving harmlessly as it plunged further towards that great maw, and then, just as scarlet began to turn to blinding white, it disappeared into the haze. There was a moment of indecision from the world at large, and then-

_Boom_. With a cataclysmic rush of light and fire, the Reaper's firing chamber _exploded_. The red fire dissipated into a single, blinding flash, and the shockwave that ripped outwards from the impact knocked Yui to the floor, sheer pressure keeping him pinned there for a good thirty seconds. Fiery explosions began to rip through the monster in a vicious chain reaction – more red fire billowed out as the Reaper was wounded, and chunks of steel were sent raining through the air. One of them slammed down on the rooftop just a few feet from Yui, perilously close to crushing him, and as the pressure finally abated, he scrambled to his feet, keen to avoid more of the steel rain. A deathly scream was deafening him now, and his vision still _burned _with crimson embers, but out of the corner of his eye, he could see a tiny form struggling against the fiery gale as it fought to reach him.

Even as the gunship swept down towards him, the pilot making some vain attempt at rescue, Yui was delighting in the sight that filled the background – the Reaper was being torn apart, chunks of steel and cybernetic flesh cascading to the ground as the great monster's frame tottered and collapsed, crushing the buildings beneath as it did...

"Goodnight, you ugly bastard," Yui muttered. "That one's for Vresh..."

* * *

><p><strong>AN: So, there it is. 200. I can't thank you guys enough for your enthusiasm and support. From the start, you've put your own creations and your creative energies into the characters that make up this story - I think you deserve more credit for this cast than I do, to be honest. I've had a close dozen loyal readers who constantly get in contact to discuss plot lines, character development, to brainstorm and to share new ideas, and they've gotten me out of a few rough patches in terms of writer's block over the course of this story. You all know who you are, so I'm not going to name names. Several of our contributors have even been motivated to start writing their own fics about their characters in this story, which is pretty much the most inspiring thing an author can see coming out of their fic. **

**And finally, possibly more importantly than anything else, are the simple reviews. I'm going to go into numbers again, so apologies in advance: As I write this, Galaxy at War has 1,051 reviews, 127,158 views, and 210 favs/alerts. That adds up to one pretty damn committed readership, and I read each and every review with a smile on my face, just because it's there, because someone has taken the time to read my work and write that review. **

**Without you lot, I never would have made it this far. So thanks, and I for one am looking forward to 300...**

**iBayne**


	201. Operation Thunder Debrief

**A/N: Right. To mark 200 chapters (well, 201 now) and the end of Operation Thunder, I've put up a poll on my profile to see which of Galaxy at War's operations you liked most. Check it out, I'm genuinely curious to see what you all think...**

**On a separate note, there's a very short downtime coming up (short for story reasons, which will become apparent) but after the next operation, there'll be a very long and fairly plot-driven shore leave. Anyway, enjoy today's chapter! (There will probably be another tonight, to make up for this just being a debrief).**

* * *

><p><em><strong>Polos East, Cyone<strong>_

_**Day 2, 0750**_

"Coming in to land, krogan. Are you alright back there?"

"Couldn't be better."

The door of the gunship's troop compartment opened with a subtle _hiss_, and Yui was left to stare at the siari temple as they swung down towards it. A cool breeze whipped over his scales, and the scene below was remarkably... calm. The asari guards atop the gatehouse were putting down a couple of straggling husks on the road outside, but inside the walls themselves, everything seemed to have slowed down a few notches. The patrols had none of their earlier urgency, and a steady stream of shuttles and transports was landing on the eastern side of the courtyard – now the Reaper was dead, they could remove the wounded in safety, he supposed.

With a dull roar, the thrusters swung forward to slow their approach, and the gunship dropped just inside the gatehouse, neatly skimming past the battlements and swooping over the courtyard beyond. Plumes of dust were kicked high into the air by the churning thrusters, and after a moment of swaying and jolting, the craft finally touched down. Once he was _quite _sure the thing had stopped shaking, Yui swaggered out of the troop compartment, and began looking for the crowds and the cheering welcome party.

To his mild disappointment, the Cambrai's crew was nowhere to be seen. Asari were scurrying back and forth to attend to various duties, and he could see the matriarch herself on the steps of the temple, but no humans, and certainly no other aliens...

Then, he turned around, and finally caught sight of a friendly face approaching. Predictably, it was Dax, and his krogan fellow was grinning from ear to ear.

"Here he is!" the Urdnot warrior boomed, pulling Yui into a big, krogan hug. "The big bloody hero!"

"Ha!" Yui roared back – his blood was still coursing from the excitement of it all, and he couldn't really do _quiet _or _subtle _at present. "Good to see you in one piece, Dax... Where's the rest of the crew?"

"On the shuttles," his fellow muttered. "The Cambrai's in orbit, they want to be out of here before midday."

"Without a debrief? Murphy's in a hurry..."

"Murphy's in the med bay," Dax interjected, bluntly.

"_What?_" Yui gawped. "Is he alright?"

"I _think _so. He took a couple of hits when they got pinned down on the rooftops, so did Vimes and Tyco. O'Leiph said he'd be fine, as long as they got him back to the ship's med bay."

"What about Vimes and Tyco?" Yui asked, back-tracking at the mention of his human friends.

"They're not hurt as bad as the captain," Dax smiled, reassuringly yet toothily. "Vimes got a shot in the arm, he might be out of action for a day or two until he can use it again. Tyco just shrugged his off, you know what a stubborn bastard he is..."

"Like a krogan," he grinned.

"Exactly. Andersen's in the med bay too, shot to the stomach, but the doc says he'll be up and about by the evening."

"Good... Anyone else... y'know?"

He was asking, with surprising subtlety, whether anyone else had _died_. Clearly, Dax understood his meaning, and replied, relieved:

"No. No more fatalities. Zya's nursing a gunshot wound, and that batarian you rescued got his legs broken when a tower block came down, but no-one else died."

"Well, that's a bloody relief," Yui grumbled, ignoring the _pang _in his heart – 'no-one else died' reminded him of the two who _had_...

"Come on," Dax prompted wearily, clearly thinking the same thing. "The shuttle's waiting."

"What's the rush?" the big warrior scowled, as he and his fellow began to walk off towards the landing pads.

"We're heading back to the Citadel, apparently. Council's got a briefing for us, and... well, there are caskets to deliver."

"Ah..."

"Yeah."

They stumbled along in awkward silence, with Dax peering at his surroundings, and Yui sliding his weapons back into place – Dax's shotgun and Vresh's dagger had each occupied one of his hands on the journey back, ever since he recovered them from the rooftop. Finally, as they neared the archway that apparently led on to the waiting shuttles – Yui was pleasantly surprised to catch Matriarch Carenna's eye as they went, earning a salute from the asari general – his face broke into a broad grin.

"What are you so happy about?" Dax frowned, wryly. "You know, besides killing a bloody Reaper..."

"You see that gunship?" Yui muttered, nodding to the same craft which had brought him to the temple.

"Yeah..." his fellow confirmed, curiously.

"You see the pilot?"

"Yeah - oh, you didn't..."

Yui didn't reply – he just grinned ever more broadly, and flashed a datapad at his Urdnot comrade, with a terminal address emblazoned upon it.

"Come _on_," Dax groaned, shaking his head but allowing a wry smile to cross his features. "Now you're just taking the piss..."


	202. Downtime 13

_**SSV Cambrai, Hourglass Nebula**_

_**Day 1, 0600**_

It had been almost twenty-four hours since the Cambrai's departure from Cyone, and their lack of progress was... well, _infuriating_, to be honest.

As he sat in the med bay, waiting for his penultimate dose of painkillers and clotting agents – a cocktail of drugs which Dr O'Leiph had insisted on giving him, despite his actual wounds being closed up within an hour of the injury – Murphy knew he couldn't be _too _hard on his pilots. Deep down, he knew they had made the right call – Reaper patrols had cut off several of the links in the mass relay network, rendering the 'direct' route to the Citadel, a route which actually utilised three or four secondary relays, impassable. Flying out to the Horsehead Nebula had apparently been one of their only options, and he couldn't exactly argue with Akito on matters navigational – the co-pilot's brain was _scarily _good...

To distract himself from the detour, he took another look around the med bay. He was one of only four residents: in the far corner lay a sedated Vor Hebat, and in the opposite bed was Sam Vimes, arm in a sling, while in the bed next to him was a sleeping Zya. Ria wasn't operating on the batarian – something about needing medical supplies from a friend's clinic on the Citadel – so she was keeping him under until they reached their destination. Vimes, by contrast, was being treated here and now, as was Zya. Like Murphy, the former C-Sec officer was having a cocktail of different drugs pumped into his arm, in his case to combat the pain of the shot had punched through it on Cyone – apparently, the round had torn into the muscle of his forearm, and he had aggravated the injury by continuing to fight on until they were evacuated. Personally, and rather selfishly, Murphy was bloody glad he had...

The busy silence that had filled the med bay was interrupted rather suddenly by the subtle hiss of an opening door. Murphy turned around to see the tall, black-haired figure of Akito Yurai entering the room, and he had to work quite hard to keep his jaw from dropping. While he was struggling to keep his mouth shut, Vimes beat him to the punch line:

"You're _out of the cockpit?_" he gawped. "Who died?"

"Ha bloody ha," Yurai scowled. "We've got a... kind of a... _situation_."

"What kind of _situation?_" Murphy frowned.

"We were making our approach to the mass relay," the co-pilot explained, "when something came through on our long-range scanners. Two things, actually. Both distress calls."

"Can I hear them?"

"Of course..."

Yurai reached to his wrist, and began to fiddle away at his omni-tool, until finally, a holographic display popped up, with an audio wave spiking and falling in the centre of it.

"It's automated," Akito explained, before he actually _played _the recording, "a VI in the colony's spaceport dispatched it this morning, in accordance with emergency protocols."

He hit what was apparently the 'play' button, and almost instantly a jabbering salarian voice rang out:

"This is Officer Kerin Dargas, Erinle Port Authority! We are under attack, unknown hostiles, _massive _firepower! I think it could be the Reapers! We're barely holding the port, they're cutting off all our evac transports – I... I don't have much time, they're at the door. If anyone receives this message... Ah, shit, they're in! Computer, stop the recording and send-"

A dull _splat _followed that, and everyone in the med bay winced. Mercifully, the transmission cut to static after that...

"Have you tried to contact the colony?" Murphy suggested, consciously trying to fill the silence.

"Yes," Yurai nodded. "No reply. The spaceport VI sent the message out on a loop – part of a shutdown protocol, probably – but the recording is at least a day old. We think Erinle's overrun. If anyone down there is still alive... they won't be for long."

"What about the other recording?" the captain murmured. "More from Erinle?"

"No. This one came from the Ploitari system. If our triangulation is correct, the ship that sent it was in low orbit over Zanethu."

"The _ship _that sent it?"

"Just listen, sir."

The co-pilot tapped at his omni-tool once more, and a new voice rang out. This one was completely different to the salarian's – it was smooth and commanding, and there was an accent to it that, if human, could have been described as Mediterranean, or perhaps Arabic... There was a definite tinge to it, though, almost like a _synthetic _tone.

"This is the Llorens!" the voice cried. "To anyone who can hear this, we require immediate assistance! We have been attacked – we drove the assailants off, but our vessel is crippled. If anyone can render aid, we would offer our eternal gratitude..."

"Sure, because eternal gratitude is _much _better than money," Vimes scowled, as the transmission cut out. "Who are these clowns?"

"Firstly, we're a _military _ship, we don't take _money _for saving people," Yurai frowned. "Secondly, didn't you hear the filter?"

"Filter? Oh, crap... you mean?"

"Yup. The encryption was quarian. It's a ship of the Migrant Fleet."

"Which would explain the lack of money," Sam said, wearily.

"No need to sound so disappointed," Murphy glared. "What's gotten into you? You've never had a problem with quarians before..."

"Not with the ones on _our _crew, no. We've got a pilgrim and an exile, in other words the only quarians who actually _work _like the rest of us_. _The Migrant Fleet? It just lives in a little bubble, out of our economy altogether, and occasionally stops to steal stuff from it. I'm C-Sec, captain, I know whereof I speak. They take and they don't give back..."

"Okay..." the captain murmured, awkwardly, turning to Yurai. "What are we doing about this ship, then?"

"Well, the Ploitari system is clear of Reaper activity," the co-pilot mused. "No habitable planets, so no reason for them to be there. And we can't exactly leave them stranded..."

"You say that like there's a problem."

"No shit, Sherlock. The problem is _you_."

"Me?"

"Well, not you specifically. You're just part of the problem."

"Gee, thanks..."

"We have a number of obligations on the Citadel," the co-pilot continued. "The Council wants to speak to you, the good doctor here wants to get Vor Hebat to a hospital, we've got a crewman returning to us from that _same _hospital, and there are two caskets to deliver..."

"Point taken," Murphy muttered, as Yurai paused for breath. "What do you propose?"

"I say we send in a small team by shuttle. The Kodiak can travel at FTL speeds – we could have a team there in a matter of hours. Meanwhile, the Cambrai ducks out, heads for the Citadel, and returns once we've concluded our business there."

"A good plan, but for one thing – how long do you think a briefing with the Council is going to _take? _We'd be there for days..."

"Alright," Yurai replied, shuffling his feet slightly nervously. "Then we... maybe _don't _tell the Council we're back. But we need to offload the wounded, can we at least agree on that?"

"I... yes, we can. How long do you think it would take to get to the Citadel and back?"

"Including time at the hospital, and the trip to Ploitari once we got back here... anywhere between eight and twelve hours. The shuttle team would be with the Llorens in two, for the record."

"Okay..." Murphy nodded. "We go with your plan, then. Send a small team – anyone who has tech or engineering experience, and anyone who knows about the Migrant Fleet. I'm thinking Andersen, Klara'Tseni, and Kan'Sura. Maybe send Irving or Victor to give them some muscle."

"You should probably send Thorne," Ria murmured absent-mindedly, from the back of the room.

"Thorne?" he echoed. "What does he have to do with the quarians?"

"He mentioned something about having dealings with the fleet after Asteria," she recalled. "Might be worth asking him about it."

"Err... alright," Murphy replied. Then, he turned to Yurai, and muttered, "Get it done, Yurai. Tell me when they're on their way."

"Aye aye, sir..."


	203. Operation Orbit Briefing

**A/N: Seeing as the last chapter was *technically* a briefing, and I failed to do this on Monday, here's a double update. First, though, I thought I should clarify something from the last chapter, because it got a few comments:**

**Vimes isn't racist. We already know he doesn't have a *thing* against quarians as people, because he's friends with Kan'Sura. He does, however, make an economic point - the Migrant Fleet takes resources from the rest of the galaxy, but doesn't contribute anything to the "system". Example: If turian does his job on Palaven, he contributes in some way to Palaven's economy, thus to the turian economy, and thus to the galactic economy at large. If, however, a quarian does *his* job on the flotilla, he contributes to the Migrant Fleet, but that's where it ends. The resources to enable him to do his job came from a mining field or a scrapyard outside the flotilla, but the service he uses them for doesn't benefit the galaxy at large. Just my two pence on why C-Sec and others probably have some disdain for the flotilla, and why it's not necessarily bigotry...**

* * *

><p><em><strong>Zanethu, Hourglass Nebula<strong>_

_**Day 1, 0920**_

"Alright, is everybody ready?" Andersen inquired, peering around the shuttle.

"Yeah..."

"Alright..."

"Aye..."

"Gee, try to sound a _little _more enthusiastic, guys," he scowled.

"We're flying through open space in a _shuttle_," Victor pointed out. "And we know the Reapers are in the next system. If they come anywhere near, we're dead."

"We just _killed _a Reaper on Cyone!" the engineer retorted. "You weren't complaining then!"

"On Cyone, I wasn't crammed into a flying tin can," the former marine grunted.

"Well, let's assume we don't have a choice in the matter," Andersen scowled. "Because... well, we don't. Is everyone armed, at least? I don't care if you're _ready and willing_, just so long as you've got a gun."

"Damn, I left mine on my bunk!" Thorne swore, sarcastically. "Just... calm down, Andersen. We've all done this before. We've all got our guns, we've all got our armour. A little too much armour, if you ask me."

He punctuated the last few words by rapping his helmet with his knuckles – it was an odd sight indeed to see the formidable biotic wearing a full, marine-issue helmet, but the mission dictated it.

"If you weren't wearing that helmet, you'd infect the whole ship," Klara sighed. "Quarian vessels are sterile."

"I _know_," the biotic muttered, rolling his eyes. "I _understand _it, I just don't _like _it."

"What about recon?" Andersen interrupted, steering the conversation back to their rather sloppy briefing. "What do we know about this ship?"

"The Llorens is part of Shala'Raan's Patrol Fleet," Kan'Sura muttered, as if reciting from memory – actually, on closer inspection he _was _reciting from memory. His omni-tool was closed, and he had no datapads... "It's a salvaged human vessel, formerly the ship of privateer Santiago Llorens. The Migrant Fleet pulled it out of a junkyard in turian space twenty-nine years ago, just after the First Contact War, and put it into service as a raiding frigate."

"How do you know all that?" Andersen murmured, surprised.

"I wasn't _always _an exile," his quarian friend explained. "I was born on the Llorens."

"You were _what?_"

"Kan'Sura nar Llorens vas Iktomi," Kan sighed. "That's my full name."

"_Was_," Klara'Tseni interjected.

"What?"

"It _was _your name. You're an exile now."

"Thanks for pointing that out, I had _no _idea," the male quarian scowled.

"Easy now," Thorne growled. "She's just saying."

"No she's not," Kan grumbled, while in perfect harmony, Klara'Tseni murmured: "No I'm not."

"Will you two give it a rest?" Victor sighed. "He's an exile, we get it... what's the big deal?"

"The big _deal_ is, he's going back," Klara snapped – it was the first time Andersen had heard her speak in anger, and he was rather taken aback... "He's an exile, by definition that means he should never be setting foot near the Fleet again."

"He's _not _setting foot near the Fleet," Andersen pointed out, probably unhelpfully. Right now he was really regretting putting Kan and Klara in an enclosed space together... "This is one lone ship."

"It still counts," Kan grunted. "But if they've got a problem with it, then they can do without my help."

"If they've got a problem with it," the engineer muttered, "then they can do without _all _our help. I'm not letting anyone threaten my squad."

"_Your_ squad?" Victor laughed good-naturedly, clearly trying to divert the conversation to a more cheerful note. "Andersen's getting protective! Like a proper old mother hen..."

"I prefer to think of it as like a proper officer," he grinned back. "It's just a matter of time, Victor, just a matter of time..."

"God, that's a scary thought."

Any further comment was interrupted by a sharp _knock knock _on the door to the pilot's compartment. Falling silent, the squad all stood up in a single, fluid movement, and shuffled over to the shuttle's hatch. Already, the craft was swinging around, and Andersen could almost _feel_ it swooping down into the frigate's hangar bay.

"Ready?" Andersen muttered. "Remember, we find out what happened to this ship, we help them get on the move again, and then we meet up with the Cambrai. Ten hours, people."

With a subtle _hiss_, the shuttle doors slid open, cutting off any further conversation. Andersen stepped out-

And found himself staring down two rifle barrels, both levelled at his head. Two quarian marines were waiting outside, and there was a third behind them, with a pistol and the commanding air of an officer.

"Who are you?" the officer barked, rather more tersely than his position – in need of rescue – probably allowed.

"We're with the Alliance," Andersen murmured, nonetheless raising his hands in a conciliatory, half-surrendering gesture. "We picked up your distress call?"

"You don't_ look _like soldiers," the quarian officer muttered, suspiciously. "How do I know you're not marauders?"

"Well, you could look at the big-ass Alliance logo on the side of our shuttle," Victor began, angrily. "Or you could engage your bloody brain and realise that we haven't _shot _you yet-"

"Or you could take _my_ word for it," Thorne interrupted, moving past both Cross and Andersen and approaching the quarians with his hands held wide in a soothing, placating gesture. "My name's Malcolm Thorne."

"I see..."

With a wave of the officer's hand, both marines lowered their weapons and stood to attention. The officer himself shot a brief salute, before continuing:

"Follow me, Captain Thorne."

The quarians moved off across the hangar bay, and Andersen's squad moved to follow them – as they did, however, every one of them stared bewilderedly at Thorne. For his part, Andersen leaned furtively in, and muttered:

"Explain. Now."


	204. Operation Orbit Part 1

_**Quarian Frigate Llorens, Hourglass Nebula**_

_**Day 1, 0935**_

"'Captain' isn't a rank to the quarians," Thorne explained, "it's more a... _status_."

"Rank and status are the same thing in the Migrant Fleet," Klara pointed out. "Military law, remember?"

While the quarians debated the workings of their own society with Thorne, Andersen maintained his rather bewildered silence. He wasn't the only one – Cross too looked somewhere between astonished and bemused at the big mercenary's revelation, and like Andersen seemed to be wondering just _what _his connection to the quarians was.

"The point _is_," the biotic continued, "a captain to the quarians is anyone who commands his own ship, and in their eyes _deserves _to command it."

"You had a ship?" Andersen gawped, after checking the quarians were out of earshot – they were passing through a network of corridors now, and it was quite easy to keep the marines out of range while still following them in the right direction.

"For a while," Thorne shrugged. "When I was out in the Terminus. I used it for raiding, and to get me between contracts..."

"And what made you so _deserving _of it?" Victor wondered aloud.

"I did a few jobs for the Migrant Fleet. Well, more than a _few_. Plus, I had a quarian g-err... friend. She, ah... put in a good word for me."

"Well from now on, _you're_ doing the talking," the engineer muttered, ignoring Thorne's obvious awkwardness about his 'friend'.

"Agreed."

"And no more bombshells," he added. "I've had enough bloody revelations to last a lifetime..."

They lapsed into silence from then on, and just continued to traipse along corridors in the quarians' wake. As they went, Andersen couldn't help but examine the ship's interior. It was confusing, to say the least. There seemed to be a bedrock of human technology, albeit _old _human technology – this ship had come from the time of the First Contact War, after all – but with layer after layer of bodged, improvised tech laid on top. The walls had been patched up with scrap metal that didn't really fit, loops of wire occasionally hung from the ceiling, and one of the oxygen vents they passed had clearly been broken, yanked out, and replaced with a turian model...

Despite the ramshackle appearance of the ship itself, there was a sense of supreme order amongst the crew, not unlike a _hive_ of some sort... Quarians of all shapes and sizes were flitting through the corridors, and barely lookedat the newcomers, so engrossed in their tasks were they. Some were carrying engineering tools, others boxes of what appearedto be nutrient paste, and still more, the guards, had rifles or shotguns in hand, mostly salvaged weapons in poor repair. The impression of strenuous activity only increased as they got closer to what seemed to be the core, the bridge of the ship. After about five minutes of walking behind the quarian marines, they were led into a wide, open room which, to Andersen's surprise, looked out over the entire vista of space before the Llorens. This was certainly a privateer's ship – the captain's chair was at the fore, and he could just imagine some colonial pirate sitting there, looking out over all he surveyed.

Its current owner, however, was the Llorens' captain, and he was to be found at the square, holographic map that sat off to one side of the bridge. Before they could _reach _him, however, the marine officer passed them onto a silver-suited quarian with a bent back, who greeted them far more warmly than the soldiers had done:

"Welcome," the old quarian murmured – Andersen presumed he was old from his wizened, slightly hunched gait, and the implied wisdom in his voice. "I understand you came in answer to our distress call? I am... most grateful, truly, and- Kan'Sura?"

That was surprising, although Andersen wasn't quite sure why – if Kan really had been born here, then of course someone would recognise him. What was surprising, the more he thought about it, was how long it had _taken _for someone to recognise him.

"Bori'Danis..." his quarian friend replied, with what Andersen imagined was a smile beneath the visor. "I didn't expect to see you here."

"Thought I'd be dead by now, did you?" Bori muttered, wryly.

"Just glad you're not," Kan laughed, warmly. Then he tensed up, rather, and added: "We need to speak to the captain."

"Of course... it's, err... it's good to see you back, boy. Ah, but I'm getting distracted... captain!"

"What is it?" the captain's voice replied, irascibly.

"The Alliance party has arrived. They came to help."

"Yes, well, they can try... Come here then, you lot, quickly now!"

It was by far the rudest plea for help Andersen had ever heard. Even as they paced over to the map table to meet the captain, he saw Victor mouth something truly obscene out of the corner of his eye, and he couldn't help agreeing...

The Llorens' captain, as he emerged from behind the corner of the map table, was a rather formidable figure for a quarian. His exosuit was no civilian affair, like the silver-grey garb of old Bori'Danis. It was combat armour, midnight black and etched with the most intricate, golden lines, which swept neatly around curved armour plates and a pallid grey visor. Andersen had a feeling he was also fairly wealthy – or at least fairly high up the pecking order for loot – because his back bore no battered, salvaged weapon of human or turian design, but an intricate, elegant quarian rifle, an... Adas, were they called? He had only ever seen the things in pictures and blueprints before now...

"What's the situation?" Thorne muttered, brusquely. Was it Andersen's imagination, or was the biotic standing a little straighter so as to seem more imposing?

"We were attacked by the geth in the early hours of this morning," the captain explained, causing surprised murmurs to ripple through the Cambrai squad. "We drove them off and forced their ship down to the planet below, but they crippled our engines. Unless we can get them repaired, we're stuck in a decaying orbit – we'll hit the planet in less than twenty four hours."

"You've got _twenty four hours?_" Andersen interjected. "Why did you send out a _distress _signal, those are for emergencies!"

"What part of _hit the planet _didn't you understand?" the quarian replied, arrogantly.

"You've got _twenty four hours,_" he repeated, frustration growing. "A colony in the next system just got _obliterated_, and you called mayday because you've got a _day _to fix your engines?"

"It's not just the engines, human," the arrogant figure retorted. "It's the geth, too. We sent down a couple of scouts to drive them back, and they've failed to report in. Those scouts need to be found, and any geth that are left need drivinginto the canyons..."

"Sod it," the engineer sighed. "We're here now, and our ship isn't returning to the system for another ten hours. We'll help you, but don't think we're bloody happy about it – you owe us, quarian."

"We don't owe your people anything," the captain snapped.

"We'll see about that..." Andersen muttered, turning his back on the quarian to talk with his own team. After a moment's consideration, he continued: "I say we split into two teams. Thorne, Victor, we head for the surface and deal with these geth. You two" – he turned to the quarians – "stay here, help the crew fix their engines."

"Hang on!" Klara protested. "What if we want to fight the geth too?"

"Well in _that _case... tough. Klara, you're a machinist, you can get those engines running in your sleep. Kan, you know the ship, and you're not a _bad _engineer. You know, for a sniper."

"Gee, thanks..."

"Well, that's decided then," the quarian captain interrupted, and Andersen suddenly realised he'd been listening in the whole time. "I assume your shuttle can take you down to the surface?"

"It can," Andersen nodded, shortly. He was disliking the captain more and more with each passing second. As they turned to depart, however, he spoke up once again:

"Err, one question, before you go?"

"_What?_" the engineer asked, forgoing pretence altogether and letting his annoyance show.

"Why, soldier of the Alliance, do you have two quarians on your team? Why aren't they doing their duty with _our _fleet?"

Andersen couldn't help noticing that the captain was staring at _him_, rather than asking the 'two quarians' themselves. That was rather odd, to say the least...

"She's on her Pilgrimage, and he's an exile," Thorne volunteered bluntly, before his fellow could say anything. It was probably a good thing, too – Thorne looked much less _ruffled _by the captain's behaviour than Andersen felt, and his voice was much calmer.

"An exile?" the captain muttered, delaying them still further. "I'm... not sure I'm comfortable with that, gentlemen. On what charge was he exiled?"

"You know damn well what charge," Kan growled, catching them _all _by surprise – not just the Cambrai's squad, but the quarian bridge crew too, who turned to watch the exchange with caution and mild interest. Andersen hadn't noticed it before, but it was clear now that Kan'Sura was _fuming _with anger – his voice was cold, and full of venom, for some unknown reason...

"What charge?" he repeated, utterly ignoring Kan. Silence reigned, however, as everyone stared at the exchange. All eyes were on Kan, but the captain seemed to be speaking over him, through him – anything that allowed him to circumvent the exile's existence.

"Screw this," the quarian sniper sighed, shaking his head. Without further ado, he turned to leave, ignoring the captain as completely as the captain was ignoring him.

"Where the hell are you going?" Klara cried, and Andersen could practically _hear _the frown beneath the visor.

"To the engine room," Kan shouted back, from the bridge door. "Away from that bastard to where we're actually _needed_."

"Kan, wait!" she continued, but her fellow quarian was already leaving.

Half way through the door, however, he stopped dead, and seemed to reconsider for a moment. He turned on his heel, and called back to the room at large, icily:

"Captain? Tell them your name, I dare you..."

Silence reigned from there, but for the little _hiss _of the door, as Kan left the room. Andersen, for his part, was utterly astonished, and not for the first time that day. His friend's words still rang true, however, and much as the captain seemed to be ignoring Kan'Sura's very presence, he couldn't ignore that same question from _him_.

"Well?" he muttered. "What's your name?"

The quarian captain seemed to pause for an eternity, before finally, almost _reluctantly_ replying:

"Danil'Sura vas Llorens."


	205. Operation Orbit Part 2

_**Quarian Frigate Llorens, Hourglass Nebula **_

_**Day 1, 0955**_

"Your _father?_" Klara hissed, as she trotted along to catch up to Kan. "The captain's your _father?_"

"Was," her fellow quarian hissed, sarcastically echoing her earlier correction. "He doesn't have a son, I don't have a father. It's a good arrangement, trust me..."

"_Why _wouldn't you mention this?" she continued, "_Why?_"

"I didn't know he was the bloody captain," Kan growled. "I thought he was still with the marines, I thought we'd never bump into him – to tell you the truth, I was hoping he'd died when they were attacked."

"Well we _did_ bump into him," the engineer snapped, finally catching up to Kan outside the door to the engineering deck, and pulling him back with a restraining hand on his shoulder. "And you need to explain..."

"Explain what?" he retorted, shrugging off her grip.

"Explain why you're an exile," Klara scowled. "Does anyone on the crew actually _know?_"

"No, and that's the way I like it."

"Tough. I'm not like the rest of them, I _know _how the Fleet works. If you were exiled, it wasn't for some petty act, it wasn't the work of a _jolly rogue_, it was treason, or murder, or..."

"I'll save you the time," Kan glowered. "They charged with me with treason _and _murder."

At that, Klara's hand went instinctively to her hip, to the Locust dangling there. Kan's eyes followed hers, but he didn't react, he merely rolled his eyes beneath his visor.

"What did you _do?_" she hissed, finally.

"I killed my captain, on the Iktomi," the other quarian replied. "Just walked into his quarters in the evening and shot him through the head. Satisfied?"

"Why did you do it?" Klara persisted, now sliding the SMG from her belt.

"Put the bloody gun away," Kan snapped. "I killed him because he was taking us to war. He was experimenting on the geth, trying to win support for an attack on the Veil, just like those fools on the Alarei..."

"How do you know about the Alarei? You were exiled..."

"And I was kept informed. There were enough people with enough brains to realise I did the right thing."

"The right thing?" she scoffed. "You shot your captain! You abandoned your duty!"

"My duty as a marine was to protect the Migrant Fleet. My captain was preparing for a war which we would have _lost_, and which would have wiped out our people, our ships. Rael'Zorah and Han'Gerrel never would have admitted it, but their pet projects were treason, not my actions."

"That's it?" Klara laughed, mirthlessly. "You defended a charge of _treason _on those grounds?"

"I succeeded," he replied, bluntly. "I couldn't deny murder – I didn't _try _to deny it – but the Admiralty couldn't charge me with treason either. So lucky old me got a single exile, instead of a double."

"_How fortunate_."

"Put the bloody gun away, Klara," Kan growled once more. "It's not like I'm going to kill you too... Let's just get to work, fix these engines, and get off this ship before my bosh'tet of a father tries to throw me out of the airlock."

"I might try myself," she murmured, under her breath – he didn't hear it, however, and the two of them swept on into the engine room.

As they passed through the door to engineering, Klara got an impression of intense heat and noise – the former stole the air from her lungs, while the latter deafened her... The little room they had passed into was rather far removed from the grand, cavernous engineering deck of the Cambrai. It was little more than a corridor, with machinery _clank_ing away along one wall, and a little alcove in the centre of that wall which held the main control console. Nor was the crew any more impressive – the Llorens' engineering team consisted of a single green-armoured quarian, who was knelt by the machines, apparently trying and failing to repair them.

"Gol!" Kan cried, and Klara had to suppress a groan. _Another _reunion? Did he know everybody on the damn ship? Wait, of course he did... quarian crews were as tight as any family, so what were the odds of him forgetting his birth ship's crew?

"Kan'Sura, you old bastard," the other man replied, cheerily. "What the hell are you doing here?"

"I'm with the Alliance. Came to pull you lot out of the frying pan..."

"And into the frying pan?" Gol laughed. "Who's your friend?"

Kan hesitated momentarily, and Klara just _knew _he was contemplating saying, 'She's not my friend.' Eventually, however, he merely muttered:

"Gol, this is Klara'Tseni nar Qwib-Qwib. Klara, this is Gol'Chera nar Llorens."

"A fellow pilgrim?" the Llorens' engineer murmured, in surprise. "Pleasure to meet you, ma'am..."

"And you," Klara nodded, rather less enthusiastically. "How do you know Kan?"

"We were friends," Gol shrugged, simply. "Before he went off on his Pilgrimage and became a big shot."

"A big shot?" she gawped, unable to restrain herself. "He's an exile!"

"Well, any man Han'Gerrel exiles is alright by me. Kan's trial was a sham."

"It wasn't a _sham_," the exile corrected, quite to Klara's surprise. "They were right to exile me, I just didn't _care_."

"We all heard the stories," the other engineer muttered, waving his hand dismissively. "Hal'Denna was experimenting on geth. As far as I'm concerned, _he _should have been up on a treason charge."

"Well, he wasn't," Kan sighed. "Now, more to the point, why aren't you on your Pilgrimage?"

"You mean besidesthe fact that I haven't finished it in three whole years?" – Klara was blushing embarrassedly beneath her visor at that, having spent _five_ years on her own Pilgrimage so far – "The Migrant Fleet recalled all her pilgrims for... emergency preparations."

"Emergency preparations? What the hell does that mean?"

"Well, you didn't hear it from me, but... I think we're going through the Veil."

"_What?_" Kan and Klara cried, in worrying unison.

"I know, I know, it's crazy..."

"So wait," Klara muttered, "if the flotilla's going through the Veil, why are you out _here?_"

"Same reason the geth are – I don't have a clue," Gol replied, anxiously.

"Probably some idiotic scheme of my father's," Kan laughed bitterly. "Anyway... what's the situation down here?"

"The actual drive core's intact," his friend explained, suddenly more business-like in tone and manner. "But the geth took our barriers down during the skirmish, and they managed to land a shot through one of the heat exchangers. Now every time we power up the engines, the failsafes shut them down to stop the system _cooking_."

"You've got three options then," Klara observed, and proceeded to rattle them off: "Re-direct coolant to the damaged exchanger, divert power around it and find a way to minimise the residual heat, or disengage the failsafes and run it manually."

"She's good," Gol chuckled, directing his comment more at Kan than Klara. "I can do any one of those, but it'd take me about twelve hours, which means I'd only have time to try one method before... splat. With you two, it should half that time, which means if it doesn't _work_, we can try something else."

"Got it," Kan nodded. "Let's get to work..."


	206. Operation Orbit Part 3

_**Northern Polar Expanse, Zanethu**_

_**Day 1, 1510**_

"Are we nearly there yet?"

"Dear God, why did you have to grow an attitude?" Andersen groaned. "I liked the old, brooding Victor better..."

"I did not _brood_," the soldier retorted.

"_Oh _yes you did... Come on, Thorne, help me out here."

"Oh, I... _really _don't care," the biotic sighed, shaking his head. "I'm staying out of this one."

"Seriously, though," Victor continued, "it's bloody cold out here, and we've been searching for _five hours!_"

"It's an uncharted world. Go figure."

As much as he wanted to be optimistic, Andersen couldn't help agreeing with his fellows. Zanethu was depressing. The inches of powdery white they were wading through, the desolate plains that stretched before them, the snow and dust storms ravaging the sky above... everything on the entire planet seemed to be pitted against them. They didn't even have transport. Their shuttle had had to bail out to stop itself from being torn out of the sky by the storms – it had performed a combat drop in the rough vicinity of the zone the quarians _said _was the crash site and then left – and he was sorely wishing they had the Mako to work with. At least the tank was _warm_. The cold was biting fiercely, especially at his midriff – his stomach was bandaged up beneath his armour, and the wound from Cyone, which had felt fine on the ship, was cramping horribly now, in the cold...

"Vent your thermal clips," Thorne muttered. "It'll keep you warm."

With two subtle _click_s, Victor and Andersen followed his instructions, and the engineer was pleasantly surprised to find that he was right – the jet of steam that burst from his Phaeston as it ejected the clip was warm enough that he could actually _feel_ his fingers again, and it left a lingering warm _glow _on his skin...

"Anything on the long-range scanners?" the biotic continued, looking to Andersen.

"Give me a moment," he mumbled, bringing up his omni-tool and dialling through the various programs. Finally, once the scanner display was emblazoned on his wrist: "No... wait, yes! I've got _something _to the north. No heat signature, but there are data bursts coming and going."

"Better than nothing. North, you said?"

"Yeah... about a kilometre. Let's move."

In ordinary circumstances, a kilometre would have taken a few minutes at forced march, especially for so small a group. Wading through the snow, however, it took them at least fifteen. Ice and slush clung to their boots, the falling snow obscured their visors, and as they moved north, the ground grew rough and uneven – ridges and crevasses turned the landscape into a tumbling wasteland, until finally:

"Bloody hell!" Victor swore. He was a few feet ahead of the others, on the crest of a sharp, snow-covered ridge, and he was staring down the opposite side.

When Andersen pulled up at his side, he couldn't help letting out a little gasp of his own. The ridge tapered away into a fairly steep slope, which was as thick with snow and ice as everything else on the bloody planet. At the bottom of the slope, however, where it trailed off into a curved valley, the perfect sheet of white was disturbed by a great steel monstrosity.

Andersen had never seen a geth ship before, not outside the vids the Citadel. It was instantly recognisable, however, even twisted as it was, all battered and broken in the snow. The ship was roughly the same size as an Alliance frigate, but it was made of a dark, purplish alloy, and had a distinctly insect-like appearance to it. Parts and pieces were strewn over the surrounding area, and the wreck was smoking gently, the silver clouds rising to mingle with the storm...

"Do you think _that's_ what we're looking for?" Thorne muttered, sarcastically.

"Gee, _maybe_," Andersen chuckled in reply. "Do you see a way in?"

"Access hatch," Victor replied, peering along the length of his rifle. "On the port side – circular, about two metres in diameter."

"I see it," he nodded, setting his own sights on the side of the downed geth vessel. "It _looks _like it's in working order. If it's not... Thorne, do you reckon you could crack it open with biotics?"

"Probably. Doesn't look too thick..."

"Alright," the engineer mused. "Here's what we do. Thorne, you and me are attacking that ship. Victor, you keep guard here-"

"Are you kidding me?" the soldier interrupted. "_Why? _Why do you want me to sit out here in the _bloody _cold?"

"Because I don't know about the geth, but standard practice for an Alliance ship on crash landing is to send out scouts to survey its surroundings. If the geth sent out patrols, and they come back..."

"You want me to intercept them before they flank you," Victor concluded. He nodded understandingly, but added: "Why me? Why not either of you?"

"Well, we don't have explosives, so the best way to destroy that ship is to overload the drive core. That's why I need to go in."

"And Thorne?"

"Geth don't have biotics," Andersen shrugged. "That means they can't _fight _biotics, either."

"Fair enough," the other man sighed, begrudgingly. "I'll hold the ridge. You two get in there – just don't be long, okay?"

"We'll do our best. And, if the area's clear, why don't you take a look for those quarians the Llorens dispatched? I don't hold out much hope, but if you can at least find the bodies..."

"Will do. Good luck in there."


	207. Operation Orbit Part 4

_**Northern Polar Expanse, Zanethu**_

_**Day 1, 1530**_

"Victor, we're in," Andersen muttered over the radio. "Any movement out there?"

"Nothing, but I swear it just dropped a few degrees... What's it look like in there?"

"Dark. Kinda like the inside of a giant computer..."

"Okay, thanks for that, I'm sure it was vital information. What about, y'know, _the geth?_ Are there any hostiles in there?"

"No _active_ ones... I guess this crash was fatal, even for synthetics. Most of them are broken up, or at least inactive."

"Just watch out," Thorne interjected. "Geth can revive, or reactivate, or... something."

"Christ, we really don't know a thing about them, do we?" Andersen observed, suddenly. "Should've stuck to fighting Cerberus..."

"Maybe you can save the philosophy for when we're back on the Cambrai?" the biotic scowled.

Andersen nodded, and the two of them set off once more, pacing along the rather cramped corridors. They had clearly been designed by and for synthetics, which made them immeasurably worse for organics – the only light came from the gently-burning fires that had bloomed at intervals along the corridor, or the sparking wires now hanging out of the walls. Mercifully, the ship crashing planetside meant there was at least oxygen, something he assumed synthetics wouldn't usually bother with – his helmet had a respirator, of course, but it was good to know a shot to the visor wouldn't suffocate him too.

The two of them passed forward in silence, still waiting for a fight. Thorne was bare-handed, apparently preferring his biotics to the SMG or axe in his belt. For his part, Andersen was wielding his old Arc Pistol – against most enemies, the pistol was ineffective, but it was _designed _for fighting geth. More importantly, it was a good deal less cumbersome than his Phaeston in these cramped corridors, and he was able to charge up a shot, using the crackling mass of electricity like a little blue lantern to illuminate his surroundings.

They were approaching a door, mid-way along the corridor, and Andersen couldn't help wondering why it was even _there_. Organic ships used doors as deadlocks, to seal off a section of the ship if it depressurised and save the rest of the deck. The geth, however, were synthetic – a decompression wouldn't suffocate them, and their software seemed to be _redundant _anyway, making death... trivial.

"How far to the drive core?" Thorne muttered, as they paused in front of the door.

"I don't know. Call me peculiar, but I don't have the interior of a geth frigate memorised..."

"Point taken."

They lapsed into silence again, and Andersen continued with his current method – tracking the data transmissions with his omni-tool and fervently hoping they were coming from the same console that could self-destruct the ship... With a dull _hiss_, the door opened at last-

And a single, shining eye appeared on the other side. The geth unit stared at them for a moment, and they stared back. Then, with a terrible rattle, shots began to fill the air – Andersen and Thorne lunged to either side of the doorway for cover as blue rounds smashed into every wall.

The engineer still had his pistol charged, and managed to slide that shot around the doorpost even as he rolled behind it, to safety. The whistling, charged mass shot upwards and slammed neatly into the geth's chest, causing it to stagger back, _screaming _synthetically as sparks leapt over its body. Andersen had more than enough time to bring up his omni-tool, select the program he wanted, and swing out his arm, causing a shimmering haze of gold to blossom over the geth's... was it really _skin?_ Steel, maybe? The point _was_, that same shimmering haze caused the geth to stagger back, not screaming but silent – after a moment, it simply slumped, still standing, but completely limp from the waist up.

"The hell was that?" Thorne asked, from the other side of the doorway, once the geth had fallen still.

"A virus," Andersen replied, shortly. "Modified from the old sabotage programs. It should render this thing passive for half an hour."

"Okay..." the biotic muttered, as he emerged from cover. "If you'll permit a question... why the hell didn't you just _shoot it?_"

"As far as I know, no-one has ever been able to examine a geth intact. Parts, yes, but not a whole unit."

"So you want to take it apart?"

"No, I just want to scan the coding. I'm not a machinist like Klara, but I can do programming, and the geth are the most complex piece of software in the galaxy. That's got to be worth studying."

"Whatever you say, but... I'll take _this_," the biotic frowned, wrenching the geth's rifle from its grip and slinging it off down the corridor. "Just to be safe."

"Suit yourself," Andersen shrugged, popping out his omni-tool. "Just give me a minute to – _urk!_"

Mid-sentence, a steel hand had whipped upwards, clamping around his throat as the geth's other hand smashed into his stomach, almost _forcing _the air out of his lungs.

"The hell?" Thorne exclaimed. "You said thirty minutes! That was thirty _seconds!_"

"I made a mistake, alright?" he choked, as the geth's grip tightened around his neck. "Now help me disable it!"

_Wham_. Before Andersen could say another word, Thorne had slammed his axe through the geth's head. It snapped back, eyepiece _shattering _under the blow, and the steel form staggered a few steps away along the corridor. With a violent swing of his arm, the biotic warrior lunged forward and smashed a wave of blue fire into the geth trooper's side – it flew away to one side, hit the wall with a _crunch_, and slid lifelessly to the ground.

"There," Thorne muttered. "Disabled. You can still scan a dead one, right?"

"Right..." Andersen grumbled, rubbing his now-scarlet throat. "Just... help me move it. I don't want to be out in the open if backup arrives."

The two of them ducked down, grabbing the fallen geth at either end, and hauled it back through the doorway they had emerged from. They laid the synthetic down against the wall, masked by shadow, and Thorne stood by on the far side of the corridor as Andersen got to work with his omni-tool.

The scan results that began to pop up on his wrist were... truly mind-boggling. For a start the geth wasn't actually _dead – _rather worryingly, hundreds of separate programs were still acting and interacting in the geth's internal workings, and he had a horrible feeling they were working towards re-activation. The weirdest, thing, however, was almost unnoticeable. Deep down, invisible to all but the most skilful eyes, there was a baseline, a single layer of malignant, almost _invasive _code that set his omni-tool's firewalls off several times, as if it was trying to assume control of that too...

Finally, realisation hit him, and he straightened up, a blank, stunned expression absorbing his features.

"Make sure it's dead," he muttered to Thorne, as he stood up and moved away. "I need to get a message to Klara..."

Even as Andersen wandered away, bringing up the squad's radio on his omni-tool, he could hear his colleague shuffling across the corridor. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw the biotic draw his Locust, take aim, and- _crack crack crack._

Well, at least it was dead for real this time.


	208. Operation Orbit Part 5

_**Quarian Frigate Llorens, Hourglass Nebula**_

_**Day 1, 1540**_

"How's it coming along, Gol?"

"Not bad, not bad at all... I've got excess coolant from the mass accelerators, and it's being diverted towards the engines through an old water pipe."

"A water pipe?" Klara murmured, nervously. "Is that _safe?_"

"Yeah... the pipe isn't in use any more – the pump on the output end's been blocked up for years. I can force the flow the wrong way, though, now the pipe's full of coolant. The heat of the exchangers vaporises some of the coolant for dispersal, which lowers concentration at the hot end of the pipe. The difference draws new liquid from the cold end and pushes the vapour along the pipe system."

"Ingenious. How are you dispersing it?"

"I haven't quite figured that out yet... maybe the fire extinguishers? The pipes for the drinking water and the extinguishers are part of the same network. I can shift the valves to direct vaporised coolant there. If we can modify the failsafes so they activate the extinguishers, but don't shut off the engines... That'd take... thirty minutes, maybe fourty?"

"Got it. You take the valves, I'll work on the failsafes."

"Can the humble riflemen in the audience pose a question?" Kan'Sura interrupted – he was lounging by the far wall, excluded from the two engineers' work.

"What?" Klara snapped, tersely – she was still disgusted by the exile's revelation, and she wasn't bothering to hide it any more...

"How does it take this long to change some programming? I've done my share of hacking, and it usually takes _seconds_, not hours."

"You know what this ship's like, Kan," Gol answered, even as he worked away on the valves. "She's a patchwork. Even the original systems are build on human software that's almost thirty years old, and damn near redundant by now. The new parts are all pulled off different scrap heaps, from different ships, they're not even all frigates... they were built to be part of a secure military system, so to get them to _do _anything you have to proxy turian encryption, batarian encryption, even _salarian _encryption."

He shuddered at the last one – Klara, for her part, dreaded to think what salarian coding would look like – and they fell into placid silence once more.

That silence didn't last long, however. After about ten minutes of working away on their omni-tools, inane chatter bubbled back up to the surface, as Gol spoke up:

"So, you're on your pilgrimage too?"

"Yeah..."

"Reckon you'll get it done in a year, like this show-off?" Gol laughed, nodding at Kan'Sura.

"I'm... over a year already," Klara admitted, blushing inwardly. Keelah, this was going to be awkward...

"No need to be embarrassed," the other engineer assured her, "you can't be worse than me – I'm over three years..."

"Five and counting," she replied, bluntly.

"Oh..."

Silence followed. _Very awkward_ silence, which was only broken by Kan's intervention, as the exile muttered:

"Where did you two spend your Pilgrimages?"

His question was directed at Gol in particular, and Klara got the feeling it was more than a way of breaking the tension – the engineer was an old friend, apparently, and the exiled Kan'Sura was probably relishing the chance to catch up with people who he should, by rights, have never seen again...

"Ontarom. It's a human colony out in the Traverse. The Alliance has a massive quantum communicator array out there, but a group of local businesses started building a civilian hub too. Problem is, your average colonist doesn't know crap about signal technology, so a quarian tech? They snapped me up... I mean sure, I can't exactly bring _data _back as a gift to the flotilla, and it's not as exciting as Illium, but it was safe and easy."

"Wait," Klara muttered, back-tracking. "_Illium?_"

"Yeah, I spent my Pilgrimage there," Kan nodded.

"That's... bold. I knew a girl who got sold into _slavery _on Illium."

"Illium's fine as long as you don't sign anything. I found a contract with a human family, and spent nine months as a bodyguard for them."

"How did you get hired as a _bodyguard?_" Klara murmured, forgetting that she was meant to be angry at him. "I mean, a quarian pilgrim? Hardly fearsome..."

"My father had me training to join the marines from the age of _eight_," he replied. "Trust me, I could handle a gun. Besides, people don't _expect _a quarian bodyguard, you just proved that nicely. If you're scanning a room to look for a guard, you expect him to be a turian or a krogan, not the little quarian in the corner."

"Did you ever kill anyone?"

Okay, where the heck had _that_ come from?

"Only once," Kan replied. "I beat plenty of people up, wounded a couple too, but I only killed once on my Pilgrimage. That was actually how I got the job – long story."

Long story or not, Klara was spared it by a subtle _bleep bleep _from her omni-tool. The great dial over her wrist was flashing white, and to her surprise, it was a message from Andersen incoming:

"Klara?" the engineer frowned, appearing on the pop-out radio display in front of her. "Can you hear this?"

"Yeah, I hear it... where the heck are you?" she murmured, trying to discern the very _dark _background visible behind her tutor's head.

"Inside the geth ship."

"_What?_"

"We're blowing it up from the inside," he explained, hurriedly, "now listen, because this information needs to get through. The geth have changed."

"How do you mean... changed?"

"There are elements of code in here that just... aren't normal. Not even for geth – I know they're impressive, but this is beyond them. The geth work in a collective mind, right? They achieve cognition through consensus?"

"Sort of..." Klara nodded. "It's hard to explain-"

"Then don't try," Andersen interrupted. "Just listen. There's coding in here that's beyond anything I've ever seen. It's almost as complex as a human brain, maybe more so, and that's in one individual geth unit. Hard-wired, not consensus."

"Impossible. Geth aren't _individual_. One unit should have nothing more than animal intelligence. Are you trying to suggest they just _got smarter?_"

"I'm trying to suggest they were upgraded... I think this is Reaper code, Klara."

"Oh, shit."

"Oh, shit indeed... If the quarians go up against the geth like this, they're going to be massacred. Speaking of which..."

"You found the scouts, didn't you?"

"Victor just radioed it in," he nodded. "They're both dead. He called in the shuttle, it should be bringing them back to the Llorens now."

"Understood. We'll tell the crew. Where are you headed now?"

"To the engine room. Or the control room, or... whatever we can find, really. We're going to blow this ship sky high."

"Okay... We'll get that message to the captain. Stay safe, alright?"

"Will do."

As she closed the comms panel, Klara was acutely aware that both of her companions were staring at her. With a sigh and a slight groan, she muttered:

"I guess I'm taking the message, then?"

"Yup," Kan nodded. "Don't worry, my father'll like you – if all else fails, just call me a bosh'tet, that should win him over..."

"You _are _a bosh'tet," she grumbled, as she headed for the door.

"See? You're getting the hang of it already..."


	209. Operation Orbit Part 6

_**Quarian Frigate Llorens, Hourglass Nebula**_

_**Day 1, 1555**_

As she traipsed up to the bridge entrance, Klara'Tseni couldn't help resenting her task a little. Sure, the captain had no _reason _to dislike her – she had never spoken a word to him, and the fact that she was saving his ship was surely a tick in her column – but he didn't seem like the most _pleasant _of men, nor the sort of man who needed a reason to dislike someone...

Thus, she was rather relieved to be greeted, not by the captain, but by the silver-suited old man who had welcomed the wretched exile so warmly upon their arrival:

"Good to see you again, girl. What are you doing up here?"

"I've got a message for the captain," she explained.

"Is it about the engines?"

"No, we're still working on that. It's about the geth situation, down on the planet."

"Indeed? You'd better speak to him, then... captain?"

"_Yes?_" the captain's disgruntled voice answered – apparently, he still hadn't lost that chip on his shoulder...

"There's a message from the Alliance team."

"Alright..." he sighed, moving over to join them. "Dismissed, Bori."

As the old quarian shuffled off to one side, Danil'Sura turned his gaze on Klara. He seemed to look her up and down for a minute, let out a little "_hmm..." _noise, and then continued:

"You're the one with the message?"

"Yes, sir," she began, rather nervously. His tone was a good deal more placid than earlier, and that in itself unnerved her. "News from our ground team."

"Oh? Any word of my scouts?"

"They're dead, captain. Killed by the geth."

"I see... and the geth themselves?"

"That's... actually what I need to talk to you about."

"Oh? Do explain..."

"One of our team... actually, I'm not sure _what _he did, but he found evidence that the geth have been... modified, upgraded even. By the Reapers."

Just as expected, a stunned silence followed that. Bori'Danis, who had apparently been lingering within earshot, let out a low whistle of surprise, and several of the bridge crew stopped to turn and listen. Danil'Sura, for his part, stayed silent for at least a minute, contemplating, until finally:

"This is good news..."

"_How?_" Klara gawped, forgetting any sense of protocol. "The geth are even stronger than before!"

"The geth aren't the problem," he continued, waving his hand dismissively. "They never have been. The problem is fools like Zaal'Koris, the damned geth apologists. They say we should focus on the Reapers, rather than reclaim our homeworld? Fine, now we can do both! Strike down the geth, and we strike at the Reapers too. That should satisfy them..."

"I..." she stammered, almost _speechless_. Was he really that stupid?

"Thank you, girl. Now, I've got work to do. If you'll excuse me..."

Without another word, he turned and walked away, leaving Klara to watch his back in amazement. Once he was a few steps away, however, she plucked up some inner reserve of courage, just enough to stop forward and begin to call out.

"Hey-"

"Ah, let's get you back to the engineering deck," Bori'Danis interrupted, catching her under the arm and gently guiding her towards the door. "I'm sure young Gol could do with your help..."

Reluctantly, Klara allowed herself to be shepherded through the bridge door and off along the corridor back to engineering. Only after a couple of minutes' walk did Bori stop, allowing her to stop too, to stare critically at him, and most importantly, to _complain:_

"Why did you stop me?" Klara snapped. _Snapped? _Keelah, she was losing her temper today. Kan's big revelation had opened the floodgates on years of pent-up frustration, hidden behind chirpy optimism...

"Have you heard the expression _digging a hole?_" Bori murmured, patiently. "I believe it applies..."

"He's insane! He just heard that the geth are backed by the Reapers, and he's _glad!_"

"And there's nothing you can do about it," the older quarian added. "He's a captain, you're a pilgrim. Moreover, Danil'Sura is a soldier turned politician. He appreciates this new geth threat, but he still things bullets can solve the problem. And if the problem is solved, it's no longer a problem, just a tool to suit his political agenda."

"But that _agenda _is war with the geth," Klara muttered, "and we don't stand a chance. His duty is to look after his crew, not to get them all slaughtered..."

"You do realise what you just did, don't you girl?"

"No, what?"

"You just explained exactly why Kan'Sura killed Hal'Denna vas Iktomi."

"No!" she retorted, indignantly. "This is different! For a start, the _Reapers _are involved. For another... argh, don't compare me with him! I'm not an exile, I'm not a geth apologist, and I'm _certainly _not a traitor!"

"Now you listen here..." Bori growled – his voice was still calm, but was edged with a tone of severity that came completely out of left field. "That boy may be many things – a liar perhaps, a thief occasionally, and a killer... undeniably. But he is _not_, nor will he _ever be_,a traitor."

Tense silence reigned after that, and Klara couldn't help but take a nervous step back. She had clearly touched a nerve... Moments later, however, Bori'Danis seemed to regain his composure – he straightened up as much as his hunched back would allow, and cleared his throat awkwardly. The silence persisted, however, until Klara asked the first question that popped into her mind:

"You were close, weren't you?"

"Some would say closer than him and his father," the old quarian nodded. "I wouldn't go so far as to call myself a _surrogate _father, that would be preposterous, but..."

"But?"

"Well, I certainly did a lot of the work raising that boy. Danil'Sura ignores his son outright now, due to the shame he perceives from Kan's exile. He denies his very existence. But you might be surprised – or not, depending on how good a judge of character you are – to know that he was hardly attentive_ before _Kan'Sura's exile. He trained the boy in soldiering, and... that was about it. He was a useless father, to be frank."

"Isn't it slander for you to say stuff like this about your captain?" Klara murmured.

"Not if it's true..." Bori replied, poignantly.

"And is it?"

"Not only is it true, it's _ironic_. The only two things Danil'Sura ever gave his son were martial skill and a sense of duty to the flotilla. Without either of those things, he never would have killed Hal'Denna and 'shamed' his father so."

"He still _killed _his captain," she argued, although her protestations were growing weaker now.

"What other choice did he have?"

"Plenty! He could have rallied the rest of the crew, or reported the experiments to the admiralty!"

"The crew were the ones who elected Hal'Denna," Bori sighed. "Does it not stand to reason that they shared his views, his agendas? As for the admiralty... at the time, it was dominated by Han'Gerrel and Rael'Zorah, two men who backed such experiments, and whom Kan despised above almost all others, Han'Gerrel especially. When it came down to it, the only tools he had were his own wits and his gun. So he used them. And he used them _knowing _what awaited him – on the day of his trial, he took the verdict unflinchingly. No tears, no protests, no denunciations. He left without saying a word. Had the sentence been death, I can only imagine he would have held a similar silence until the end."

"I... I should go," Klara murmured. As vehemently as she disagreed with his words, she couldn't bring herself to argue with the affable old quarian. He was a kindly soul, and it was easy to see why a young Kan'Sura had latched onto him in place of his distant father...

"Of course," he muttered, sardonically. "A word before you go, though? A word of caution? I would be careful, if I were you, not to toss around the term 'geth apologist' as if it were a mark of shame. Especially as the two men you are currently _working _with could both lay claim to that title – Gol'Chera was one of our most outspoken _apologists_, before he left on his Pilgrimage and since his return, and you already know the price Kan was willing to pay for peace. I'm not asking you to agree with either of them. Just make sure you... listen."

With that, he nodded amicably, and staggered back off along the corridor towards the bridge. Klara wheeled around and continued off in the direction of engineering, all the while rubbing her forehead through her hood – the conversation, though brief, had produced a furious mental debate, and a headache to match...


	210. Operation Orbit Part 7

**A/N: I'm really sorry for the last few days, guys. Regular updates have kind of been the hallmark of this story, so I always feel bad when I miss a day, not to mention the best part of a week. I've been ill for a few days with the flu, and that in itself meant I had an ungodly amount of work to catch up on, hence the four/five days without an update. With any luck things are back to normal now, though, and there are only a few more chapters to go in this operation. Enjoy!**

* * *

><p><em><strong>Northern Polar Expanse, Zanethu<strong>_

_**Day 1, 1610**_

"Alright," Andersen murmured, taking one last check of his omni-tool and reaching for his Phaeston in place of the pistol. "The data exchange is coming from the other side of this door. With any luck, it's the control room."

"You wanna go first?" Thorne grunted, stacking on the opposite side of the door and drawing his weapons.

"No. Confined space? Best I stay out of the way of your biotics... You breach, I'll cover."

The other man nodded briefly, slammed the holographic panel in the centre of the door, and then span into the open entrance of the room, sending off a tidal wave of biotics as he did.

By the time Andersen popped around the corner, Thorne's strike had vaporised the two geth troopers nearest the door, leaving four more in the room – two were stood in the centre of room, between large square blocks that _appeared _to be servers, while another two were at the back of the room, next to a promising-looking computer console.

Thorne swept forward, heading for the two by the servers. He struck left with his axe, tearing a chunk of steel and circuits from the first geth's chest, then swung to the right, striking with an open palm and unleashing a torrent of biotics which _slammed _the second into the server behind it. That was two more down, but the final troopers were raising their weapons-

"Duck!" Andersen yelled, and Thorne hit the deck. The engineer, for his part, swung out into the open, took aim, and open fire:

_Crack crack crack. _Three quick Phaeston rounds buried themselves deep in the left-hand geth's chest, causing it to slide the floor, dead. The one on the right was taking aim, but a final _crack _signalled a fourth shot, which smashed clean into the synthetic's 'eye', killing it instantly.

Thorne and Andersen had crossed the room before the geth trooper's corpse even hit the ground. The engineer had his omni-tool out, sifting through layer after layer of geth software in the glowing console, while Thorne stuck doggedly to his back, weapons ready to deal with any retaliation by the geth.

"Well?" the biotic muttered, over his shoulder. "Can you blow this bastard ship up from here?"

"Yes, but it'd be easier without the geth in those servers counteracting me," Andersen hinted.

"On it," his squadmate grunted – behind his back, the engineer heard a steady _rattle _of SMG fire ring out, followed by a heavy _crunch_. Checking over his shoulder, he saw that Thorne had riddled one of the servers with rounds from his Locust, before using his biotics to _smash _one of the geth corpses into the other – the rather pathetic form was still lodged to its waist in the server, metal legs dangling limply out of the side.

It took Andersen the best part of ten minutes to hack through the geth console. Merely overloading the drive core would only have taken a few, especially now he could co-opt the code samples from the fallen trooper, but what took up more of his time was simultaneously sifting through the transmission logs. The ship, even fallen as it was, was communicating at the speed of light, faster than Andersen could blink, and the messages were all written in computer code – except for one. One, solitary message written in basic English – or at least, written in something his translator could turn _into_ English – the contents of which made his eyes bulge. His priorities, however, remained unchanged – he downloaded the message to his omni-tool, got back to work on the self-destruct sequence, and after thirty seconds, with the press of a button, he consigned the ship to its fate.

Silence reigned.

"Damn," Andersen muttered. "I thought there'd at least be _alarms_, or sirens, or something..."

"Sad to say, the geth don't share your sense of melodrama," Thorne scowled. "Now how long till it blows up?"

"I don't know... I was kind of hoping for a countdown. You know, a 'This ship will self-destruct in _ten _minutes'..."

"You _don't know _how long until it blows up? For a geek, you're a bloody idiot sometimes, you know that? _Run!_"

Bickering aside, the two of them took flight, and Andersen had to admit, it was the fastest he had ever run. Thorne set a blistering pace, his skin crackling with pre-emptive biotics in case the geth tried to stop them, and Andersen had swapped his bulky Phaeston for a simple overload program on his omni-tool, priming it as he ran.

"Victor!" he called over the radio. "We're coming out of the ship at speed! It's about to blow!"

"_About to?_" Victor replied. "How long?"

"This idiot doesn't know!" Thorne yelled, before Andersen could reply. "Just cover us, damn it! Or at least collect the _pieces! _I happen to know the Alliance would pay a bloody fortune for my body, and I want a nice funeral!"

That particular bit of black humour rather killed the conversation, and they ran in tense silence thereafter. The route to the control room, which had taken them fourty minutes to traverse before, took just five at full, mad, panic-riddled sprint.

Ironically, for all their dizzying pace, they were running on instinct. Andersen didn't actually get his bearings until the two of them reached the first door they had passed through – the single, lone geth trooper that had tried to strangle him was still lying dead at the side of the corridor, and beyond, the sloped, rather narrow path to the outside world could be seen. It couldn't be more than thirty seconds to the outside world-

_Boom_. With a deafening scream, a projectile shot past Andersen's head, swept upwards, and slammed into the roof of the corridor, exploding viciously. Thorne, a few paces ahead, took the brunt of the hit – as steel debris came clattering down he hit the deck, sliding on his back and throwing up a wave of biotics to shield himself.

Andersen, for his part, wheeled around and lashed out, sending a jolt of electricity hurtling from his omni-tool. A grey form at the far end of the corridor crumpled to the ground, and the rest seemed to hesitate, giving the engineer his first chance to survey the enemy. There were half a dozen more geth troopers storming forward with rifles, and a paler form at the back of the mob was reloading... was that a _rocket launcher? _It explained the explosion, anyhow...

He went for his omni-tool once again, and a quick _jolt _announced the departure of a _bolt _of electricity – it shot down the corridor, slammed into the rocket-wielding geth, and the damned thing fell dead. The rest were pressing, however, and blue shots began to hurtle up towards Andersen. He took a step back, reached for his pistol-

And was astounded to find Thorne darting past him, a biotic barrier already blossoming from his hands. The corridor ahead was utterly blocked by swirling blue, and the geth's shots were _bouncing _away ineffectually, as the biotic shouted over his shoulder:

"Back up! Head for the door, before this bloody ship blows up!"

They did just that – inch by inch, pace by pace, the two of them moved back along the corridor at a slow crawl. Andersen kept his gun up, only daring to check over his shoulder for brief moments, because Thorne was already starting to look tired – another rocket launcher had been brought forth by the geth mob, and the sheer effort of repelling their onslaught was causing his arms to drop slightly, his hands to shiver...

"You two!" a fierce voice bellowed, from somewhere behind them. "Move, now! I'll cover you!"

Sure enough, a subtle _crack crack crack _rang out as a three-shot burst was fired over their heads. Thorne dropped his barrier just in time to let the bullets through, and the rocket-wielding geth at the front of the mob found itself batteredby three rounds to the face, screaming and dropping dead a moment later.

Andersen turned and ran, with Thorne quickly following suit at his side. The door couldn't be more than twenty seconds away, and had been wrenched wide open – the stout form of Victor Cross was leaning into the doorway, rifle in his arms, sending off another quick burst which passed _between _his two squadmates and consigned another geth to redundancy. Plasma rounds were raining back up the corridor, and one of them stung the back of Andersen's leg, testing his shields, but the geth were firing wildly, and were being picked off – Victor had the high ground at the top of the ramp, and he was a bloody good shot...

"Keep running!" Andersen shouted, as they thundered past Victor and back out into the snow and ice. "Back to the ridge, we'll be clear of the blast up there!"

It was, quite literally, an uphill struggle. As he and Thorne began to scrabble up through the snow, Andersen took a look over his shoulder to see Victor sprinting up to join them – but not before wedging what looked suspiciously like a grenade into the side of the door frame. He closed the door with a wave of his omni-tool, it slammed shut-

And crushed the little grenade, causing it to explode, _violently_. The whole frame of the doorway seemed to twist and buckle, and the little corridor that jutted out of the geth ship's side crumpled in on itself. It wouldn't hold the geth for long, they could just carve a path out of the wreckage, but as it happened, it didn't _need_ to hold them for long.

They were half way up the side of the ridge when the ship's drive core blew. A white-hot flash filled the air, followed by a tidal wave of eezo that seemed to stain the snow and the sky alike a vivid blue. The air was thick with heat and noise and steel rain, but even as the three commandoes pressed themselves flat against the snow, Andersen had other things on his mind.

"Victor, radio the shuttle!" he called, as the din finally began to subside. "I need to send a message to Klara..."

"Again?" Thorne muttered – lying a few feet away, the biotic looked _exhausted_, and his pale face had gone amusingly pink as a result of being buried in the snow.

"Yes, again," Andersen replied, tensely, as he reached for his omni-tool. "I just found out what the hell we're all doing here..."


	211. Operation Orbit Part 8

_**Quarian Frigate Llorens, Hourglass Nebula**_

_**Day 1, 1630**_

"You know, I think this might just be working," Klara murmured, proudly. "Engine start-up sequence working as normal, heat in the damaged exchanger high, but, not dangerous. I think we did it..."

"And with time to spare," Kan'Sura pointed out. "The Cambrai isn't due back for another three hours."

"We should probably use that time to check it all," Gol reasoned. "They work _now_, and they're stopping us crashing into the planet, but we can't guarantee the heat won't build back up to dangerous levels... I'd say three hours is more than enough time to test that, though. Well done, you two..."

"I'll check in with the ground team," the exile muttered. "They still need to finish up on their end..."

He drifted off to the far side of the room, dialling on his omni-tool, while Klara straightened up from her work, dusting off her hands and examining her handiwork on the engineering console's display. Less than thirty seconds had passed, however, before Kan wandered back towards the other two, a bemused tone present in his voice:

"Couldn't get through. Engaged."

"Engaged doing what?" Klara wondered aloud. A moment later, however, the answer became obvious, as her own omni-tool began to whir and bleep, a message incoming from the man himself...

"Klara?" he muttered, as she opened up the comms screen. "Is this line secure?"

"Sure," she nodded – it was only the three of them, after all, and the doors were locked. "What's up?"

"The geth ship's gone, it's a smoking crater now. But I found something in the logs before we destroyed it..."

Klara's two companions had drawn closer now – if they were happy about the geth ship's demise, it was certainly hidden behind a mask of concern which she also shared. Andersen's tone was worryingly grave...

"What is it? What did you find?"

"A copy of the Llorens' flight log. Someone transmitted it to the geth, Klara. That's why the ship was attacked, that's _how _it was attacked. You've got a traitor on board."

"Keelah... who?"

"I don't know, they didn't exactly _sign _the message," Andersen scowled, sarcastically. "But I'm transmitting the co-ordinates of the console it was sent from. Maybe you can do something with that. We're on our way in the shuttle now, so just hold tight and wait for us to get back, okay?"

"Okay..." Klara nodded, distractedly. As the comm channel faded, she was staring at the co-ordinates he had sent, and couldn't help feeling they were familiar...

"That's the engineering console," Kan growled, suddenly, and Klara's stomach _turned_.

Before she quite knew what was going on, she had been _bowled _to one side by a hefty shove from Kan. The exile was going for his guns even as he knocked her out of the way, and a moment later he had a Phalanx pistol drawn-

And levelled it at Gol'Chera's head, as the other man pointed a rusty Predator his way. The two of them were staring firmly at each other, barely casting a glance at Klara, who stumbled to her feet to one side, numb with shock.

"What the hell did you do, Gol?" Kan muttered, darkly, finger growing closer to the trigger.

"Put the gun down, Kan," his friend murmured, cautiously. "I can explain..."

"Then _explain_," the exile snarled, stepping back to prevent Gol snatching at his gun, and clasping it with both hands as he continued to aim for the engineer's head. "Before I blow you away..."

"I did it to send a message," Gol began, carefully, and Klara couldn't help noticing that there wasn't an ounce of _shame _in his voice. She was reaching for her own weapon, trying to do it as slowly as possible so as to not alert the two men in front of her...

"And what message is that?" Kan scowled.

"The same one you sent when you shot your captain," the engineer replied, calmly. "That war with the geth is a mistake."

Gol's eyes flickered to the side as Klara finally reached her Locust – she brought the SMG up, pointing at his head just like Kan, and was glaring at him just as viciously. In response, he merely shifted his aim to her, while staring firmly at Kan, and muttering, dangerously:

"You know I'm right, Kan. The flotilla doesn't stand a chance against the geth, but no-one would realise that until we went to war – the people never get a chance to see how much better they are, because they never attack us..."

"We're standing on the deck of the ship that got attacked by geth _yesterday!_" Klara pointed out, angrily.

"Yes, because _I_ made it happen," Gol scowled. "When was the last time the geth actually went on the offensive? Besides when Saren led them?"

"They drove us off our _homeworld_."

"Of course they did. We attacked them. And we were dumb enough, to make them _smart enough_, to know to fight back..."

Dangerous silence filled the air, before the engineer repeated:

"You know I'm right, Kan... Don't fight me on this one."

"I..." Kan murmured, faltering slightly.

"Don't you _dare_," Klara hissed, and almost to her own surprise, she swivelled around, turning her gun on Kan this time. It turned their threatening of Gol into a three-way standoff – Gol was aiming at her, she was aiming at Kan, and he at his old friend – but in hindsight, it merely poured fuel on the fire...

"You see?" Gol murmured, icily. "See how quickly she turns on you? The flotilla betrayed you once before, Kan. Are you really going to side with _them?_"

"What did you _do_, Gol?" the exile muttered, changing the subject slightly. "What were you planning to do?"

"I got hold of some geth frequencies months ago," he explained. "And, ever since this talk of war... I knew I had to use them. It was just a matter of finding an opportunity, and taking it. So when we were sent out on a salvage mission to Zanethu, I told them – the geth, that is. They communicate at the speed of light – I sent out a galaxy-wide message over that frequency, and as soon as one of the geth picked it up... every geth in the galaxy knew. A couple of days later, when we hit Ploitari, I sent out a copy of our flight logs. The nearest scout ship came running, and they attacked, just like I planned..."

"You wanted them to destroy the ship, didn't you?"

"Obviously... Even if I had to die, losing the Llorens to the geth so easily would show those stupid bosh'tets back on the flotilla that we can't take the geth on and win. But, when the time came, our gunners got lucky. They downed the geth ship, and we were left stranded here."

"If you wanted the ship to be destroyed," Klara snarled. "Why did you just help us fix the engines?"

"Are you _that _stupid?" Gol snapped. "If I refused to fix the engines, my cover would have been blown. Besides which, the ship couldn't go down that way. Taking out a geth ship and then crashing? Tragic, but not a reason to stop the war – if anything, it would have emboldened the admirals, seeing as we shot a geth frigate down. The Llorens _had _to be destroyed by the geth."

"Which, presumably, means you've got more on call..." Kan muttered.

Gol nodded.

"All I have to do is broadcast our location. And now, we don't have to die, either – the humans are coming back with their shuttle. We can take it, _escape_."

"_We?_"

"You and me, Kan. Come on... I'm your friend, are you really going to shoot me for the people who exiled you?"

"You're going to _kill_ everyone on this ship, Gol..."

"To save the flotilla. Sacrifice the few to save the many, isn't that _exactly _the principle you got yourself exiled for?"

And there it was. The critical moment, hanging suspended in the air for all to see. The weight of choice was obvious on Kan's face, even beneath his visor. And then, slowly, ponderously... he lowered his gun.

_Bang. Bang._

Klara couldn't help gasping in shock as her instincts overpowered her brain, and her trigger finger clamped down. Kan twisted sideways, grunting painfully as the two rounds slammed into his flank, and he dropped unceremoniously to the floor. Committed to her course, Klara whirled around, bringing her gun round to face Gol-

And remembered, far too late, that he had been aiming at her all along.

_Bang. _A single round smashed into her chest, and she tumbled to the deck, as everything went dark.


	212. Operation Orbit Part 9

_**Quarian Frigate Llorens, Hourglass Nebula**_

_**Day 1, 1645**_

Klara woke up angry. _Furious_, in fact, and she was so angry that for all of a minute she didn't notice the hard wall against her back, nor the power cable binding her wrists to the water pipe that ran up that wall. She did, however, notice the now-hateful figure finishing off her restraints...

"Traitor," she growled.

"Don't hate me for this, Klara..." Kan murmured.

She made a spitting noise inside her visor, and glared at him as he finished the knot, stood up, and walked off across the engineering room. As he did, and her senses returned somewhat, she couldn't help noticing that her right arm was numb – the section seal had been clamped down, and the blood seeping from the corner of her chest was doing so at the slowest of paces...

"We should kill her," Gol growled, harshly – his voice was far harder than it had been before, and Klara could only assume that, now Kan was on his side, he had put aside the niceties used to turn him.

"What good would that do?" Kan snapped.

"Revenge! She _shot _you, Kan..."

Sure enough, the two livid wounds were still visible in the exile's side, and they looked _nasty_. Blood was seeping down and staining his blue armour, and if they hadn't been on a sterile quarian ship, she would have expected them to be infected.

"She'll die anyway," he pointed out. "I'd rather see her blood on the geth's hands than ours..."

"Suit yourself," Gol grunted. "Now check on your squad. We need that shuttle before we call the geth in."

"Got it," Kan nodded, pulling up his omni-tool and preparing the radio. As he did, Gol turned and took aim at Klara's head, pressing a finger to his lips. She understood the meaning – give the game away, and die... "Andersen, this is Kan. What's your status?"

"Inbound, ETA five minutes. How's it looking on your end?"

"Good. Engines are back up and running, everything's fine on our end. No clues on this traitor, though..."

"Don't worry, we'll be landing soon, and then- what the hell is that?"

"What the hell's what?" Kan muttered, tensely – he seemed to be hiding the slight note of panic creeping into his voice.

"Unknown contact, just jumped into the system... Hold on, I'm switching channels to hail them."

As Andersen's end of the channel went dark, Kan turned to glare at his fellow. Gol'Chera looked just as surprised at him, and almost _forgot _that he was meant to be aiming his gun at Klara's head.

"I thought you said you hadn't called the geth in yet?" the exile hissed.

"I haven't!" Gol replied. "Maybe the first ship sent out a message, or maybe they caught our distress call, or maybe..."

"Or maybe it's not the geth," Kan concluded, gravely. Moments later, he was vindicated, as a familiar voice rang out over the Llorens' intercom:

"This is the SSV Cambrai. Sorry we're early, but we just couldn't stay away! ETA is ten minutes, you'd better be ready to go down there..."

"Well, you heard him," Gol laughed, sarcastically. "We'd better be ready to go... now or never, Kan, we need that shuttle."

"Alright," Kan sighed. "Let's move."

The exile, however, didn't seem _nearly _as enthusiastic as his friend. In fact, he merely stood where he was, as if contemplating. Then, quite suddenly, Klara noticed something that both she and Gol had missed thus far – Kan had snatched up a hefty lug wrench in his right hand, and without warning-

_Crack_. The sudden blow caught Gol around the back of the head, caving in the back of his hood and knocking him face-first to the floor. He spun over, reaching for his gun, but before he could fire, Kan had swung again, this time crushing Gol's hand, causing to scream and relinquish his grip. The exile grabbed his old friend's pistol from the floor, aiming it at him with his left hand while lazily toting the wrench in his right. He planted a boot between Gol's ribs, pressing down hard and _pinning _him to the deck.

"What the... hell are you doing?" the engineer choked, between gurgling coughs. His visor was shattered where he had hit the floor, and Klara could see blood on the broken glass... "You _fucking _backstabber!"

"Says you, Gol. You're a traitor," Kan growled, still weighting the wrench in his hand.

"For helping the geth?" Gol coughed, painfully. "You're one to talk... we both know why you did what you did to Hal'Denna – he was helping them _experiment_ on the geth!"

"And that's not why I killed him," the exile snapped. "I killed him because he was going to get us all slaughtered. You're right, I _don't _want war with the geth, but I don't want to play nice with them either, especially not now!"

"Why not _now? _What the hell's changed?"

"What's changed, you stupid bastard, is that they're working for the Reapers now. _You've _been working for the Reapers."

"I passed on our flight logs," Gol snarled, "and the Reapers haven't attacked us yet. So obviously you're wrong, Kan."

"Am I? You're not a navigator, Gol. You're not even that smart for a tech, you're dumb as a brick. Those _flight logs _contained communications with every patrol ship in this sector. Their co-ordinates, their destinations, their intentions..."

"So?"

"_So_," Kan muttered, stepping closer to his old friend and forcing his chin up with the hefty end of his wrench, "the salarian colony of Erinle was attacked yesterday. The Reapers tore through the entire defence network – they bypassed patrols, cut off the defending forces, and obliterated everything. The spaceport and everyone in it was levelled within an hour. Fourty _thousand _dead and rising."

"And that's my fault?"

"Damn right it's your fault. You told the Reapers about the colony, and they destroyed it."

"So, what? I made a mistake for a good cause, so I deserve to have my brains smashed out by some washed-up exile with a wrench?"

"No, you let a whole _colony _full of innocent civilians die to suit your own grudges, so you deserve to die a slow, painful death from infection. But this ship's sterile. So I guess this'll have to suffice."

_Crunch_. Without warning, Kan swung back his arm and _smashed _the wrench down, pulverising Gol's head. Broken glass from his visor was showered across the floor, but it was by no means the worst product – it was joined by copious amounts of blood, bone and brain matter, and Klara could hardly bring herself to look. For all that the events on Cyone had hardened her to battle, this was just a shade too gruesome...

Silence fell across the room. Kan straightened up, calmly, as if nothing had happened...

And then, he gave away his anger. He span around, growling, and _hurled _the wrench against the wall – it smashed a sizeable dent into the metal, and shortly after, it was followed by Gol's pistol, also dashed against the wall in the exile's rage. His body, which had been calm a moment before, was _heaving _with anger – and pain, judging by his bleeding flank – manifesting itself as deep, furious breaths which pounded out from beneath his visor.

As he stood there, however, Klara's thoughts were elsewhere. Something had just clicked.

"_Don't hate me for this," _he had said. She'd assumed _this _was the betrayal, but no... _this _was the deception.

"You planned that all along..." she murmured aloud. "You bastard!"

"Sorry..." Kan muttered, weakly. "He was aiming for you. If I'd just killed him, he might have shot you too..."

"He _did _shoot me," Klara pointed out.

"Only because you shot me!" he replied, indignantly. "And it _bloody _hurt, too..."

"Sorry..." she murmured, as he crouched down next to her and set about untying her. "I... oh, keelah, that's disgusting..."

She had just caught sight of Gol's mangled body once more – seeing her discomfort, Kan shuffled across to block her view, even as he pulled the last of the bindings free.

"Come on..." he urged, quietly. "Don't look... we need to get out of here."


	213. Operation Orbit Debrief

_**Quarian Frigate Llorens, Hourglass Nebula**_

_**Day 1, 1700**_

"Cambrai, tell Doctor O'Leiph to prep the med bay," Andersen was saying. "Two wounded quarians coming in – we need a sterile environment, as quickly as possible."

"Copy that," the ship replied, and then, after a delay: "She says she can use the surgical theatre. It's completely sterile."

"Understood. We're heading for the shuttle now, should be back with you in ten minutes, tops."

The shuttle had landed on time, with the Cambrai arriving on the scene just minutes behind, and Klara had never been quite so relieved to see her human colleagues... That said, it had been an awkward moment, to say the least – Andersen's team had reached them just in time to see Kan and Klara stumbling out of the engineering room, bloodied and supporting each other, with a brutally murdered crewman on the floor behind...

They had explained the situation, however, and as Andersen and Victor helped them back to the shuttle, Thorne had gone off to explain matters to the captain – it had been decided that he was the most _believable _of the three humans, given his previous dealings with the flotilla – and as it happened, he was waiting for them now as they traipsed into the hangar.

He had company, too. Bori'Danis was a welcome sight, and was staring concernedly at Kan and Klara as they limped along. Rather _less _welcome were the marine captain who had first greeted them upon their arrival – at least he wasn't pointing a gun at them this time – and Danil'Sura.

To Klara's surprise, the captain actually seemed to be in good cheer as they arrived at the door of their shuttle. He saluted them, laughed bellicosely, and opened his arms wide, as he called out:

"The victors of the day! If your friend is to be believed, I owe you all a great deal... You finished off those damned geth" – he turned to Klara – "and you saved my ship..."

She nodded, meekly, and tried to ignore her burning desire to _say something_, to point out, before she left, that he was a bloody idiot. She swallowed her tongue, however, as he continued:

"I can hardly believe there was a traitor amongst us... You have my thanks for ridding me of that wretched Gol'Chera, and... no, no, never mind."

"What?" she murmured, giving in to curiosity.

"Well, with that traitor dead... the Llorens needs an engineer, Miss Tseni. Another returning pilgrim, perhaps?"

"I'm... flattered," Klara lied, "but I'm good where I am. The Cambrai does good work."

"I see..." Danil'Sura nodded, rather sniffily. "Well, the offer stands should you return, and you have my gratitude."

"Thank you, captain..."

She made to leave, to walk off with the others, but as she did, she caught Bori'Danis' eyes, and the old quarian's words came flooding back to her. Quite suddenly, she whipped around on her heel, staring the quarian captain in the eye, and blurting out:

"No!"

"No what?" Danil frowned, confused.

"No, I'm not going to take your gratitude," Klara replied, slowly – she had half an idea in her mind, but actually finding the words proved a little more difficult. "I didn't do shit. I fixed the engines, but Gol? I wasn't the one who killed him, I wasn't even the one who realised he was the traitor! If it had been left to me, you'd all be dead. You want to thank someone? Swallow your pride, and thank your _son_, captain..."

There followed a very awkward silence. The onlookers – and Klara herself, for that matter – were stunned at what she had just said. Kan especially looked taken aback, and Danil'Sura was staring at her in surprise. Had he been anything but a quarian, she imagined his face would have been contorted in a distasteful expression – as it was, his scowl was hidden by his visor.

With silence still reigning, Kan'Sura and his father quite suddenly came to stare at each other. There was a wordless, psychic, rather poignant exchange, and then, very slowly, the captain shifted on his feet, before murmuring:

"I have no son."

Klara's heart sank. The moment lay tattered and broken around their heels.

"But-" she began. _But_, Kan was already fixing an arm around her shoulders and gently guiding her towards the shuttle door.

"Let's go," he muttered, firmly. He broke away only to clasp Bori's hand, and pull the old quarian into a hug – as he did, she saw the silver-hooded old man smiling approvingly at her, over Kan's shoulder – and then they were off again, stepping into the shuttle with their three human comrades at their back.

"Why did you stop me?" Klara hissed, as they finally sat down inside, and Thorne pulled the door shut behind them.

"I told you before," Kan sighed. "He has no son, I have no father. We're _both _happy with that..."


	214. Downtime 14

_**SSV Cambrai, Hourglass Nebula**_

_**Day 1, 2015**_

The squad's arrival back on the Cambrai had been rather uneventful, all things considered. Andersen had gone to inform Captain Murphy of the mission's events, Thorne and Victor had disappeared off into the bunk area as if nothing had happened, and Klara had been rushed up to the med bay with Kan by Dr O'Leiph.

As it happened, the Llorens had saved their life, according to the good doctor. The ship's sterile environment meant that, however bad their wounds were – Kan's in particular were deep, and their positioning meant he had been unable to seal them off – they weren't badly infected. They had both picked up minor infections from the shuttle ride home, but nothing serious, and nothing blood-borne. O'Leiph had simply wheeled them into the sterile surgical suite, removed the two bullets that were still embedded in Kan – Gol's shot, by contrast, had gone clean through Klara's shoulder where it met her chest, leaving no shrapnel behind – and slapped medi-gel on the wounds, before leaving them to recover. She was watching on from the med bay, keeping an eye on their readings, but apart from that, the two quarians had been left to their own devices for the last few hours.

Silence had ruled thereafter. Kan clearly didn't want to talk about his father, or Gol, and Klara didn't have the heart to ask. The silence, however, was incredibly awkward, and in the end, it was the exile who spoke first:

"Did you really think I'd betrayed you?" he muttered, out of blue.

"I..."

She hesitated.

"Go on," Kan prompted. "Honest answer."

"_Honest_ answer? Yes, I did..."

"Why?"

"Well... he had a point. You had no reason to be loyal to the flotilla, not after what they did to you..."

"What they did to me?" he smiled, shrewdly. "I thought it was what_ I'd _done that was so terrible?"

"Yeah, well... Bori had a word with me, when I went up to the bridge. He... opened my eyes."

"I see..."

There was an awkward pause, before Kan continued, bluntly:

"Gol was wrong."

"What?"

"He was wrong," the exile shrugged, simply. "If I didn't care about the fleet, I wouldn't have gotten myself exiled. Besides, it wasn't just some nameless ship he was destroying – it was my birth ship, and I still had friends aboard it, Bori for one... Add in you, Andersen, Thorne, Victor – the Cambrai too, for that matter... Suffice it to say, there were a lot of people there who I didn't want to die, and one who _had _to die whether I wanted him to or not..."

Okay, that was _very _awkward. Kan had gone quiet again, head bowed, and Klara couldn't think of any way to take his mind off it – nor, for that matter, to take _her _mind off the morbid memory of Gol's pulverised skull. They sat in silence for a few minutes before finally, she came up with _something _to say.

"You owe me a story, mister..."

"What?" he frowned.

"Back on the Llorens. Your first kill – 'long story', you said... Well, I think we're going to be in here for a while, so how about it?"

"You really want to know?"

"Beats the awkward silence..."

"Okay, point taken... Where to begin? Illium, I suppose... I'd been there for about two weeks. Most of my rations were gone, I had fifty credits to my name from selling some of the medi-gel Bori gave me before I left, and I was sleeping under the highway overpass... All I had was a pistol and some emergency supplies."

"Why not sell your skills?" Klara interrupted. "That's what I did... made me a fair bit on Terra Nova, too..."

"Sure, but your skills are in tech," Kan pointed out. "Mine are in soldiering. I might know the basics of engineering, but I'm nothing compared to most quarians. All I could do was shoot, so I went round some of the local mercenary companies. I think I'd met with two of them by that point."

"And they both turned you down?"

"One did. Can't blame them, really, it was an all-turian group. I would have slowed them down... The other one offered me a job, but I had to refuse _them_."

"Why?"

"Well, whenever you go looking for a job on Pilgrimage, you have to explain about the Pilgrimage gift, right?"

Klara nodded.

"When I told this company that I had to bring something back to the flotilla, they told me I could take my gift from the loot, if I ever saw something of value. Problem is, that's forbidden."

"Yeah... You're not allowed to obtain it by harming someone."

"Exactly. They weren't too happy about the idea of me doing work on the side, so I didn't end up taking the job. It was... difficult, turning down paying work like that, but I like to think it was the right choice. It led me to my _actual _job, anyway..."

"How was that?" Klara muttered, curiously.

"If you just keep _quiet_ a moment, I was about to tell you," he smirked. "I was walking back through the alleyways after that last interview, trying to find a safe place to bed down for the night, when all of a sudden I noticed this girl, about a hundred metres up ahead. Human girl out on the town, you know the type... anyway, this girl either had a complete lack of brain cells, or she was _just_ drunk enough to think walking through the alleys on her own was a smart idea..."

"How drunk do you have to _be?_" she chuckled.

"Drunk enough to think abandoned means safe, but not drunk enough that someone helps carry you home..." Kan replied. "Besides, humans aren't as cautious as quarians, they haven't been brought up to be. But, sure enough, after about five minutes this guy appeared out of the alley to the right, another human. Bandana, scars, tattoos – proper ganger if ever I saw one. Anyway, he tailed her for about another ten minutes, don't think he even _noticed _me following. Then, we got to a corner – they disappeared around it, and by the time I caught sight of them again, he had her by the throat, with a switchblade in his hand."

Klara let out a little gasp – it felt right, for dramatic effect – and then fell quiet once more, as he continued:

"First thought I had was to shoot the bastard – I had my pistol, he was about ten feet away, I could have blown his head off. But the girl was behind him. Shoot him, and I'd probably hit her too..."

"So what did you do?"

"I charged at him. Ran in, grabbed his knife hand to stop him lashing out, then dragged us both to the ground. The girl ran off to the other side of the alley, and we started to brawl. I don't remember much of it – he smacked my head against the wall, I think I was _concussed _for most of the fight – but I remember the wounds. He slashed my armour open at the shoulder, broke a couple of ribs, stabbed right through my calf... In the end, the one thing I remember _vividly _is how it ended."

"You killed him?" Klara assumed.

"Yeah..." Kan nodded. "I don't even know how we got into the situation, but I was in a bad way, covered in blood... I just remember shoving him. He staggered back, hit the wall – and before he came back at me, I pulled my gun and shot him in the chest. I still remember his face. The most perfect fear I've ever seen in a man – doesn't matter how tough he is, if he's human, turian, _krogan_... when he's staring down a lethal bullet, he _will _look scared. Anyway... one round, clean through his heart, and he dropped dead. I collapsed a few seconds later, once the adrenaline wore off and the blood loss kicked in."

"Keelah... what happened to you?"

"Well, when I woke up, I was in bed. Which was... novel, because my bed had been the dirt for the previous fortnight. As it turns out, the girl wasn't just some feckless civilian, she was loaded. Her dad was the CEO for a shipbuilding company, expanding to Illium. When his daughter called him, and told him what had happened, what I'd done, he insisted I be cared for at their complex, not in some slum clinic. He gave me a spare room, paid for the best doctor in the city, a specialist in xenobiology... And when I'd recovered, about a week later, he offered me a job as his family's bodyguard, for as long as the company needed him to stay on Illium."

"So let me get this straight... You stopped a mugging, and a millionaire paid you to look after his family?"

"Pretty much. I spent the best part of a year with them, got pretty close, and when they went back to Noveria, the father gave me a gunship to take back to the fleet."

"Lucky," Klara laughed. "I spent most of _my_ Pilgrimage cleaning out farming equipment..."


	215. Downtime 15

_**SSV Cambrai, Serpent Nebula**_

_**Day 1, 2350**_

"Coming in towards the Citadel now, captain," the radio reported. "We've got an open bay on Shalta waiting."

"Ten minutes to midnight," Murphy observed. "You made good time, Erika."

"Certainly did," the pilot replied. "The relay in the Nimbus Cluster was open this time, that cut a couple of hours off our route... Err, Akito, what's _that?_"

"Incoming message," the co-pilot chipped in. "It's from the Presidium. God, looks like the _Council_... addressed to you, captain, should I patch it to the war room?"

"No, send it to my desk."

There was an obliging _tap-tap _on the other end of the line, as Akito patched the message through the comms, and then, with a flicker of blue, a slender form blossomed up from the corner of the captain's desk. It was a supremely _elegant _asari, and even in slightly blurry hologram form, Murphy recognised her immediately.

"Councillor Tevos," he nodded, as his stomach churned uncomfortably. A personal briefing from one of the Council? That could _not _be good...

"Captain Murphy," she replied, serenely. "I trust this line is secure?"

"Yes, ma'am. But, just in case..."

He tapped away at his omni-tool, swinging through various menus until finally, melodic, orchestral tones began to resonate out around the room. After a few minutes, a full crescendo was rising around the room, and he turned back to Tevos, explaining:

"I've got some very good hackers on my ship. If they're listening in over the radio..."

"Of course," the asari councillor nodded. Then, she seemed to pause, and murmured: "The Firebird?"

"By Igor Stravinsky," Murphy confirmed, allowing a wry smile to pass over his features. "I'm impressed..."

"I'm a diplomat, captain, I spent the best part of a century learning about alien cultures. To business?"

"To business. You wanted debriefing on Cerberus?"

"Yes. But, as I hope you can appreciate, the Council operates at the very pinnacle of galactic politics. Naturally, any information passed to or from us is... _highly _sensitive."

"Just ask what you need to ask, councillor."

"Not here. We need to meet in person."

"So you just called me up, to tell me that you can't tell me anything?" Murphy scowled, sarcastically.

"Captain, do I need to point out that we're discussing _Cerberus _here? The same organisation which, a few months ago, tried to assassinate me? And to whom no less than three of your ship's crew have previously defected..."

"Councillor," he growled, in an even tone, "do _I_ need to point out that all three of those defectors were killed by the rest of the crew?"

She sighed, wearily, and for the first time in any number of news reels or official statements, Murphy saw the asari's immaculate face crease with exhaustion and stress... When she looked up, she was business-like once more:

"There's a soiree in a few days' time, courtesy of the asari embassy," Tevos frowned, ignoring his rather sardonic outburst. "I'm sending you the date and time, as well as the location of a private room. I'll debrief you there. In the meantime, I'm giving your ship a berth on the Presidium. Give your men some shore leave, before they're back to the fray."

"Understood," he replied, glancing over the details she had sent him. "Until then, councillor."

"Indeed. And, captain? You may want to invest in a suit..."

The hologram faded away, and Murphy was left to his self once. Rather than call the bridge and report the new plans, however, he simply sat back, enjoying the vibrant _thrum _of Stravinsky that seemed to consume his every sense. Eventually, however, and just as the Firebird reached its crescendo, reality invaded his blissful little serenade:

"Captain? Captain, are you there?"

"I'm here," he muttered, begrudgingly cutting the music just as the tremulous notes grew to their peak.

"This is Solov," the pilot's voice affirmed, "we've just got a message from docking control. Apparently we're being redirected to the Presidium? A Council-reserved berth?"

"That's correct," Murphy replied. "I've got business with the Council while you're on shore leave."

"Business?" Akito piped up. "What do they want now?"

"Not that it's any of your business," the captain frowned, "but the same thing they wanted before. A debrief on our dealings with Cerberus."

"They're godless bastards," Erika laughed, darkly. "What else is there to tell?"

"Quite... Now, if you'll excuse me, I'm going back to my music. Don't disturb me for at least an hour."

"What if the ship catches fire?" the co-pilot asked, sardonically.

"Oh, I'm sure you'll think of something..."


	216. Shore Leave Presidium 1

**A/N: Sorry yet again for the delay, guys. I've been away from my computer for the last two nights, so obviously I couldn't upload. Shore leave begins today, so enjoy!**

* * *

><p><em><strong>Shalta General Hospital, Shalta Ward<strong>_

_**Day 1, 0900**_

"Alright, you check out. Go on up."

"Security at a hospital," Gina tutted. "How times have changed..."

"There are a lot of soldiers in here," Arrete reasoned, as they slid past the security desk and towards the elevator. "Three of them ours, in fact..."

"Fair point," she replied, before stepping inside, turning to the elevator's wall display, and murmuring: "Fifth Floor."

With a slight _ding _from the console, and the gentle grinding of machinery, the elevator began to rise upwards. As it did, Arrete was left pondering the situation. Odd though he and the doctor were as a combination, Captain Murphy had sent them to Shalta General to pick up Ethan Cash – Gina was to check up on him medically, while the salarian got him back up to speed and took him to meet the rest of the crew on the Presidium. At the moment, however, there was something else on his mind, and not until they were hurtling skywards did he decide to mention it:

"So, you're leaving, then?"

The comment seemed to knocked her for six – she merely stared at him for a few minutes, before slowly, quietly replying:

"How did you know?"

"Photographic memory," he shrugged. "Normal for salarians, we spot the little things... More specifically, when you came out of the medical bay, I saw a footlocker and a bag packed at the side of the door."

"I see... how observant of you," she scowled. "Alright, yes, I'm leaving. I got a job shore side – at this hospital, as it happens. I leave tonight."

"Why?" Arrete asked, instantly.

"I'm not a combat medic, salarian. I'm just a doctor from some backwater colony who got recruited to see the stars. Turns out, the stars aren't so exciting, they're _bloody _scary. When I first came aboard the Cambrai, she was a patrol ship in the heart of Alliance space. I spent most of my time dealing with diseases, not injuries. The odd bout of flu, a septic wound, etcetera... and when the crew did get injured, it was usually burns from a shield flare or a misfire, maybe a few cuts and scrapes in the worst fights. But look at the ship now – a crew bigger than she was never designed to hold, half a dozen different _species _aboard, all fighting on the front lines, day in, day out..."

"It's serious now," he muttered.

"Yeah..." Gina sighed. "It's not just slapping on medigel or dosing them with antibiotics any more. We've got complex surgical cases every few weeks, embedded shrapnel, plasma burns, serious organ damage... I'm not combat-trained, and I'm _certainly _not a xenobiologist. Asari and salarians I can manage, you just have to adjust for biotics and metabolism, but most of the time I don't have a _clue _how I'd treat the rest. Turians _break _most of our needles, and the high pain threshold means it's useless as a judge for spinal damage. Quarians have all their suit systems interfering, and then there's the infection itself, the allergic reaction... and krogan, for God's sake! If Vresh had made it back to the Cambrai" – they both grimaced slightly at the topic – "he probably would have died there. I don't know how I'd even begin to treat a wounded krogan... Ria knows how to treat you all, but if the patient isn't human, I'm dead weight. More importantly, I can't join them on the ground. Ria can go down and fight, she can get to the wounded on the battlefield. I'm stuck on the Cambrai until a shuttle lugs them up into orbit."

There was a pregnant pause, as the good doctor looked sheepishly to the floor. After a moment, Arrete finally found his voice:

"Those aren't the real reasons," he observed, shrewdly. "Colonial doctor or not, the Alliance gives its recruits the basics of xeno-medical practice, and Doctor O'Leiph is always on hand to assist you... You've been with the Cambrai for months, and this was never a problem before... something's taken your nerve, doctor."

Silence once more. She nodded, silently, but gave little more away than that.

"Operative Colburn?" Arrete murmured, slowly.

"How do you know about that?" she replied, sharply. "You weren't even on the ship at Korlus, you were in _hospital_."

"Captain Murphy briefed us" – he cursed inwardly at _us_, remembering the bon vivant Kyra who had recovered alongside him in the hospital – "when you made port after the operation. He wanted us to be able to brief Cash if he came to and couldn't remember what happened."

"I see..." – there was a very long pause – "I... I can't deny it shook me. If I couldn't save a regular human marine, what chance did I have if the patient was a drell, a quarian, a krogan?"

"It wasn't your fault, doctor. I saw Cash's injuries – if he was the lucky one, I'd hate to have seen Colburn and the others... You did all you could do."

"Spare me the platitudes," Gina sighed, waving a dismissive hand. "I've heard them all already. I'm leaving, it's for the best, and that's the end of matters. I even lined up a replacement from the Alliance. She's not a xenobiologist, the Alliance didn't exactly have many on hand, but she's a bright kid, and more importantly, she can _fight_. Now let's just find the attending and get Cash."

The elevator chose that moment to grind to a halt, doors sliding open as the austere announcer murmured 'Fifth Floor'. They emerged, in silence, into a bright white waiting room, _immaculately _clean even as chaos reigned – doctors were flitting about with charts, as were lab techs with samples, and there were any number of anxious friends and family members waiting in the wings, but they were all going about their business on very _clean _floors.

"Doctor Campbell?" a twee asari doctor called, from the middle of the room.

"Yes," Gina replied, much to Arrete's surprise – realisation dealt him a dull blow to the jaw with the revelation that he had never actually learned the doctor's surname...

"Ah, good to see you... You too, Arrete. Feeling better?"

"Distinctly less irradiated."

She laughed, a rather bubbly, infectious laugh, and then murmured, more seriously:

"Doctor Campbell, I took the liberty of looking up your other patients, the ones you brought in yesterday? The human girl's on a mild anaesthetic, and her wound was sealed. We should be able to get her back to your vessel before it leaves, although I recommend giving her a few days to recover before going on active duty."

"And Vor?"

"The batarian... I honestly don't know how he's still alive. I can only assume he's too stubborn to die. We've fixed up the flesh wounds and given him a sedative, but the other injuries are going to take something out of the ordinary, unless you want him in a wheelchair... I've arranged for a colleague of mine to come from Bachjret Ward, he's an expert in surgeries like this. We'll have to put metal in his legs, and probably some cybernetics, but he'll walk again – hell, his legs might even be _better _than before."

"I see..." Gina muttered. "Would you mind if I kept an eye on him when I transfer to my post here?"

"Not at all, doctor."

"Thank you. Now, what about Ethan?"

"Ethan's doing just fine," a familiar voice interjected, from the side.

Ethan Cash looked... remarkably well, really. 'Good as new' was the human phrase, Arrete thought. His left eye was slightly red from the surgery, but he was walking normally, not doubled over from his bloody chest or broken ribs. The loose black shirt he was wearing was unbuttoned just low enough to reveal bandages wrapped tightly around his chest, but he seemed alright...

"Ethan," Gina smiled. "How are you doing?"

"Doc's signed my discharge papers, so I'm doing great," he grinned back. "Where's the ship?"

"Docked on the Presidium," she replied. "I'm staying here to, err... finish off some paperwork with Vor's doctors. Arrete's going to get you back to the crew."

"Aww, an escort all for me?" Cash laughed. "I'm touched... come on, salarian. I figure I owe you a drink for... something."


	217. Shore Leave Presidium 2

_**Embassy District, Presidium**_

_**Day 1, 0910**_

"Do you think she'll be hot?" Alec asked, out of the blue.

"_What?_" Sarah replied, frowning.

"This new medic we're picking up. I mean, the asari's pretty. I'm wondering if this new one is."

"You mean you're _hoping_ she is," Irving chuckled, then added, for good measure: "you incorrigible dog."

Murphy had dispatched the three of them to the Alliance embassy to pick up the Cambrai's new medic – Sarah could only assume it was because of their N7 status, which made dealings with the Alliance easier than if anyone else had gone – and they were now traipsing across the Presidium in their civvies, taking in their surroundings.

Those surroundings were... incredible, really. The upper wards were nice enough – more than anything, they reminded her of the Elysium suburbs that had played host to her early years – but the lower wards weren't exactly pleasant, and even the richest areas of the wards paled in comparison to the Presidium. It felt like the upper district of Vancouver – great mountains of glass and white steel rising skywards, interspersed by shimmering blue lakes and greenery that was present nowhere else on the Citadel. There was even _weather. _The wards were a little stuffy, and the air there definitely felt recycled. Here, however, a cool breeze was being artificially whipped through the open plazas, and simulated sunlight shone down from between simulated clouds, well and truly finishing off the illusion that they were planetside, rather than floating in space.

"Hang on," Sarah scowled. "Dr O'Leiph's _married_."

"The hell she is," Alec muttered. "She flirts with everyone who comes through the med bay!"

"That doesn't change the ring on her finger," the biotic retorted, sardonically.

"Oh..."

"Let me guess..." Irving rumbled. "You weren't looking at her finger?"

"Err, no..." the rookie murmured, sheepishly. Then, he seemed to regain some nerve, and continued: "But that's all the more reason for a hot new doctor! One who _isn't _married."

"Incorrigible," the big marine repeated, rolling his eyes. "Next thing you know he'll be humping our legs..."

They walked in silence from there on, traipsing through the opulent embassy district. The whole Citadel was packed with aliens, but the passers-by here seemed to be _important _aliens. On the path to the human embassy, they passed a trio of turians, the leader of whom appeared to have military decorations on his armour, a couple of graceful asari who looked like diplomats – or maybe consorts – and a rather large – by which she meant bloated – hanar with his drell attendant. Turning the corner to the Alliance complex, they walked past a couple of officers in Engineering Corps uniforms, who shot them nods of mutual appreciation, and then they were approaching the door that led to the embassy's foyer.

"Alright," Sarah sighed. "Murphy said she was waiting for us inside. Let's go..."

"Damn it, I hope she's hot," Alec muttered, under his breath.

With a contemptuous glare at her young colleague, Sarah stepped past him, swiped her hand over the door release, and with a dull _swish_, it swung open.

As it opened, it revealed the new medic – she was a young woman, little more than nineteen or twenty in appearance, with beautifully smooth, pale skin and shoulder-length blonde hair. As far as Alec's wish went, Sarah had to admit, she was pretty... well, _pretty_. There was one problem, however.

"Hi, big brother," she murmured, brightly.

Silence reigned. With every second, Alec was going paler and paler, greener and greener, as Irving and Sarah tried desperately to rein in their grins. Irving broke first – giving out a great bellow of mirth, the big marine literally _collapsed _to the floor, shaking with laughter, much to the young medic's bemusement.

"Do I want to _know_ what's going on?" she muttered.

"No, you really don't," Sarah replied, breaking into a broad smile. She swept forwards, pulling the other woman into a friendly hug. "It's good to see you, Alicia."

"You too, Sarah. How's things?"

"Oh, you know, the usual... Reapers, Cerberus, all that fun stuff."

"Gotcha... What's wrong with my brother?"

"I..." Alec mumbled, disgustedly.

"Ha!" Irving interrupted from the floor, finally finding his voice between rib-cracking bouts of laughter. "You were... you were – ha – you were fantasizing about your _sister! _I... this is... I want to take this moment, marry it, and have little moment babies with it!"

"Well that's... disturbing," Alicia murmured.

"Do you want to get out of here?" Sarah piped up. "Get something to drink?"

"_So_ much..."


	218. Shore Leave Presidium 3

_**Commons District, Presidium**_

_**Day 1, 0930**_

"Alright," Ethan murmured, sitting down and setting two beers on the table, "I think I've got some catching up to do."

"Indeed," Arrete nodded. "You've only been gone a few weeks, but you've missed... five operations."

"Five?" the sentinel replied, with a weak laugh. "Where the hell have you been?"

"Illium, Logasiri, the Citadel, Cyone and Zanethu," the salarian recited, counting them off on his fingers. "And we took on some new recruits just after Korlus."

"Right..." Cash muttered, ponderously. "We'll do it quick. But first – drink."

"Curious choice," Arrete laughed, nonetheless reaching for a bottle. "Alcohol impairs mental faculties..."

"It also stops you being a buzz kill," the other man scowled. "I've been stuck in a hospital bed for weeks now, and they wouldn't let a _drop _of booze through the door. Now _drink_."

They both sat back, raised their bottles, and proceeded to pour alcohol down their necks. It took all of thirty seconds for the two bottles to be utterly drained, and they slammed them down in unison, as Cash stroked his stubbly chin – the human practice of shaving, Arrete assumed, wasn't so easy when confined to a hospital bed – in thought. Finally, he muttered:

"Start with the new recruits."

"Right... Three N7s – Gunnery Chief Irving Wolfe, rifleman, Corporal Alec Carter, rifleman, and Lieutenant Sarah Jade, biotic – plus another human soldier, Victor Cross. Two batarians, Aran Tur Akor and Vor Hebat, both warriors. An asari mercenary, Liselle V'Dorn, and a quarian engineer, Klara'Tseni nar Qwib-Qwib."

"Wow... odd bunch," Cash observed. "Can you rattle off the operations?"

"I should think so," Arrete replied. "I wasn't with the Cambrai for most of them, but I've seen the reports. Illium first?"

"Illium first," the sentinel nodded.

"Alright. Illium, Operation Safeguard. Brief was to go undercover, and protect an Alliance-friendly arms dealer, Nikolai Rosenkov, from assassination by Cerberus. Team consisted of Vimes and Kyra undercover, backed up by Tyco, Vanyali and Kan'Sura. The merchant turned out to be a double agent working for Cerberus, and the assassins were actually drell sent by the Hanar Primacy to prevent his defection. Three of the drell were killed, but the fourth, Ekris, was recruited to the team, and Rosenkov was captured."

"Everything going FUBAR?" Cash chuckled, wryly. "Sounds familiar... Go on."

"At the same time as the Safeguard team deployed to Illium, the Cambrai deployed a team to Logasiri for Operation Fortress. Objective was to penetrate a batarian fortress occupied by Reaper troops, salvage valuable equipment, and destroy the potential breeding ground. Operatives on the ground were Lynus Rilum, the three N7s, and the two batarians. They descended through the base, locked down the control room, and a secondary team consisting of Andersen and the krogan shipped a nuke into the base. The facility was destroyed, but Aran Tur Akor stayed to defend the bomb, and was killed in the blast."

"Unlucky. He only lasted onemission... Did you say the _Citadel _was next?"

"Yes. Operation Blackout. Cerberus initiated a jailbreak to free Nikolai Rosenkov from the K-1 Penitentiary-"

"K-1? That's on Shalta Ward, right?"

"How did you know that?"

"I heard about the breakout, it was on the hospital news feed... They never mentioned Alliance involvement, though. What did we do?"

"A large team was sent in to sweep the district and find Rosenkov before C-Sec made a strike. We assumed a commando operation would result in less collateral damage. Captain Murphy led the attack, joined by Vimes, Zya, Thorne, Vanyali, Kan'Sura, Tyco, Mac'Tir and Ekris." – Cash's eyebrow rose, apparently impressed at the salarian's photographic recall of the mission reports – "They moved through the district and killed a number of escaped convicts, before Captain Murphy found Rosenkov dead in Kasera Tower. He was ambushed by Cerberus operative Christopher Creed-"

"That's the bastard who attacked us on Korlus, isn't it?"

"Yes... Vanyali, Mac'Tir and Ekris arrived in support, but Creed was able to flee the tower with help from his backup. C-Sec cleared up the rest of the district, and our team made it back without any casualties."

"Alright... next?"

"Cyone. My first proper mission with the crew, Operation Thunder. The Cambrai joined the carrier Hawking, cruiser Belfast and frigates Midway and Bunker Hill in making an assault on Cyone, to try and break the siege of the capital city, Polos, and relieve the asari defenders. The 4th Armoured deployed with support from our infantry, and managed to carve a path to the resistance's stronghold. The Cambrai dropped reinforcements and heavy weapons, and the combined force pushed outwards, before destroying a Reaper that was encroaching on the city limits."

Ethan let out a low whistle at the enormity of their destroying a Reaper, but Arrete already knew his attempt to skip around the issue hadn't worked – there was a shrewd expression passing over the sentinel's features, and he quickly muttered:

"What about casualties?"

"Two," Arrete answered, reluctantly. "Kyra and Vresh."

Numb silence followed that. The news of any casualty was bad, but Kyra's death in particular hit the two of them hard. About a fortnight ago, they had been sharing a hospital ward with her. Arrete, for his part, had spent a good few days chattering away with the young mercenary as they recovered from their injuries, and she had been the first to greet Cash when he came to. And now, she was dead.

"What about Zanethu?" Cash murmured distractedly, trying to change the subject.

"Operation Orbit. The aim was to save a quarian vessel, the Llorens, stranded in a decaying orbit by a clash with the geth. Andersen, Cross and Thorne destroyed the geth ship planetside, while Kan'Sura and Klara'Tseni repaired the Llorens' engines and killed a double agent onboard, allowing the ship to escape."

"Sounds like you've all been busy," the sentinel laughed, _very _weakly. "Can't wait to get back to it..."

"Glad to hear it," Arrete smiled. "Are you actually fit for combat?"

"Fit and ready," Cash nodded. "I could do with some practice before we ship out, maybe some time in the training room, but... yeah, I'm fine. Ribs are a bit sore, but they're healed, and my eye's better than ever."

To demonstrate his point, he stared at the salarian and blinked once. When his eyelids flickered open again, his right eye was still the same, dark brown. His left, however, had gone a vivid, electric blue – he blinked again, and it was green, then gold, then pallid grey. With a slight smile, he continued:

"The cybernetics are pretty damn good. They're wired into a neural lace – my eye pours information into my suit's HUD, my biotic amp... Tell you the truth, I can't wait to try it out."

"That could be arranged," Arrete shrugged. "The crew hasn't booked a hotel yet, so they're still onboard the Cambrai. I'm a sniper, not a hand-to-hand fighter, but I could arrange for someone to go a couple of rounds in the sparring ring with you."

"Sounds good," Cash nodded. "But, ah... let's get another drink first..."


	219. Shore Leave Presidium 4

_**SSV Cambrai, Presidium Docks**_

_**Day 1, 1050**_

"Five targets. Twenty yard range. Running speed. Go."

_Bang bang. Bang. Bang. Bang._

Ethan smiled proudly as the five holographic targets dimmed and died, one by one. The N7 Eagle Arrete had found for him was still smoking gently, but it had done its work well – it was a fantastic gun, combining the graceful handling and accuracy of his old, beloved Phalanx with the sheer stopping power of the hefty Carnifex. Although usually reserved for N7s and elite Alliance battalions, Arrete informed him that Murphy had had a number of the 'N7' brand weapons shipped to the Cambrai by the Alliance embassy.

"Well, your shooting's still good," Arrete nodded. "We can't test long range in here, it's too small, but I reckon that was good enough."

"How'd I do overall?" Cash asked.

"Twenty-eight out of thirty. Not bad for a man coming back from ocular surgery. Do you think you can manage hand-to-hand training?"

"Gladly. I'm guessing that's what these two are here for?"

As he spoke, he nodded to their two companions in the room – Andersen was fiddling with his omni-tool at the edge of the sparring ring, while Raziel Mac'Tir lounged against the far wall, watching proceedings with his arms folded.

"Yes," Arrete affirmed. "We needed another hand-to-hand fighter to go a round with you. Someone who could match your skill, your fighting style... Vor Hebat would have been the best match, but he's in hospital on the Presidium. Raziel here is the next best thing."

"How flattering..." the drell smiled, standing up straight and moving towards the ring. "I'll go easy on your chest, human. I don't want to aggravate your injuries..."

"Noted," Cash replied. "So, what do we do? Just get in the ring and fight?"

"In a minute," Andersen interjected. "The ring's usually for fistfights, but neither of you fight like that. You use blades, and obviously, they're not safe for a friendly sparring match. Mac'Tir's going to be using a stun stick" – the drell grabbed the little steel baton from his belt to illustrate that point – "and Ethan? I've sent a program to your omni-tool. It should set your omni-blades to stun, so to speak. We'll be counting points from the sidelines. First to five wins."

The sentinel nodded, as did his drell opponent, and after a moment's delay while Cash installed the omni-blade program, they stepped up to the ring, dropping into fighting stances. Mac'Tir crouched low, legs apart, arms out wide. Ethan, by contrast, stood in what felt like a boxer's stance – his bandaged midriff was a small hindrance to agility, and it was far easier to stand upright, head back, side-on to Mac'Tir with one foot in front of the other. The sentinel popped his omni-blades out, and opposite him, the drell pressed a little button on the baton's handle, causing it to _crackle_ with electricity.

"And... fight!" Andersen yelled, from the sidelines.

Without further ado, the two combatants lunged at each other. Mac'Tir swung high with his baton, and Ethan was pleasantly surprised to find that his fighting instincts, though rusty, were still intact – he darted back, avoiding the swing by inches, spun around to his off-side, and came around three-sixty degrees to land a vicious backhand with his right blade. It slammed into Raziel's flank, just under his outstretched arm, and the drell hopped away with a curse.

"Score for Cash. One to nothing," Arrete called. "Impressive start."

They circled around again, with the drell delaying for a few moments to allow the electric shock to dissipate from his arms. When he was recovered, he darted in again, stabbing low-

Ethan went to block, sensing another easy point, only to realise that the assassin was feinting, and expertly so. As the sentinel struck down with his right blade, he was parrying a strike that was no longer there – Raziel had whipped the baton away, and as he span around, Ethan had to make a desperate swing with his left to block the drell's next strike. That threw his left arm away, leaving him wide open – Raziel darted in, and slammed the point of the baton into his stomach, doubling him over.

"Score for Mac'Tir. One to one."

With the electricity still seemingly _crackling _over his midriff, Ethan lunged in again, eager to revenge himself upon the drell. He quickly found out, however, that haste was not to be recommended. The stunning blow hadn't just been painful, it had dulled his nerves and his reflexes, and Mac'Tir swept forward with a lightning-quick combo:

_Left_, and Ethan's right arm was swept useless to one side. _Right_, and his other arm was knocked away too. _Left_ once more, and the baton swept upwards into his jaw, causing a _jolt _of electricity to rattle his teeth, before he collapsed sideways to the ground.

"Score for Mac'Tir. One to two. Are you alright?"

"Fine," Cash grunted. "Just... give me a minute."

He smacked the side of his head with an open palm, trying to rid himself of the blurriness that had fallen over his field of vision – he could only assume that the stun stick had interfered with his cybernetic eye. After about thirty seconds, however, it faded, and he scrambled back into a fighting stance, ready for the next exchange.

Clearly, Mac'Tir found it a trivial matter to separate his two blades and strike between, so instead, Ethan stood side-on, using his right-hand weapon like a fencer's sabre rather than striking with dual blades.

That seemed to work a little better. As he stepped up, daring Mac'Tir to attack, the drell accepted that dare – he leapt forward, swinging at chest-level. Ethan smashed the incoming blow away with a back-handed swipe, then darted in, switched feet so that his left hand now led, and smashed his right-hand blade into Mac'Tir's midriff with a stabbing motion.

"Score for Cash. Two all," Arrete declared, as the drell stumbled away to recover.

The next time they came together, both fighters had gotten into their stride, and it was a furious exchange to say the least. Mac'Tir caught Ethan by surprise, striking with his free fist rather than his baton, and as he smacked the sentinel in the head, dizzying him, he had a clear shot at his torso – the stun stick crashed into his midriff once again, causing him to double up, but this time he didn't back down to recover. He lunged forward with a surprise of his own, grabbing Mac'Tir around the waist and dragging the assassin down to the floor. They rolled over, and Cash managed to swipe out with his left blade as he did, stinging the drell's neck and causing him to cry out.

"Score each side. Three all," came the call from the sidelines, but once again they were diving in without waiting to recover. Ethan was on his feet first, using his momentum to roll onto his feet and lunge at the still-stunned Mac'Tir. He raised his right, preparing to strike down, and-

_Crack_. The drell brought up one long, powerful leg, catching him under the jaw and knocking him back just long enough for Raziel to swing up into a standing position. Vicious though the kick had been, it was with his leg, not his weapon, so the score remained at three-three.

They came around to face each other, Ethan swung with his right, and quite suddenly he found that his arm was just a fraction too short to reach the drell's chest. Raziel side-stepped, swung out, and _cracked _his baton into the human's ribs, winding him.

"Score Mac'Tir. Three-four," Andersen announced, but even as he spoke, the drell was plunging forwards for the final blow. Ethan did the only thing he could – he ducked beneath a wide, high sweep of the assassin's baton, then hurled his weight forwards and towards the ground. His shoulders crashed right through Mac'Tir's legs, tossing the drell into the air – he turned over once, and smashed down on the steel floor. Cash was on him before he could get to his feet – he slammed bodily into Mac'Tir, landing a blow to the chest with his right-hand blade, and knocking them both out of the ring.

"Score Cash," Arrete called, as the two fighters scrambled to their feet, trying to get back into the ring and shake off their respective blows. "Four to four."

As he and Mac'Tir came to face each other once again, Cash couldn't help but feel a little proud. The drell was probably the best bladesman on the ship, so to be holding him in a sparring match while recovering from surgery... that felt like an achievement. He couldn't help thinking, however, that the drell was going easy on him. He'd said as much before the fight, and neither had used their biotics – Raziel's being stronger, they probably would have given him an edge in a real fight...

They dove in again for the final exchange, scrapping with all that remained of their strength. Cash parried two swings from his opponent, before swinging both blades up and over his head, bringing them down together in a vicious overhead strike. To his frustration, Mac'Tir simply blocked it, slamming his baton up with both hands. His arms buckled slightly, but he regained the momentum, throwing Cash back with a quick flick of his arms.

The sentinel staggered back, parried another blow, then launched into a counterattack, stabbing at Raziel's head with his left blade. The drell sidestepped once more, span around, and launched a low sweep that forced Ethan to leap for all his worth. He managed to avoid it, however, and landed facing the drell once more.

Raziel went for another wide swing of his baton, but Ethan parried it away to the left, simultaneously moving in close to his opponent. If he could press himself into Mac'Tir, he would negate the drell's advantage in reach – he slammed bodily into the assassin's midriff, and brought his front shoulder up quickly, slamming it into his opponent's chin with a harsh _crunch_. The assassin was stunned. Ethan shifted his weight to the left, swivelled on his feet, and lashed out with his right arm – the blow connected, causing Raziel's head to shudder on his neck as he keeled over to one side. A moment later, however, Ethan's brain caught up to reality, and he became aware of a powerful _jolt _passing through his own body. In the same instant he'd slashed the drell's neck, his adversary had slammed the shock baton into his stomach. Now, he couldn't help but double over, and after a few moments of struggling vainly against gravity, he caved to his knees – the fight was over, and the adrenaline that had kept him standing was quickly draining away.

"Point apiece," Arrete muttered, pulling Ethan to his feet as Andersen helped Mac'Tir up. "Five to five. I think we'll call that a draw, gentlemen..."


	220. Shore Leave Presidium 5

_**SSV Cambrai, Presidium Docks**_

_**Day 2, 0200**_

The Cambrai was a very different place at night. The corridors, usually a hive of activity, were deserted, and even the commandoes' bunk area fell quiet after a certain hour. It was even stranger now, while docked – the usual din of the engines was gone, although the gentle, persistent _thrum _of the mass effect core was still present in the background. For some reason – perhaps it was to do with his biotics – Thorne found the eezo core's gentle pulsating to be almost _relaxing_, a steady rhythm in his blood. Some nights, when the engineering crew was gone, he just sat by the core and meditated until dawn.

Tonight, however, he had a purpose, and it made not getting caught more important than ever. To clarify, there was nothing _wrong _with wandering in the ship in the middle of the night, but bumping into a fellow insomniac pretty much damned you to conversation and explanation, neither of which he particularly wanted to partake in.

It was surprisingly difficult to get around the ship at night without being caught. For a start, there was the skeleton crew up in the CIC, usually consisting of Erika and Akito – who slept in the cockpit, if they slept at all – a navigation officer, and a gunnery operator. Then, there were the other commandoes. Poor Kyra had almost caught him several times due to her insomnia, and she wasn't the only one who sleep seemed to elude – whether they realised it or not, Ethan Cash, Irving Wolfe and Victor Cross all seemed to be troubled in the night. Curiously, Dr O'Leiph – who spent her nights in the med bay – also seemed to have trouble sleeping, even when she didn't have patients, and her resting place on the crew deck was much harder to avoid. Trickiest of all, though, were the salarians, Lynus and Arrete. Their quick metabolism meant they only needed between two and four hours' sleep a night, which left them roaming the ship for several hours while the others were asleep. Luckily, they tended to keep out of the way – the former spent most of his time working in the armoury, or fiddling on his omni-tool, while the latter usually confined himself to the target range to work on his aim.

As he slid out across the crew deck, eternally conscious of the datapad in his pocket, Thorne was simply looking for a terminal he could access for a few minutes. The main battery seemed to be the best bet, although it meant skipping past both the med bay and the occupied crew quarters. Both, however, were silent – there were no crewmen making trips to the restroom, and Dr O'Leiph was sleeping peacefully at her desk, which made his trip to the prow rather easy. He slipped through the mess hall, marched down the corridor that led to the battery, and darted inside, shutting the door behind him and making for the terminal by the wall. Now, did it have comm capabilities... ah, it did. Perfect.

He whipped the precious datapad out of his pocket, and quickly dialled in the terminal address Bori'Danis had given him aboard the Llorens, checking cautiously over his shoulder as he did. The terminal was quiet for a minute, giving off an infinitesimal _buzz _of static, before finally:

"Hello?"

A white hood, lined with scarlet, bobbed into view, and Thorne's heart leapt into his mouth. He leaned forward, out of the gloom cast by the dim emergency lighting, and the quarian girl's eyes bulged beneath her visor.

"Mal?" she whispered, very quietly. "Is that you?"

"It's me, Denn," he nodded.

"How did you get this address?"

"We ran into a quarian ship, the Llorens. One of the crew gave me a contact number for your ship's comm station, and I know how you like to run the midnight shift..."

"I... err... _wow_. You really wanted to talk to me, huh?"

"_Alright, Thorne," _the biotic's brain muttered. _"This is the crucial bit. Sweep her off her feet. Tell her you missed her, you had to talk to her, hell, tell her you love her..."_

"We helped the Llorens out of some trouble with the geth. I wanted to make sure they made it back alright."

"Oh..." Denn murmured, the disappointment palpable in her voice.

"_Attaboy..." _his brain goaded, sarcastically. He put it to the back of his thoughts, however, as she continued:

"The Llorens returned to the flotilla this morning. A little worse for wear, and with a few fatalities, but they made it back, at least. The captain never mentioned the Alliance, though..."

"I'll bet he didn't," Thorne growled, darkly. "I suppose he beat the geth single-handedly?"

"Pretty much..." she sighed. "I _thought_ there was something off about his story."

"A little doubt can go a long way, Denn. Can you sow some seeds, cut his ego down a little?"

"I... sure. Look, Mal, I can't talk for much longer. My shift's nearly over. I'm sending you my rota – maybe next time I'm up here alone... you could call me again? It'd be nice to talk..."

"Yeah, of course," he nodded. "Speak soon, Denn."

The comms channel flickered once, and died with a little disconnecting _beep_. Thorne simply stood there for a moment, taking it all in, before he muttered, quietly:

"Damn it..."

That was about all he could say, and all that needed saying. He wiped the records of his transmission, shut the terminal down, and turned on his heel, sweeping out of the battery. He strode along the little corridor outside, mulling over the whole bloody situation in his head as he approached the mess hall-

And stopped dead, as he realised he had company.


	221. Shore Leave Presidium 6

_**SSV Cambrai, Presidium Docks**_

_**Day 2, 0215**_

"Oh," Klara murmured, from the mess hall table. "I'm sorry, I didn't know you were... what are you doing here?"

"What are _you _doing here?" he retorted. "Aren't you meant to be in the med bay?"

"Dr O'Leiph let me out this afternoon," she explained.

"And you're up at this hour because...?"

"I..." Klara hesitated, as Thorne noticed the bottle in her hand for the first time.

"Dextro wine," the biotic noted, coming to sit opposite her. "Those must be some bloody bad dreams..."

"Bad memories, actually. I can't get Gol'Chera out of my head..."

"Oh?"

"Don't get me wrong, I'm not sad he's dead, it's just... the whole thing's burned into my memory. I'm still not used to killing, and Kan killed him so... suddenly. His old childhood friend, just... _bam_, gone. And messily, too. He didn't shoot him, or stab him. He smashed his skull..."

Thorne let out a noise that was half-sigh, half-grumble, and reached for his belt for the best prop he could find. To say Klara looked _bemused _was an understatement, as he grabbed his axe and chucked it onto the table.

"You know why I use that thing?" he muttered.

"No, why?"

"Because I can _feel _it. A little resistance from human flesh, the crunch of bone... I get to feel every little detail of the kill. I'm sure Mac'Tir would give you the same speech about that blessed sword of his, and I'm _damn _sure Kan feels the same about that bloody wrench. A bullet isn't personal. Tearing someone apart... that is. And when you've been betrayed, it's nothing if not personal... Do you see what I'm trying to say?"

"I... yeah..." she sighed, as if she didn't _want _to agree, but did anyway. "It's not just Gol, though. Now I'm awake, I think my brain's decided it's a good time to get all the shitty memories out of the way in one go..."

"Such as?"

"I don't want to talk about it..."

"Clearly you do, or you wouldn't have mentioned it," Thorne pointed out, with softness that for some reason only seemed to emerge when dealing with quarians – or children, for that matter... "Go on, I'm listening."

"Alright," Klara nodded... and then it all seemed to pour out. "It's mostly to do with my Pilgrimage. I spent it on Terra Nova, working as a miner. It was... crappy, to say the least. They paid me half wages, and I spent it all on the dextro paste they charged me double for. After a year and a half, I'd made about two hundred credits, all in all."

"Wow... sounds rough," he murmured, feigning surprise. In reality, he wasn't in the _least _surprised. Everyone, including his people, had an unspoken tendency to treat the quarians like dirt... There were exceptions, of course, but as with all exceptions they were few and far between.

"That was the worst of it, money-wise," she continued. "But after eighteen months, I got a new job. I heard they were looking to take on miners for an off-planet contract. I had an exosuit already, and I was willing to work for reduced pay if they paid for my food, so they snapped me up... and that's how I ended up mining on Asteroid X57."

Thorne couldn't stop his eyes from bulging at that news. X57 had become infamous among humanity after the batarian terrorist attack on Terra Nova, but he had never actually _met _a survivor of the incident. He certainly hadn't expected that survivor to be a quarian...

"The batarians blew through my section before I knew what was happening. They took us hostage, and threw us into one of the old storage rooms..."

"Bastards," Thorne grumbled, under his breath.

"You really hate batarians, don't you?" Klara muttered, distractedly.

"Batarian slavers killed both of my parents," he growled. "After I left the Alliance, I killed so many batarians, the Hegemony placed a bounty of half a million credits on my head... But we weren't discussing me. What about X57?"

"Well, you already know what happened," she shrugged. "Everyone does. Commander Shepard swept in and saved the day. We all got out alive, or most of us, at least... And most importantly of all, I met a guy..."

"A guy?"

"Adam Zivas," Klara smiled, and even beneath the visor, he recognised _that _smile. "He was a security guard for the mining project. The batarians shot him and dumped him in with us – I fixed up his wounds, tended to him, and after the project ended... he let me move in with him."

"_Well doesn't that sound familiar?" _Thorne's brain jeered. _"Quarian girl falls for a big, strong human man? I wonder if he was as big a jackass as you..."_

"I lived with him for a couple of years," the quarian continued. "He taught me how to use a gun, how to defend myself, and he gave me a roof over my head while I gathered up money for a Pilgrimage gift."

"Sounds like the two of you were close."

"We were. I... I loved him, and he loved me. I just don't think either of us quite realised it, not until it was too late."

"What happened?" the biotic replied, not entirely sure that he wanted to hear the answer. Sure enough...

"The Reapers happened. They hit Terra Nova a few weeks after Earth. Adam... got a tip off from an old Alliance friend. He got a space on one of the evac ships when the first wave hit, but..."

"He gave it to you?" Thorne guessed, as she trailed off.

She nodded.

"He shoved me onto the ship, emptied his bank account into mine, and ran off to help the militia... I still haven't quite forgiven him for that..."

"He saved your life," the biotic scowled, bluntly. "What's there to forgive?"

"When he stayed, he took away the best thing _in _my life. I couldn't just go back to normal with him gone. When the evac ships took us to the Sixth Fleet, I wanted to enlist, to avenge him. The Migrant Fleet sure isn't fighting the Reapers, but the Alliance is, and I thought I could help. I'm a quarian, though, so the only way I could get into the Alliance forces was as a specialist... on a joint operations crew."

"And that's how you ended up on the Cambrai," he concluded.

"You were short on engineers, I'm a damn good one. It didn't take long for one of the Alliance officers to put two and two together and recommend me."

Stunted silence followed that – Klara had reached the end of her tale, and there wasn't much either of them could add to the discussion. It wasn't awkward, per se, more like... _final_. There was a definite feeling in the air that that particular branch of the conversation was over, never to be revisited.

"I'm meant to be forgetting this shit," Klara sighed, finally, shaking her head and reaching for her bottle once more. "Come on, your turn."

"Err... I don't really do this... sharing and _caring_ thing," Thorne muttered.

"No shit... but I just poured my heart out. The least you can do is tell me _something_."

"Like what?"

"Like... how you met that quarian girlfriend of yours?"

"_What?_" Thorne scowled.

"Oh, come on, you told us you had a quarian _friend _back on the Llorens," Klara murmured, sardonically.

"I've dealt with the flotilla several times," he retorted. "I have lots of quarian _friends_."

"Your pupils are dilated, and your heart rate's up. Unless it's _me_ having that effect – and it had better not be – you just saw someone you like."

"I was sneaking around the ship at night. It's tense, not to mention _dark_. That explains the heart rate and the pupils rather better than a schoolboy crush."

"According to my _omni-tool_," she smirked, waving the offending article in front of his face, "the forward battery just sent a transmission to the Far Rim. Right where the flotilla's gathering..."

"Damn it..." he growled. "If I tell you, will you get off my back?"

"I promise," Klara nodded, then added, sarcastically, "I know how painful it is for you to show emotion..."

Thorne just scowled at her, ignored the comment, and began:

"Her name's Denn'Yilaz. She's a navigator on one of the Civilian Fleet's transports. I met her... about five years ago, now, while I was still with the Alliance. I was nineteen-"

"Hold on," Klara interrupted. "You're _twenty-four? _Keelah..."

"Why does that _always _surprise people?" Thorne scowled.

"Because it means you're younger than _me!_ The others said you were some prolific mercenary with hundreds of kills to your name..."

"You can fit a lot of killing into five years," he shrugged. "But _back to the story_, I was nineteen and leading a squad for the first time, out on some colony world in the Traverse. We were investigating reports of a starship crash, and after five hours of searching in a bloody snowstorm, we found it – a quarian freighter had come in to take on supplies and been shot down by pirates half way to the port. But as soon as we reported the ship wasn't human, my CO ordered us to withdraw. Said quarians 'weren't our responsibility'."

"Bosh'tet..." Klara murmured, under her breath.

"I disobeyed him, and the others followed me. I led them down to the crash site and we rescued as many of the crew as we could. Between the cold and infection, we only managed to save seven out of a crew of fourty... One of them was this little quarian girl. I say girl, she was about nineteen, but she looked so small... a girder had fallen over her, almost crushed her. My men couldn't lift it, but I was a biotic, and a strong one at that. I pulled her out of the wreckage myself."

"And that was Denn?" the quarian guessed.

"Yes. I didn't think anything of it at the time. The freighter was emitting a distress signal, and another quarian ship came to investigate – we got the survivors on board, sent them on their way, then went back home to face the music... My CO tried to have me court-marshalled, but I went AWOL before the trial even began. I was sick of the Alliance. They'd been _studying _me since I was ten – I was fed up of the scientists checking up on me, fed up of being transferred away from any commander who might put me in the firing line instead of coddling me as a _specimen_. I left, and went into the Terminus as a mercenary. A damn good one, too."

"Half a million on your head," Klara nodded.

"Exactly. The point is, I ran into her again. She left on her Pilgrimage a few months after we saved her, and she came to Omega just as I started taking contracts there. We bumped into each other, she remembered me, I looked out for her, and it sort of... grew from there."

"Until now," she observed. "What changed?"

"Duty," he laughed, wryly. "The flotilla called all pilgrims back to prepare for war. And she went. We still talk, but she's_ much _further away than I'd like. Which leads me to wonder... why aren't you there too? They must have called you back as well, they called _all _the pilgrims back..."

"I..." Klara hesitated. "That's enough talking for tonight."

"Alright," Thorne murmured, sensing he'd touched a nerve as she stood up and made to leave. "Get some sleep, Klara."

"You too, Malcolm."

"It's Thorne," he muttered, on instinct. He mentally chided himself for doing it, but there was only one person who ever used his real name...

"Oh. Well, good night, Thorne..."


	222. Shore Leave Presidium 7

**A/N: Sorry for the lack of an update yesterday, I was out all evening and didn't have any chapters in reserve. Updates *should* be carrying on as normal from now, though...**

* * *

><p><em><strong>SSV Cambrai, Presidium Docks<strong>_

_**Day 2, 1020**_

"Alright gentlemen," Tyco muttered, gravely. "The situation is dire. In the last seventy-two hours... not a single drop of alcohol has passed my lips. Not one lone beer, or a solitary sip of spirits... Time to break the siege."

"Inspiring..." Kan'Sura sighed, sarcastically. The quarian had been let out of the med bay that morning, and was stood with his arms folded, watching Tyco sceptically. The guys had assembled in one corner of the hangar, as Tyco addressed them – aside from Andersen and Kan, who were sat on cargo crates a few feet from the sniper, Vimes and Cash were lounging off to either side, and Malcolm Thorne was watching on quietly from the back of the bunk area.

"Scoff all you want," the sniper replied, "but I'm declaring war on sobriety!"

"A true inspiration to the children..." Andersen chipped in, with an attempt at the same withering sarcasm his quarian friend had perfected.

"Oh, come on..." Tyco groaned, enthusiasm turning to desperation in the bat of an eyelid. "I need a wingman! Someone, anyone? I'll look like a jerk if I'm hanging around a club on my own!"

"You'll look like a jerk _wherever_ you're hanging around," Vimes rumbled, "but hell, I've got nothing better to do... I'm in."

"Great," the mercenary, grinning, perking up again – he was up and down like a bloody kangaroo this morning – then mused: "Where should we go? Down to the wards?"

"Nah, keep it on the Presidium. Ain't often you get to be up here, might as well take advantage of it. How about Purgatory?"

"Purgatory? Ain't that a prison ship? You know, the one that blew up?"

"No, it's a big club just down from the commons," the C-Sec officer replied. "Lots of patrons, a half-decent bar, and if I remember rightly from my patrols, the junkies are subtle enough that I _won't _have to arrest them off-duty."

"Alright..." Tyco murmured, a little warily. Then, he turned to the others, and added: "Andersen? Kan? Coming with?"

"Not if you paid me," the engineer scowled. "The first time I went out to a club with you, you passed out from drinking ryncol. The _last_ time, the bloody ship blew up. I'm getting some drinks on the quiet, Murphy's booked us a hotel."

"A hotel?"

"The Paradiso," he explained. "He's rented out two floors for us to stash our kit and... y'know..."

"Get pissed?"

"Well, _yeah_... Point is, if you can still walk by the time you leave Purgatory, head for the Paradiso, we'll all be there."

"Will do," Sam nodded, as he and Tyco strode off across the hangar. "I'll try to keep this idiot away from the heavy stuff..."

As they disappeared into the elevator, and Thorne _dissolved _back into the shadows – for a big man, he had an uncanny knack for going unseen – Andersen and Kan'Sura were left to themselves. The quarian was toying lazily with his omni-tool, but the engineer had a question burning into his mind, and after a few minutes, he simply had to ask it.

"Hey, Kan?"

"Yes?"

"You and Klara. Anything going on there?"

That got his attention. The exile merely stared at him for a moment, as if stunned, then muttered:

"Where did that come from?"

"I don't know... When we went onto the Llorens she hated you, and now she's done a complete u-turn. She can't shut up about you..."

"I _did_ save her life," Kan pointed out, then continued: "There's nothing going on, though. She feels more like... a little sister, to be honest. And I'm not quite sure how I know that..."

"What do you mean?"

"The Migrant Fleet has to maintain zero population growth to preserve resources," the quarian explained. "As such, quarian parents are only allowed to have one child. So... I don't actually _know _what having a sister feels like, not a blood one at least, but I think this is it..."

"Right... Good to know."

"Why did you ask?" Kan murmured, suspiciously. "Do you-"

"No," Andersen interrupted, firmly. "But Murphy told me to look after her, on the battlefield and off."

"And that includes warding me off?" his friend guessed, shrewdly, with more than a little hurt in his voice. "Like I said, I'm not interested, but... seriously?"

"You're an exile, Kan, and she's not. If something _did _happen-"

"Which it won't."

"Which it won't... but if it did, you'd both be screwed when this all ends and the fleet calls her back."

"When this all ends..." Kan laughed, darkly. "That's a depressing thought."

"You're telling me," Andersen sighed. "If we all live through this... well, put it this way – half of the crew are killers, and the other half are lawmen. I'd rather die than have to fight... well..."

"Me," the quarian shrugged. "And Tyco, Thorne, Mac'Tir... Us on one side, you, Sam, Murphy and Saffiya on the other. Personally, I'm hoping for some big charge to death or glory. Either I'll be dead and none of this'll matter, or I'll have killed enough Reapers that they pardon my ass for being a mercenary..."

"How cheerful," a deep voice rumbled, from the shadows. Andersen and Kan wheeled around to see Thorne approaching from the shadows, and as he reached them, the biotic added: "I look forward to rotting next to you."

"You'll be laughing on the other side of your face when we're all wearing medals," Kan smirked. "Besides, the Alliance wants you alive, doesn't it? Because of your... _thing_."

"My biotics? Ah, I think they've given up. If they were still interested, they would've just cut me open in a lab by now..."

"How cheerful," Andersen echoed, smiling sarcastically. "What do you want, Thorne?"

"I couldn't help overhearing your conversation. About Klara? I was talking to her last night, and she told me something you might want to hear..." – he paused, and seemed to go off on a tangent – "Can you hack Alliance records, Andersen?"

"Please," the engineer scoffed. "I've been editing my own references for years..."

"Alright," Thorne nodded. "I need you get into the Terra Nova colonial records. Look for a guy named Adam Zivas."


	223. Shore Leave Presidium 8

_**Purgatory, Presidium**_

_**Day 2, 1240**_

"Alright," Tyco rasped, shaking off the latest in a long line of tequila shots. "My turn... Brunette in the corner booth."

"Which _one?_" Sam muttered, looking at the gaggle of women filling the corner booth his friend was pointing to.

"Red dress, black belt," his sniper colleague grunted.

"No way."

"What? Why not?"

"Come on, look at them! Young woman, and half a dozen of her girlfriends crowding round her? She's on the rebound... That's an emotional time bomb that shore leave just _isn't _long enough to defuse."

"Well, you know the rules. You ain't gonna take the dive? _Drink_."

Begrudgingly, Sam measured out another shot of tequila, grimaced, and knocked it back, feeling the liquid _burn _on the back of his throat as it went down – the trick, he found, was to swallow it as quickly as possible. Damage limitation, really. He'd been forced to take four shots so far, while Tyco was chugging them willingly, much to his amazement, and was well over a dozen.

"God, that stuff burns..." Sam muttered.

"Should've talked to her, then," Tyco shrugged.

"Says you," he retorted. "You haven't spoken to a single girl I've pointed out!"

"You've only spoken to _one_."

"Yeah, and her _boyfriend _nearly crushed my skull. Thanks for that, by the way..."

"Ah, that was classic..." the other man snorted. "How'd you get out of that, anyway?"

"I told him I was giving her your number."

A moment's silence followed, before the two of them burst into a fit of laughter. The bartender – a suave-looking human male with more than a little Italian in him, like Tyco – shot them a few strange looks, but after a minute or so they settled down, and Sam began to peer around the room once more.

"Blonde by the lower bar," he suggested, looking down at the lower wing of the club, which sat beneath the main floor.

"Nah," Tyco shrugged.

"Redhead on the dance floor?"

"Not my type."

"Your type is _female_," Sam scowled. "Alright, alright... third time lucky... ah! Alliance marine just coming in the door – black hair in a ponytail, slim figure..."

"Where?" Tyco muttered, wheeling around with some enthusiasm. Only as he swivelled around to see Sam's grinning face did he realise he had been duped.

"Interesting..." the C-Sec officer smiled, marvelling at how well his verbal trap had worked.

"You rat bastard," the other sniper grumbled, under his breath.

There was silence once again, for a minute or so, before Sam finally brought himself to say the obvious:

"You're hung up on Vanyali."

"Am not," Tyco retorted, petulantly.

"Then how come you've been sat here drinking with me instead of going after a girl?"

"I... you're a bastard, you know that?"

"Yes, I think you've mentioned it once or twice. You're still not answering my question."

"Alright, maybe... maybe I like her a _bit_. Physically..."

"Gee, how charming..."

"There was nothing _charming _about it in the first place," Tyco frowned. "It was just rutting, she said as much herself..."

"And you believed her?"

"Huh?" the big merc grunted, looking up from his glass.

"You're an idiot sometimes..." Sam sighed. "Look at you and Vanyali. You're both tough, you're both independent, and when it comes to emotions, you're both bloody useless. You both know you like each other, but neither of you wants to admit it, so you both try to make it physical. She says it's just rutting so she won't put you off, and you go along with it for the same bloody reason..."

"So what if I _do_ like her?" the other man rumbled, with a hint of confrontation stirring in his voice. "She doesn't want a relationship, and I sure as hell don't need one..."

"You don't _need _one?" he scowled. "The hell d'you mean?"

"I'm a solo operator, Sam. I live alone, fight alone, and I'll die alone. It's better that way. I don't spend my whole time trying to protect someone on the battlefield, I just get the job done."

"You watch our backs, though," Sam pointed out, as his brain quietly added: _"Don't you?"_

"'Course I do," Tyco shrugged. "But you're friends and comrades. We all know we might die, and we're all prepared for it, that's just how it works. It'd be different, having someone out there with me who I _loved_."

"And you think that just because you haven't admitted it, you don't love her? Like it or not, buddy, you'll feel the same about her whether you tell her or not. Might as well make the most of it before one of you _does _die."

"Real cheerful, Sam. But what am I meant to do? Walk up and tell her I like her? She'll laugh in my face..."

"You _really _think that? She's as smitten as you are, you idiot, ask anyone..."

They lapsed into awkward silence, and Tyco took another gulp of tequila. He was trying very hard not to meet Sam's gaze, and the former C-Sec officer got the distinct impression that he was going through a major mental debate.

"Alright..." Sam sighed, finally. "If I go and make a fool of myself chatting up that redhead, will you make a fool of yourself talking to Vanyali?"

"I... deal," Tyco nodded, with some reluctance.

"Well, here goes nothing, then," he chuckled, getting up from the bar and casting his gaze back to the girl on the dance floor. "Just do me a favour. Sober up before you talk to Vanyali. If you screw it up because the liquor's talking, I'll never hear the end of it..."


	224. Shore Leave Presidium 9

_**Presidium Commons, Presidium**_

_**Day 2, 1530**_

The Presidium commons were rather different to Raziel's usual haunts down on the wards. Compared to the hot, rather arid lower levels which he usually frequented, the commons were verdant and green – the purple nebula which surrounded the skyline on the wards was replaced by the bright blue of a simulated atmosphere, the streets were broad and clean, and the air was a little too moist for his liking, thanks to the lake and the flora that occupied most of the Presidium grounds.

It was quieter than the wards, however. There was less of a _throng_ of people in the streets, more a steady trickle of shoppers and VIPs. He certainly had enough space to isolate himself, even in this public place – he was leaning against a railing at the very edge of the section, looking out over the lakes and managing to dispel any onlookers from his imagination. As far as his mind was concerned, he was alone...

"Am I interrupting anything?" a low voice muttered, breaking the illusion as someone came to lean against the railing next to him.

He shook his head quietly, and turned to look at the newcomer – to his surprise, he saw a fellow drell's face looking back at him. It was the younger assassin, Ekris...

He'd fought alongside his fellow drell a few times now, on the Citadel and Cyone, and the younger man was undeniably talented – he was quick and agile, like Mac'Tir, but his biotics were a great deal stronger, and he had the added energy of youth. That youth, however, was the same reason the two hadn't spent much time together off the battlefield – it spilled over into almost _brash _self-confidence, which conflicted with Raziel's own, rather laid back attitude.

"How are you enjoying the Presidium?" he asked, wanting to say _something_.

"I'm not," his colleague grumbled. "The air's rotting my lungs, and sitting here for a week feels like a waste when we should be fighting..."

"You'll be grateful of it later," the older drell assured him. "A week of rest is invaluable when you go back to the battlefield."

"If you say so..."

They lapsed into silence, leaning on the railing a few feet apart and peering out over their surroundings. Neither, it seemed, had anything to say. Finally, however, after several minutes of a silence that was both awkward and tranquil, it was the younger of the two drell who spoke up:

"I used to hear stories about you," Ekris murmured. "Back home, on Kahje?"

"I didn't know that..." Mac'Tir replied, stoically. "What were these stories about?"

"Some legendary assassin travelling the stars, killing evils, doing Kahje proud... the tales don't really ring true."

"How so?" the elder assassin frowned, turning to face his younger colleague.

"Look at you," the younger man laughed, darkly. "You've abandoned your duty."

"_How?_" Mac'Tir repeated, coldly.

"You left the hanar's service to go freelancing," Ekris mused, "and now you're working on a _human _ship... You're just like that fool Krios, running off and leaving your own people behind..."

"You seem to be mistaking the hanar for _my own people_. Compact or no, they're aliens, just like the humans."

"You still turned your back on our people!" the adept snapped, accusingly.

"By helping to save their galaxy?" Raziel muttered. "Hardly... and if you're so dutiful to our people, why do you worship the hanar Enkindlers?"

"The hanar saved us," Ekris scowled. "Without them, we wouldn't exist. We owe them gratitude, and even if you won't show it, I will."

"There's a difference between gratitude and submission," the old assassin rumbled. "I gave the best years of my life serving the hanar – that's gratitude enough, and I refuse to cast our people's beliefs in the dirt to further pay that debt. If we don't keep our identity, then what was the point in our surviving at all?"

"Alright," the young man murmured, with a harsh edge to his voice. "If you're so committed to our people and their _identity_, why aren't you going home and starting a family?"

"What do you mean, Ekris?" Mac'Tir muttered. Then, he added, quietly: "And I implore you to think _very _carefully about what you say next..."

"You said your 'best years' with the hanar are over? Then go home, find a wife, and raise a family. Asari kids aren't going to restore our populations..."

_Whack_. Mac'Tir surprised even himself with the speed at which his self-restraint vanished. Before he quite knew what he was doing, he had dealt Ekris a sharp slap around the jaw, and was glaring fiercely at the younger assassin.

"Know your place or hold your tongue," he scowled. "Who I fall in love with is none of your business..."

"Love?" Ekris laughed, derisively. "It's curiosity, Raziel. She's an alien."

"And why do you care?" Mac'Tir growled. "She's beautiful, kind, powerful... what does her creed matter?"

"In case you'd _forgotten_," the younger man hissed, "our people number less than a million. If everyone ran off with an alien, we'd die out."

"Well, perhaps I've done enough to serve our people," Raziel retorted, harshly. "Perhaps I've killed for them, shed blood for them, and picked apart my very soul to allow myself to do so. Perhaps I don't _want _a drell child, a family back on Kahje..."

"Why not?" Ekris demanded.

"The more appropriate question is _why? _Why would I want to bring a drell son into this world? As my child, I expect he'd be approached to follow in my footsteps. From the age of six, he would be trained to kill, his body honed to break the most sacred of natural laws, the sanctity of another's life. From the age of ten, he would have other men's blood on his hands. If he even made it to the age of thirty – fourty if he was lucky – he would then be ravaged by Kepral's Syndrome. His lungs would shrivel and die inside his chest, damning him to a slow, painful death."

"You just described your own life, Kepral's aside," the young biotic pointed out.

"Yes..." Mac'Tir murmured, hesitantly. "And having lived it, I would not inflict it on another, especially not my own son."

They lapsed into silence once more, although this time it was good deal more awkward. Raziel wasn't sure how much time passed, but the simulated wind cycles changed at least five times, by his count, before he finally found the appropriate words:

"I'm sorry I hit you, Ekris. You just... crossed a line. I can stand any insult to myself, but I won't hear a word against her."

"Noted," the younger man grumbled.

"I see a lot of myself in you, you know that? It's a cliché, but it also happens to be true..."

Ekris merely shrugged, although his scowl was slightly less vicious than before, as Mac'Tir continued:

"You're a young man. You have just enough experience to forgo caution, but not enough to realise you _need _caution. You want to go out and prove your worth, make your name, make your mark... Give it ten years – you'll have taken your share of lives, lived your share of youthful years, and you'll wake up a wise man, wondering how in the world you became one. Your lungs won't be as good as they once were, you'll have to train twice as hard just to maintain your old skills... And the world won't seem quite so clear-cut."

If Mac'Tir had been expecting a reply, he didn't get one – a thoughtful expression bloomed over Ekris' face, and then, in utter silence, the younger assassin simply turned, and walked away...


	225. Shore Leave Presidium 10

_**Hotel Paradiso, Presidium**_

_**Day 2, 1840**_

"To Kyra," Vanyali murmured, holding up her beer, "and to Vresh."

"To Kyra and Vresh," the others echoed, raising their drinks. Then, there was silence, as the little huddle of marines each took a deep draught.

The suite they were sitting in was surprisingly empty – Murphy had booked two, clearly intending to have a boys' room and a girls' room, just like on their last shore leave. Even now, however, with the artificial sun dipping low in the artificial sky, most of the crew were elsewhere. They were roaming the streets, browsing the stores, or slotting in a few hours in the armoury or training room aboard the Cambrai.

That just left a half dozen or so of the crew to have a quiet drink in one of the hotel rooms. Vanyali herself was sat on a plush white sofa, with Ethan Cash next to her. Opposite them were Kan'Sura, Andersen and Araya, and off to one side, perched stiffly on a rather rigid chair – turians didn't _do _comfort – was Zel. All of them had beers in their hands – levo for the humans, dextro for Zel and Kan – and were drinking lightly. Enough to be merry, but not up to their usual standards. That in itself was surprising – usually, their heaviest bouts of drinking followed their heaviest losses, to dull the pain and move on.

As a way of distracting herself from the rather sombre mood and the memory of recent events, Vanyali was making rather deliberate eyes from Zel to Ethan, trying to get some reaction, _any _reaction, from the turian. Unfortunately, human _signals _didn't seem to translate to rigid, turian faces, and all she managed to do was convince Ethan she was utterly insane, twitching and nodding at him as she was, while Zel stubbornly continued to deny the attraction...

"Have you guys seen the new medical officer?" Araya piped up, clearly looking for _something _to break the silence.

"Alec's sister?" Andersen laughed. "Yeah... I hear he's having a fit. Says it's _inappropriate _for his little sister to be serving..."

Vanyali opened her mouth to contribute, to make some comment on the new medical officer's biotic prowess, but before she could, a subtle _hiss _signalled the opening of the door, and the arrival of another of their crewmates.

"Evening," Tyco grunted, as he entered the room. He looked as bulky as ever, even having swapped his combat armour for a black shirt and jeans, but there was something very _small _about his demeanour, as if cowed in some way...

"You're sober," the engineer noted, with more than a little surprise. "I thought you were getting pissed?"

"Been there, done that," the sniper shrugged.

"What about Vimes?"

"Copped off with some redhead," he laughed, weakly. "Smug git..."

"Fair enough," Andersen murmured. "Sit down, have a drink..."

"I'm good," Tyco muttered, to the shock of the entire room. And then: "Vanyali, can I have a word? In private?"

"Err... sure," she nodded, jumping up from the sofa. As she crossed the room towards the door, where he was waiting, Zel actually shot her a _wink_. Sure, human signals weren't so tricky _now_...

They flitted out of the room in silence – although she had no doubt the others started chattering the moment the door was shut behind them – and that silence persisted all the way down the corridor, to the staircase, and up to the floor above, which contained the smaller rooms Murphy had booked, four of them in all. Neither of them talked at all until they slipped into one of the little bedrooms, shut and locked the door behind them, and turned to face each other in the middle of the room.

"So..." Vanyali murmured, moving a little closer.

"Yeah..." he sighed. "I needed to talk to you."

With that, Vanyali took a cautious step back. To tell the truth, she'd been hoping for this – she hadn't _quite _felt the same since last time – but now her paranoia was going into overdrive. As much as her muscles were telling her to jump him, her brain was reciting a list of things that could be wrong, and eventually settled on the most convincing:

"_Shit," _it cursed. _"He thinks you're bringing _feelings_ into all this."_

"_I _am_," _she replied, inwardly. _"How else do you explain the fact that I'm here again?"_

"_Well don't tell _him _that," _her paranoia countered. _"You know he doesn't feel the same, if he knows you're sweet on him, he'll call it all off. It's just-"_

"Rutting," she blurted out, snapping back to reality. Tyco had stopped with his mouth half-open in speech, and was looking at her in mild surprise...

"What?" he muttered, confused.

"This..." Vanyali murmured, hating herself for it as she did. "It's just... rutting, right?"

"I..." the big sniper hesitated, as if searching her face in doubt.

"_Crap, he doesn't believe you!" _her brain interjected. _"Do something!"_

She closed the gap in a moment, pulling him close, and stared up into those big brown eyes once more as they edged towards the bed.

"Right," he nodded, unsmilingly, pulling her down. "Just rutting..."


	226. Shore Leave Presidium 11

**A/N: It's just one thing after another at the moment... I couldn't get access to a computer yesterday, hence the delay in updating. Shore leave should be over by next week (possibly even by next Monday) and then we'll be getting into the next operation - personally, I'm pretty bloody excited for it...**

* * *

><p><em><strong>Presidium Commons, Presidium<strong>_

_**Day 3, 0150**_

"Any more?" the pretty little asari waitress murmured.

"No, thank you," Liselle replied, swilling around the dark dregs in the bottom of her glass. The drink – whatever the heck it was – had gone slightly _thick_, and the tables around her were empty, but she was in no hurry to depart.

She liked the night, after all, and this was a rare chance for her to _get _it on shore leave – the wards were lit by permanent, work-all-day sunlight, with the simulated night cycle reserved as a luxury for the Presidium. As an old contact had once put it, _"Only the rich get to sleep."_

Her only company for the past hour had been the night staff – the sweet-looking asari was waiting on empty tables, while a rather more surly human worked the bar. Liselle wasn't quite sure _why _the cafe was open all hours, but whatever the reason, they were out here in the cold, open air, and without her they would have been utterly without business. Talk about a graveyard shift...

That train of thought was interrupted by a new arrival – a dark form brushed past Liselle, turned around, and came to sit opposite her at the table, much to her surprise.

"You're up late," Saffiya observed, calmly, fixing her with that rather piercing stare she possessed.

"I could say the same about you," Liselle replied. "Besides, I like the night... It _reveals _people. Levels the playing field, so to speak. Vanity, confidence, status... all gone, when the night falls..."

"A smoking gun can do the same thing," the other asari observed. "The reaction tells all – do they duck and scream, do they stand tall and carry on, do they pull a weapon of their own?"

"Interesting, but ultimately useless for most of us... Unlike you, justicar, we can't walk around flashing our weapons."

"Indeed... your life requires subtlety, not blatant action."

For some reason, that set alarm bells ringing in Liselle's mind. She stared hard at the justicar for a few moments, before replying, _very _cautiously:

"Quite. A good assassin thrives on subtlety, on shadows and silence. Just ask your... what is the drell? Boyfriend? Partner? Husband?"

"I... partner?" Saffiya replied, clearly caught off-guard. Then, she regained her composure, and added: "You make a fair point, but that's not what I'm talking about..."

That really did set Liselle's heart thumping. Her skin seemed to _tingle _anxiously, and she stared Saffiya very hard in the eyes – the justicar's blue bulbs stared back, unblinkingly, as she murmured:

"I know what you are, Ardat-Yakshi..."

As if by instinct – and quite without the approval of her logic – Liselle's hands went to arm themselves. Her left was half-way to her hip for a pistol and her right was engulfed in biotics before she even noticed the justicar's own hand – it was out across the table, brimming and swirling with blue fire, but held upright, a restraining, cautioning open palm...

"There's no need for that," she said, tone even and conciliatory. "I won't try anything..."

"Why _not?_" Liselle asked, instantly. After a moment's pause, however, she realised, and continued: "You can't, can you? You scrapped your code for the drell..."

"I didn't _scrap _it," Saffiya snapped. "I made an exception. And if I made one for him, I can make one for you. You've certainly proven loyal so far... All I want are a few answers, to a few questions."

"Go ahead and ask, then," the other asari muttered, drawing her hands meekly back to her side. She'd half-expected the justicar to try and blow her brains out, and even now, her nerves were itching to make some pre-emptive attack...

"Why aren't you still in your convent?" the justicar began. "I know the Reapers are encroaching, but several still survive – the monastery at Lesuss, the convents on Thessia..."

"I was never in a convent to begin with," Liselle admitted, begrudgingly. "By the time I knew exactly what I was, it was too late to take that way out."

"By the time you... how did you _not know _what you were?" Saffiya scowled, incredulously.

"The colony where I was born was attacked by slavers when I was twelve," she explained.

"Twelve? Barely an infant..."

"Indeed. My biotics hadn't even manifested at that age. I was one of the lucky ones – I was captured and taken as a slave, but I lived, and that was more than most managed... I spent four years as a concubine on some damn pirate base, until one day, my biotics began to present. Nothing big, just little fluctuations, enough to move small objects or light a room..."

"And your condition manifested with it," the justicar guessed, shrewdly. "An Ardat-Yakshi isn't detectable until puberty, around the same time an individual's biotic powers appear."

"_Exactly _the same time," she corrected. "One of the slavers came in to take his turn that evening. Big brute of a batarian. I didn't let him know about my new biotic power – it was a weapon, in potential at least, and they would have clamped me with dampeners like they did to the other asari... I just sat back, waited for everything to happen as usual – and before I knew it, the batarian was screaming. He was... burning up, writhing on the ground in pain, and I felt this... this _surge _of energy, like fire in my veins. Another slaver came running, a turian this time – before he could fire his gun, I slammed him into the wall. A little child, sixteen years old, and I shattered damn near every bone in his body. I had a hunch, and he wasn't dead yet, so I... melded with him. Just mentally, not physically, but it was enough. He died screaming too, and my powers swelled again."

"A brutal way to discover your powers," Saffiya observed, with something that sounded like _reproach _in her voice. "What did you do after that?"

"I... fought," Liselle shrugged. "Freed the others, killed every slaver I found. It came... naturally, killing. I was good at it. I was angry, powerful, vengeful... they didn't manage to stop us until the very end – someone set off a self-destruct program, probably trying to cut their losses and run. Only half a dozen of the slaves made it out, including myself. We drifted off into the Terminus, and I never looked back. I stuck to a life in the shadows, doing mercenary work – like I said, I was good at killing, and even better at surviving, so the work was easy... I didn't even realise I was different. I thought all asari were like... _this_. It was just another weapon."

"How did you find out the truth, then?"

"When I was about fifty – maybe closer to sixty – an asari commando team raided a pirate base I was visiting. They tried to kill me at first, called me a traitor for helping the pirates, but when they found out my name, it all changed – they tried to bring me in alive. I killed at least the half the team, but their leader got to me. Smart bitch by the name of Leira T'Lon – she snuck up on me while I was fixing up a wound, and got me with a stasis field..."

"I've heard of T'Lon," Saffiya murmured, quite to Liselle's surprise. "She's a huntress. A very powerful huntress..."

"Yeah, sure felt like it when she hit me," Liselle muttered, wryly. "Far as I can tell, she spent most of her career working for some matriarch or other. That's why she took me in alive – apparently, I had relatives I never knew about, even a grandmother who was a matriarch, of some import, apparently. They were getting ready to ship me back to Thessia for some grand reunion, the lost child and the forgiving grandmother... and then they ran a DNA test to be sure."

"And they discovered your condition."

"Exactly. That was how I first found out what an Ardat-Yakshi was – T'Lon took great pains to explain it to me before she threw me in a cell... She underestimated me, though – she captured me so easily, she thought I was weak... I blew out the barrier holding me in, and melded with the two guards outside my door. Then, I ran. One of the guards had high-level clearance – I ripped the neural implants out of her skull and made a beeline for the control room. Sabotaged all the systems to clear myself a route out – automated defences, surveillance... life support."

"Life support?"

"A side effect, and not an intentional one... I managed to steal a breather from one of the guards, but three quarters of the personnel suffocated."

"Stop."

"What?"

"You're talking to a _justicar_," Saffiya scowled. "I'd advise you not to tell me any more details of how you massacred our people. My self-restraint isn't _that _strong."

"It was them or me," Liselle muttered.

"Then it should have been you. Now move on."

"Fine, we'll... gloss over that one. After I escaped, I disappeared back into the Terminus. I knew what I was, what I could do, and it felt like even more of an edge. I started to use my... talents more and more..."

"Feeding is addictive," the justicar scowled. "Do it once, and you want more."

"It was professional, justicar, not personal. Say a merc boss needed killing. Instead of sending in a dozen krogan to tear his complex to pieces, the employer would send me. I'd act the escort, talk my way into his bed... and half way through the night I run out screaming 'He's having a heart attack!' Before the guards realise how he really died I'm out the door and half way home. I didn't see a problem in doing that, feeding on bad people. But anyone I cared about, anyone I... loved... never."

"Never?" Saffiya echoed, eyebrow rising.

"Never," she replied, firmly.

"Alright. Twisted morality... how nice. And you spent the rest of the time up until now as an assassin?"

"Assassin, mercenary, gun for hire... whatever the title, yes. I killed for money."

"And you fed?"

"Less and less, as I got older. I'm well into my matron stage now – that still applies, even for Ardat-Yakshi. I haven't fed in... several years, now."

"I see... Very well," Saffiya nodded, rising to her feet.

"So, what now?" Liselle asked, cautiously. "Are you going to kill me?"

"I won't go back on my word," the justicar shrugged, simply. "As long as you fight with us, you're safe, Ardat-Yakshi..."

She turned on her heel and made to walk away, but only made it half a dozen steps before something seemed to occur to her – she wheeled around, a firm scowl now passing over her features anew, and added:

"But if you _ever _feed aboard the Cambrai, I'll kill you where you stand."

"If I ever feed aboard the Cambrai," Liselle murmured, "then I'll _let _you kill me..."


	227. Shore Leave Presidium 12

_**Asari Embassy, Presidium**_

_**Day 5, 1900**_

It had been a few days since the Cambrai touched down on the Citadel, and the glorious, sunny weather that had ushered the crew in had been replaced by a steady, grey downpour. Artificial weather included artificial rain, unfortunately, and the captain's hair was sodden... A quick shuttle ride had taken Murphy from the crew's hotel to the embassy quarter, and from there, it had been just a few minutes' walk through the streets to the meeting point Tevos had specified, inside the asari embassy.

As Murphy strode into the embassy ballroom, sweeping the worst of the water from his jacket and hair, he found himself simultaneously amazed and disgusted... The cavernous hall was a rich gold which reminded him of the Council Chambers, as opposed to the grey and white of the Presidium in general, but even as he took in the opulent surroundings, and the lavish finery, his military logic was in awe at the fact that this was _still _a ballroom. Refugees were piling up in droves on the docks, and this complex, was easily big enough to house a few hundred, not to mention the kitchens that were supplying various delicacies to the congregation.

On a slightly less poignant note, he couldn't help thinking that most human men would have been bloody envious of him right now, because as he entered, he had a cluster of no less than fiveasari flitting along beside him, in all theirfinery. Maelar, Aeryn, Ria, Liselle and Saffiya had all agreed to crash the councillor's party, to see what information they could acquire from mingling. Surprisingly, the guards on the door hadn't seemed to bat an eyelid – they had just waved the lot of them on through as Murphy's 'entourage'.

"Saffiya, I think you missed the point of _formalwear_," Dr O'Leiph murmured from the corner of her mouth, as they stopped to survey the room.

She had a fair point. The other four asari were all resplendent in fine dresses, and Murphy had – _extremely_ reluctantly – allowed himself to be presented in a suit, after judging that his Alliance officer's uniform would have been formal enough, but would have run rather contrary to the councillor's desire for subtlety. Saffiya, on the other hand, looked no different to usual. Her armour had been cleaned rather thoroughly, but it was still undeniably _armour_, and she even had a pistol looped through her belt...

"The justicar order is a _warrior's _order," she sighed. "They'll trust me more armed and armoured than in a dress, doctor..."

"Fair point," Murphy nodded, bringing the conversation to a close as eyes began to turn to greet them. "Now _mingle_, people. Anything you can find out about the political situation, the war effort, the approach of the Reapers..."

"We won't let you down, captain."

"I know you won't. Now, I've got a meeting with the councillor. Good luck. And... try not to drink too much."

Murphy set off across the ballroom at a brisk march, eager to reach the private chambers at the back of the room before the asari guests began to wonder why a human was present... Aeryn and Maelar disappeared off towards the banquet table as a pair, while the other three asari fanned out across the room, mingling seamlessly with the party-goers. By the time Murphy slipped through the door to the chambers, his colleagues were indiscernible amidst the other guests, save for the instantly-noticeable justicar in her armour.

It took him just a few minutes to reach the location Tevos had specified – it was a little private room on the second floor, and as he approached, the door was illuminated by a great red sigil that informed him, in no uncertain terms, that the room beyond was out of access.

"_Power games," _his brain grumbled. _"Just wait, she's inside..."_

Sure enough, after about five minutes of waiting outside, Murphy saw the sigil flash from red to green, _beep _once, and disappear, as the door slid open.

"Come in, captain," a cool voice called, from within. He obeyed, ducking through the doorway into a rather dimly-lit salon – Councillor Tevos was by the door, with a half-empty wine glass in her hand, and she smiled ever-so-slightly at the sight of him, as she murmured: "I'm pleasantly surprised you came..."

"This briefing's important," he shrugged. "Cerberus is still out there, they're still a threat..."

"True. Unfortunately though, captain, we have bigger concerns..."

"What?"

"I apologise, but I may have... deceived you, slightly."

It was at that moment Murphy realised they weren't quite as alone as he had first thought. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw a dark shape shift on the plush sofa by the far wall, and wheeled around, going for the Eagle pistol tucked subtly into his waistband. As he finally recognised the figure on the sofa, however, he relented, gun dropping uselessly to his side.

"Councillor Sparatus," he murmured.

"Captain," the turian councillor nodded. "Rather quick on the draw, aren't we?"

"Never hurts to be cautious," Murphy replied, slipping the pistol back into his belt. "Cerberus taught me that..."

"Indeed..." Sparatus muttered.

"I apologise for the deception, captain," Tevos sighed, stepping up to his side. "But this is a rather... sensitive matter. Sparatus wanted to discuss it with you in person."

"Sensitive?"

"_Very _sensitive. I'm breaking about three different regulations by even _telling _you this."

"Telling me _what?_" Murphy frowned. "What's this about, councillor?"

"Palaven, captain. We're making our move."


	228. Shore Leave Presidium 13

_**Asari Embassy, Presidium**_

_**Day 5, 1905**_

"_Palaven?_" Murphy echoed, incredulously.

"Palaven," the turian councillor nodded. Tevos had retreated off to one side, watching on from the sidelines as the turian and the human stared at each other. "The hierarchy has dubbed it Operation Miracle – a counterattack to relieve the siege of Palaven."

"How the hell are you planning to do that?" the captain muttered. "Palaven's pretty much the hottest zone in the galaxy, Earth aside. The way I hear it, nothing you've done has even made a _dent _in the Reaper forces there."

"True enough," Sparatus grumbled, a little begrudgingly. "But a plan has been drawn up nonetheless. We can't let the Reapers bleed us dry any more – we take them out now, or we evacuate Palaven completely. As I'm sure you appreciate, the latter simply isn't an option..."

"I guess not... what's this plan, then?"

"It's... complex, captain. I'll tell you what you need to know, but some aspects of the plan are... secret-"

"No dice," Murphy interrupted, firmly. "You want my help, you give me the full plan."

"Captain, we're talking about the hierarchy's most crucial battle plans. Telling an alien crew would be paramount to treason."

"Then get a turian crew to do it," the human captain snapped. "Why do you even want our help, if you can't trust us as allies?"

"I want your help," Sparatus scowled, "because you're the only ones who _can _help. The asari" – he looked pointedly at Tevos – "and the salarians are holding out on us, and our own fleet doesn't have any stealth-capable vessels. Primarch Victus personally asked me to get the Normandy, but your Admiral Hackett told me she's on operations near the Perseus Veil. He recommended you instead."

"So we're the second choice?"

"Second is still ahead of the entire turian fleet, captain..."

Murphy paused for a moment, mulling it over in his mind. Palaven was a suicidal prospect, but at least it was a known value, unlike almost every other mission they had undertaken. And, dubious though he was over the turians' odds of success, if they _could _pull it off, it might well change the course of the war...

"What's this plan, then?" he muttered. The turian councillor broke into a fanged smile, and began to explain.

"It... begins on the ground, on Palaven itself. The citizen resistance has been holding out for some time against the Reaper ground forces – our cities are torn apart from orbit, but our soldiers can still hold their own against the husks. Since Coronati's retreat, when the planet was initially lost, our forces have been maintaining contact with the resistance via several quantum entanglement communicators linked to the major cities and outposts. The communicators have been falling one by one as the cities are wiped out, but we maintained connection long enough to put the first phase of our plan into action. As we speak, resistance members are leaking a fake battle plan to indoctrinated agents – it builds on Coronati's tactics during the fall of Palaven, with a single scout vessel sacrificing itself to provide FTL co-ordinates and tactical data for the fleet behind."

"The same tactics which lost Palaven in the first place," Murphy observed.

"Indeed... the Reapers will be confident of victory, but this is, in reality, a deception. Only a handful of resistance leaders know the true plan – even those spreading the rumours from street to street believe the fake plan to be real... If it were otherwise, our deception might be uncovered before the plan can be enacted."

"So you're trying to trick the Reapers?" Tevos interjected, and it occurred to Murphy that she was probably hearing the plan for the first time too, as a non-turian. "Bold..."

"_Bold_ is the only strategy that works against Reapers," Sparatus replied. "The Alliance have certainly done much to prove _that_. If all goes well, the Reapers will be expecting a lone vessel to recon their positions, followed by the bulk of our fleet. And that's exactly what they'll get."

"_What?_ I thought that was the fake plan?"

"It is... for the most part. The dreadnought Indomitable has volunteered for distraction duty – she will come out of FTL near one of Palaven's moons, and when the rest of the fleet moves in under the pretence of helping with repairs, they'll draw the space-bound Reapers out of orbit. At that stage, troop transports will jump in through the relay and make a beeline for the surface, carrying krogan teams..."

"Krogan?"

"Oh yes... we initially planned to send turian infantry, but the clans volunteered. I believe the great majority of them are spoiling for a fight, and where better than Palaven to fight? The krogan will land, cut in-roads through the Reaper ground forces, and hand off a number of sensitive packages to the resistance – fission devices, to be precise..."

"Nukes," Murphy muttered. "Are you planning what I think you're planning?"

"Quite possibly, captain... The resistance will allow themselves to be harvested, delivering these bombs _inside _the processing centres and the Reapers themselves. Then... they will detonate them."

"And blow the Reapers back into hell," the captain surmised. "You'll kill a lot of your own people, councillor. Resistance members, civilians..."

"Every turian knows the stakes," Sparatus said, firmly. "Wouldn't you die for Earth? They will go down as heroes and martyrs..."

There was a long pause, as both Murphy and Tevos took in what the turian councillor had said. It was a devilish gambit, fraught with risk, danger, and sacrifice, but...

"It just might work," Murphy concluded, aloud. "Although I still don't see how we fit into this plan?"

"You don't, captain. Not into the actual assault, at least... Your mission, if you deign to accept it, is more of a... preparation."

"Oh?"

"For Operation Miracle to be most effective, the resistance needs to move fast," the turian explained. "Delay too long, and the Reapers in orbit will simply burn through our fleet, break off, and move back to the surface to crush the ground teams. Those bombs need to be inside their targets within an hour or two of the transports landing. That requires efficiency – we need to know where large clusters of Reapers are, where the main processing centres are, where the AA cover is too thick to land..."

"You need to get as many bombs on the ground as possible," the human captain reasoned, "and get them to where they're needed most..."

"_Exactly_," Sparatus nodded, with a slight, approving smile. "The resistance has all the information we need, and they were set to relay it out to us, but there have been... complications."

The turian rose, crossed the room, and waved his omni-tool over the great monitor which dominated one wall. It sprang into life, displaying the rotating image of a dusty-grey planetoid, as the councillor continued:

"_This_, is Menae. Most humans don't even know the moon exists – it was classified during the Krogan Rebellions, to stop the krogan from using it as an orbital weapon against Palaven. Prior to the Reaper attack, it housed several major military outposts. Now, it's one of the few places where our troops are still holding their own."

"_How?_" Murphy wondered aloud. "If Palaven couldn't hold the Reapers off, how could one little moon?"

"Like I said, Menae is a military bastion. Anti-aerospace defences are dotted all over the moon's surface, and they've prevented an orbital assault by the Reapers, forcing them to dedicate ground troops instead. With the Reapers themselves unable to strike, our men are more than able to hold off the husks... or at least, they were."

"Stop being cryptic, councillor. Just tell me the details..."

"There's a bunker on Menae's southern pole," Sparatus explained. "It houses one of our last remaining QECs, and the _only _one still linked to the capital, Cipritine. There was a sizeable company guarding it on the Menae end – the link went directly to an emergency bunker which the resistance leaders were using, which made it invaluable. The resistance passed messages up to Menae, and Menae relayed them to the fleet, and thus to the hierarchy. Most recently, they were using it to help plan Operation Miracle – QECs cannot be hacked, so there was no risk of the Reapers listening in. The resistance leaders planned out everything – landing zones, rendezvous points for the krogan, targets of opportunity – and two turian intelligence officers were stationed at the Menae bunker to pick up the data and pass it on. That was five days ago. The fleet never received their message."

"Something happened to the resistance leaders, then?"

"No... if Cipritine had gone dark, Menae would have told us. Communications were cut between Menae and the fleet, not between Palaven and the moon."

"So you want us to check it out?" Murphy guessed.

"Exactly. The Cambrai's stealth systems allow it to deploy where our ships can't. We need you to land in Menae's polar region, and send a small team of infantry to the QEC bunker. I don't know if the garrison is dead, alive, or besieged... for all I know, someone spilt a beer on the transmitter. All that matters is that you get in, find the intelligence officers, whatever state they're in, and recover their intel. Without that data, Operation Miracle doesn't go ahead, and if it doesn't go ahead..."

"Then Palaven falls."

Sparatus just nodded, tensely, and muttered: "For good, this time..."

"Send the co-ordinates and any appropriate files to the Cambrai," Murphy instructed, turning to leave the room. "We'll be boots down on Menae by noon tomorrow."


	229. Shore Leave Presidium 14

_**Asari Embassy, Presidium**_

_**Day 5, 1915**_

"We got your message," Dr O'Leiph murmured, as Murphy rejoined his companions. He had sent them a message to assemble as he left the councillor's private chambers, and had been pleasantly surprised to find the five of them waiting for him in the ballroom as he emerged. "What's the matter?"

"Not here," Murphy muttered, in a hushed tone. "Outside, away from the crowds."

Silently and obediently, they shuffled towards the exit, cutting through the milling crowds of careless partygoers. The six of them stepped out into pouring rain, and Murphy felt little rivulets coursing down his face from the moment he hit the street, but at least they could get some measure of privacy out here...

"It wasn't a debrief," he explained, ruefully. "It was a _briefing_. The turian councillor was waiting with Tevos, he had a mission for us."

"Shit," the good doctor cursed, in surprise. "When do we move out?"

"Tomorrow morning."

"What? We're not ready for that-"

"Which is why I need you to _get _us ready, Ria. Head back to the ship, find Akito, and set to work on the requisitions. Food, ammo, fuel, meds... do whatever you have to do to get them in time – money's no object, and if you have to pull a few strings, I'll look the other way."

"I... understood," Ria nodded, slightly taken aback, as Murphy moved on to the others:

"You three" – he gestured to Maelar, Aeryn and Liselle – "rally the crew. Go to the hotel, the bars, anywhere else they might be – tell them to sober up and get back to the ship for a good night's rest.

"Aye aye," the two commandoes chorused – Liselle just gave a silent nod, as usual – and the trio turned, dashing off into the rain. A few moments later, Ria went to follow them, leaving Murphy and Saffiya to linger by the embassy's entrance.

There was silence for a moment, as the two of them moved off a little way to the side – there was a waist-high railing guarding a drop down to the commons proper, and Murphy leant wearily against it, quite aware of the rain drenching his face, and the justicar moving to his side...

"Seeing as you kept me behind, I'm assuming you want to talk, captain?" Saffiya murmured. She was right. As far as discretion and blunt honesty went, there was almost no-one better to confide in than the justicar. She was a bloody good moral compass, what with the code and all...

"Yeah," he nodded, absently. "It's... look, this mission isn't good. If I'm honest, it's bloody suicidal."

"Where?" she asked, simply.

"Palaven."

A low whistle followed that, and when he looked over, Saffiya was shaking her head wryly.

"Palaven's... tricky," she murmured. "The Reapers are in almost complete control."

"I know... I'd charge in there without a second thought myself, but... part of me feels guilty, volunteering the others for this."

"They're soldiers, captain. Whether we wear a uniform or not, we're _all _soldiers now. And we'd all follow you into the dark... Besides, you're talking about liberating _Palaven_. It's worth the risk. If we can pull it off, it would be the greatest success of the war..."

"We're not going to be liberating the planet ourselves," Murphy muttered. "This is just part of the preparations. We go in, find a package, and bring it back. Doing that should open the way for the turians and the krogan to attack for real..."

"Which makes our job even more crucial," Saffiya pointed out.

"True. And speaking of the war... what did you find out in there?"

"A lot of things," the justicar sighed. "Not many of them good..."

"Start with the good news," Murphy replied. "God only knows I could use some..."

"Alright," she nodded. "According to several of the diplomats I spoke to, public opinion is rapidly changing in favour of coalition. The way the votes are going, it is a matter of days before the Asari Republics join the war effort officially. Even better, it seems the Salarian Union is not far behind."

"That's the best news I've had in a while," Murphy chuckled, wryly, "but it's a bloody big change of heart. What happened?"

"The Cerberus attack rattled everyone, captain. The human councillor might have betrayed the Council, but they seem more inclined to remember that your Commander Shepard _saved _them. The turians are already fully committed, so there was little more Sparatus could offer, but Councillors Tevos and Valern began pushing for coalition just days after the attack."

"Remind me to thank Cerberus for that... what kind of contribution can they make?"

"Well, I'll admit it's not the _most _impressive offering, compared to what we have already. The salarian and asari fleets both pale in comparison to their human and turian counterparts, and we certainly don't have the massed infantry power of the krogan, but we have more... specialised assets. Asari huntresses and salarian STG will be invaluable for special operations and intelligence, and I'm sure the coalition can make use of our resources and the salarians' technology."

"At least everybody's on side," Murphy shrugged. "Now... the bad news?"

"Well," Saffiya murmured, sadly, "Tevos alone couldn't make the e-democracies shift. What really won the coalition vote was... fear."

"Fear?"

"The Reapers are closing the noose, captain. They're... two relays from Thessia, at most. We've seen what happened to Khar'Shan, to Earth, to Palaven – the asari are terrified it might happen to us, and the most worrying thing is, it might well..."

"What's the situation in the rest of asari territory?"

"Not good. More and more ground is lost each day. In the last week alone, we lost three worlds. The commandoes at Niacal were forced into the jungles – they're fighting on as guerrillas, but it's little more than a delaying action. We also lost the gas giant Phoros – all four spaceports in the planet's orbit were torn apart – and the Reapers took the colony on Sanves. They just ripped apart the defences, dropped infantry to... _subjugate _the population, and headed straight for the next target... Their capital ships didn't even wait until the harvest was over before moving on..."

"Then this is more important than ever," Murphy muttered, decidedly. "Bring the turians back from the brink, and we can start pushing on other fronts."

He pushed off, away from the railing, and turned off into the rain. The asari warrior followed him, and over his shoulder, he continued:

"Head back to the ship, and find Rilum. Tell him to make sure everyone's ready – healthy, well fed, well armed..."

"Why can't you do it?" Saffiya scowled.

"I've... got some business to attend to," he smiled. And with that, he swung around, and strode off through the rain...


	230. Shore Leave Presidium 15

**A/N: Alright, a couple things I need to address in this author's note. The first, I think, might disappoint a few people, but it needs to be cleared up before the next chapter:**

**The next mission is NOT the Miracle at Palaven. Pretty much everyone reviewing the last three chapters seems to have gotten really excited at the prospect of the Miracle, which on the one hand gives me some food for thought, but also means I'm afraid the next mission might disappoint people. It's not the Miracle, it's a small operation on Menae which acts as a precursor to the Miracle by a matter of weeks. If this was the Miracle, we'd be damn near the end of the story (as the Miracle occurs between Thessia and Earth), which I think (or at least, I hope) most of you don't want.**

**However, that does lead me on neatly to the next matter. There are two or three new polls coming up which I want your contributions on, with varying degress of importance:**

**1. I've taken the initial results of the "Favourite Mission" poll and narrowed it down to a final three: Blackout, Thunder and Silverback. I'd appreciate your feedback, and the results of this poll will break the tie to decide which was your favourite mission of Galaxy at War so far.**

**2. I'd like you to submit some of your favourite quotes from the story so far via PM or review. After a week or so, I'll compile them into a poll to decide your favourite quotes of the story.**

**3. This one is almost a direct response to people's hype over the Miracle. Like I said, I'm not covering it (yet) in Galaxy at War, but it did give me the idea for this poll. I'm going to be putting up a list of ideas which I want to write at some point, either after Galaxy at War's finished, or as a side project. If you could check out my profile and vote for the ones you'd like to see, I'd really appreciate the feedback in deciding my priorities.**

**So, that's the admin out of the way. The next operation begins tomorrow, but for now, it's the end of shore leave. Enjoy!**

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><p><em><strong>Level 16, Shalta Ward<strong>_

_**Day 6, 0010**_

_Knock knock._

There was a minute or so's pause, as rain continued to pour down outside the apartment block, staining the windows with thick, clear rivulets and slashing through the night air. Eventually, footsteps began to approach from inside the room, and with a quiet _whoosh_, the door slid open, to reveal a bleary-eyed, blonde-haired figure.

"Who..." Kayla began, sleepily, "wha- Zach?"

Her eyes had gone very wide and very blue at the sight of him, and rather more awake now, she continued:

"What are you doing here?"

"Oh, you know, I just happened to be in the neighbourhood..."

"With a bottle of Thessia Red?" she smirked, looking at the crimson bottle in his hand.

"Busted," he sighed, sarcastically. "Can I come in?"

"Well, the wine can," Kayla smiled. "As for you... well, if you must..."

She gave him a roguish grin, turned on her heel, and swept inside. The wine followed, bringing Murphy with it. Murphy couldn't help noticing that they both looked a mess, one of them more so than the other. He had shed his jacket and tie after leaving the embassy, but the white shirt beneath was sodden with rain, clinging to his skin, and his hair was still rather soggy. Kayla was dishevelled, hair exploding in a blonde mane, and she still looked rather sleepy, clad in the t-shirt and shorts that seemed to constitute her sleeping garb. Still looked beautiful, though...

"Hang on..." the C-Sec officer murmured, as they slid down onto the sofa which took up about a third of her cramped apartment's lounge. "How did you know where I lived? I never told you..."

"Commander Marin was working the night shift," Murphy explained. "I paid him a visit."

"Huh. Remind me to thank him, next time I see him..."

"So..." the captain muttered, looking for _something _to say. "How are you doing? You got pretty roughed up at K-1..."

"Says you," Kayla retorted, smoothly. "I seem to remember you having your share of broken bones..."

"I wasn't asking about me," Murphy replied. "Frankly, I don't give a damn about me. I was asking about you."

"I see," she smiled. "I'm... better. Wounds are healed, at least. I go for a medical the day after next – if the doc clears me, I'm back on duty at the start of next week."

The two of them paused, both struggling for something to say. Only the steady pitter-patter of rain on the window broke the silence, until finally, Kayla piped up:

"Maybe we could go out some time? In the next couple of days, before I'm back at work? I seem to recall I owe you dinner..."

"I'd love to," Murphy muttered, sadly, "but I can't..."

"Why not?"

"We're shipping out tomorrow" – he caught sight of the clock, over her shoulder – "err... today, even."

"Oh..."

"Yeah..."

"Where?" she asked, finally, and he cursed inwardly. He'd wanted to avoid telling her that, if possible...

"Palaven," he replied, simply. "We'll be on the ground by midday."

"Shit. Palaven's... well..."

"Suicide? I know."

Silence again. Very awkward, contemplative silence, and then...

"Sod it, give me that bottle," Kayla sighed, taking the wine from Murphy's hand. "I'll find some glasses."

"Alright," Murphy muttered, "but not too many. I don't really want to be hung over when I'm fighting Reapers."

_Not too many _took about half an hour and two refills, after Kayla returned from the tiny kitchen with some wine glasses. The captain had to admit, it certainly took the edge off – it was hard to feel quite so nervous about Palaven with a little wine flowing through his system, and Kayla had stopped shooting those worried glances at him after her second glass. There was an overwhelming air of calm in the apartment, and the harsh rattle of rain had become a little more rhythmic, as if dulled by the now-serene atmosphere.

Then, quite suddenly, there was a blur of movement to Murphy's left. A pair of slender arms latched around his neck, a shock of blonde hair swung through his field of vision, and before he quite knew what had happened he was falling forwards and sideways, tumbling off onto the floor. The little table which bore their drinks was knocked away by an errant leg, shedding its contents across the room, and by the time Murphy's brain caught up with his eyes, he was on the floor, with a certain slender form pinning him to the floor...

"That was... sudden," he grunted, as his ribs protested at the weight now pressing down on them.

"What can I say?" she smiled, sweetly. "I'm not a very patient person."

"Yeah. I can see that..."

Without warning, Kayla leant in, craning over him while grabbing his collar and pulling his head up towards hers. They were _very _close, and he could feel warm breath on his face even as those bright blue eyes stared into his own. She leaned down yet further, her lips came tantalisingly near, and then...

"On our first date?" she purred. "What kind of girl do you take me for?"

"The kind who invited me into her apartment, got me drunk, and then _pounced _on me?" Murphy replied.

"Nice try..." Kayla smirked. "Now, if you want a second date... you'd better come back alive, alright mister?"

"Alright," he grinned.

"Promise?"

"_Promise._"

"Good..." she murmured, simply, as she straightened up. "Now go. Save a planet, kill some Reapers, and then get the hell back here. I'll be waiting..."


	231. Operation Miracle Briefing

**A/N: Right, time for Operation Miracle to begin. If you didn't catch yesterday's author's note, please check out my profile for two new polls to vote on. One of them's a little curiosity, the other is actually pretty damn important... For now, though, enjoy. With any luck, the second half of Double Monday is coming up tonight.**

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><p><em><strong>SSV Cambrai, Apien Crest<strong>_

_**Day 1, 1120**_

"Did you hear those nav guys on the bridge?" Cash muttered under his breath, as he and Andersen wound their way towards the war room. "We're in the _Apien Crest_…"

"Shit…" Andersen murmured. "You think…?"

"Palaven? Yeah… It's the only valuable asset in this whole cluster."

"It's also a suicide mission," the engineer observed. "You sure you're up for this? You only just got out of the hospital..."

"And I've been training eight hours a day ever _since _I got out," the sentinel replied. "I feel better than ever, trust me."

They lapsed into silence, and that silence persisted as they finally reached the war room and sidled inside. The rest of the team was already assembled – on the left hand side of the room were Irving, Sarah and Alec, standing in a trio as ever, while Zel Manado waited on the right hand side, and Murphy took the head of the table. Their arrival was greeted by a brief nod from the rather tense-looking captain, and without further ado, he began:

"Thank you for mustering so quickly. We're about to begin Operation Miracle, paving the way for a turian operation of the same name. Our objective for today is to extract two turian intelligence operatives from a command station on Palaven's largest moon, Menae. These operatives and a regiment of turian infantry have been maintaining the last quantum entanglement communicator linked to Cipritine – quite literally the last line of communication. What we're interested in is their tactical data – before they went dark, they received intel from the resistance indicating where ground forces can strike with the greatest effect. Without that data, the turian plan to retake Palaven fails, and the planet falls."

There were a few tense murmurs at that firm ultimatum – Zel Manado in particular looked perturbed – as Captain Murphy swept his hand over the war room table, zooming in to the holographic surface of Menae, and continuing:

"_This_" – he pointed to a small cluster of prefabs in the centre of the map – "is the turian outpost which holds the QEC. Our two VIPs were holed up here, along with what was left of a turian infantry regiment, a few dozen men at best."

"What's the terrain like?" Irving muttered.

"The base itself is situated in a shallow crater. Gulleys run off to the north, west and east, roughly ten foot in depth. Reaper troops _could _attack from the higher ground on the banks, but it would be easier for them to simply bulldoze through the gulleys. With their overwhelming numbers, they can easily push the turians back from the choke points. The south is naturally defended by a series of cliffs, topped by a level plateau. The command centre is right at the base of the cliffs, and the only way up or down is a narrow defile in full view of the turian defenders. Furthermore, an artillery base several kilometres to the south has been shooting down any attempts at an airborne drop onto the cliff tops."

"And that's our way in?" Ethan guessed, chipping in from the sidelines.

"Exactly. The skies are only clear as long as that artillery base is still standing, but they should be able to buy us enough time to get in and out, at least. We'll drop onto the cliffs, make our way north to the turian base, and find out what the hell happened to those turians. If the intelligence officers are still alive, we escort them out. If they're dead, we recover their data at all costs. Either way, we'll all haul ass back to the cliffs for pickup from the Cambrai once we're."

"What's the danger level?" Sarah asked, half-sarcastically – they all knew the answer wasn't going to be good, and sure enough:

"Off the charts. Palaven is about as hot as it gets right now. The Reapers are present in force on the planet, with their ground troops probably numbering in the hundreds of thousands by now, if not the millions. The AA batteries on Menae have kept the Reapers from landing, but they could still attack from orbit, and the moon's crawling with Reaper ground forces."

Silence fell over the room, until finally, Andersen summed it all up:

"It's a suicide mission," he sighed. "But the payoff's bloody huge."

"Exactly," Murphy nodded. "If we get that data out of there, the turians can pull off their own Operation Miracle. They might actually be able to _liberate _Palaven. We can't pass that up..."

"No, we can't," Zel interjected, firmly. "But shouldn't we take a bigger team? Sounds like we'll need a lot of firepower down there..."

"A large team would be impractical," the captain explained. "The terrain is tough, there are a shitload of unknowns, and all in all, the margin of error is practically non-existent. I need a small team of professional soldiers – you can all move fast, follow orders, and act with precision. If we stay tight, we might just make it out alive..."

Murphy seemed to hesitate, his face creasing into a frown, before murmuring, rather more quietly:

"I won't lie about our odds. They're pretty damn bad. If anyone wants out, just step away. I won't hold it against you."

Nobody moved.

"Alright then," the captain nodded. "Grab your gear, check everything twice, and meet me on the shuttle. Move out!"


	232. Operation Miracle Part 1

**A/N: Right, fixed a few issues with the polls, they're actually displaying now. Vote, minions, vote!**

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><p><em><strong>Southern Polar Expanse, Menae<strong>_

_**Day 1, 1150**_

"Lane's clear, thirty seconds to landing!" the shuttle pilot reported, over the din of the craft's engines. "The turians weren't kidding, skies are clear for miles!"

"Sounds like the AA guns are doing their job," Irving observed, grabbing his rifle from his shoulder.

"They're still fighting," Murphy muttered, toting an N7 Valiant in his hand. "You've got to give them credit for that..."

"Twenty seconds!" the pilot interrupted, and the captain's face grew more serious.

"Everybody get ready," he ordered. "I want everybody out the door and ready in thirty seconds."

"Aye aye," they chorused – even Zel, the only non-Alliance member of the team, joined in, as they set about reaching for their weapons.

"Ten seconds! Everybody-"

_Bang. _The shuttle lurched violently, tipping to one side, and a bizarre sense of weightlessness filled the cockpit. Andersen, who had thus far been listening quietly from his seat, now found himself dangling in midair. Zel Manado was hovering next to him, and they exchanged a panicked glance as silence fell, before finally:

_Crunch_. As quickly as it had come, the weightlessness dissipated – Andersen cursed physics as he found himself dragged backwards, slamming into the side wall of the shuttle. Evidently, the craft had landed on its side, gravity pulling them down with it, and now it was teetering indecisively. Finally, it swung downwards, landing right-way up and scattering the marines over the shuttle's floor.

Silenced reigned, and the compartment went very dark, lit only by a pulsating crimson emergency light near the door to the cockpit. It was only after a few minutes that someone managed to find some words – Captain Murphy's voice rose up out of the darkness, and the first thing out of his mouth was:

"_Fuck_. Everybody alright?"

"What do you think?" Irving growled, from the far end of the shuttle. The big marine was picking himself up off the ground, and Andersen could see two forms sprawled out next to him, presumably Sarah and Alec. "I think we're all in one piece..."

"Good... Andersen? Zel? Ethan?"

"I'm here," the engineer rasped – much to his surprise, he choked on smoke and dust as soon as he opened his mouth.

"Me too," Zel groaned, from his side. "But we _really_ need to work on our landings."

"Alright, alright..." Murphy grumbled – the captain was staggering to his feet, still looking around for the last of his team. "Cash, where the hell are you?"

"Over here," the sentinel muttered, from somewhere off near the door. "Blacked out for a minute..."

"Well, we're all alive," the captain sighed. "That's something, and I'll be damned if I let this mission fail before it even begins. Ethan, you're nearest the door, can you hit the emergency release?"

"I... sure," Cash grunted, dragging himself painfully up to his feet using the crumpled folds of the door and reaching for his omni-tool. He waved it once over the red bulbs in the four corners of the door, they each blinked into life as the explosive bolts primed, and then the sentinel took a cautious step back.

_Bang bang bang bang._ In a split-second, the four bolts exploded with a series of bright flashes, and the shuttle door was wrenched violently away, ejected out into the wilderness beyond. It hit the ground with a dull _thunk _twenty feet from the craft, and pale light began to drift into the now-open doorway, an effect not unlike moonlight.

"Everybody out," Murphy ordered. "Plateau should be clear of hostiles – assemble outside, check for injuries, and make sure your weapons are still in working order. I'll clear the cockpit..."

Because the captain had selected a 'professional' team, almost entirely made up of trained marines, they all knew exactly what the subtext behind his orders was. A shuttle was packed with any number of complex systems, from a mass effect core to heat sinks, and a serious crash could cause the release of dust-form eezo, leaks of toxic coolant, or static discharge from damaged electronics. Unless the world outside was particularly hostile, or the crew had no ventilators – in which case they were likely to die anyway as the shuttle's own ventilation systems packed in – the safest course of action was to get everybody outside as quickly as possible. Beside the safety implications, it was also much easier to perform a headcount or emergency medical procedures in the light of the outside world.

As the team poured out onto the hard grey rock of Menae's surface, Andersen was undeniably curious, and he wasn't the only one. He and Irving Wolfe both paced around to the front of the shuttle, trying to work out what the _hell _had brought them down. When they finally reached the craft's nose, it was pretty damn obvious...

"Wow..." Irving muttered, letting out a low whistle. "That's a bloody mess..."

He wasn't wrong. The entire front end of the Kodiak was a mangled mess, twisted metal spiralling out from a gaping wound on the topside of the cockpit section. Smoke was still belching lazily out of the hole, and its rim was red-hot, as if scalded. If Andersen's omni-tool was to be believed, the shot had cut along the entire length of the ship, from the nose to the rear thrusters. Frankly, they were lucky it hadn't punched through to the troop compartment and killed someone...

"Deep impact," he observed. "Cut through the shields and the hull like butter. Residue from a beam weapon... ah, shit."

"What?"

"_Oculus_."

"Those are the fighter things, right? The drones?"

"Yeah... I expect you saw a lot of them in Vancouver. Why the hell didn't we think of this? Turian AA's firing from _miles_ away. They can knock a Reaper back with heavy shells, but a small target like an interceptor? They'd have to blanket the air with flak..."

"And that would've taken us down too," Wolfe sighed, realisation dawning. "So they couldn't do it while we were flying in. These Reapers are too bloody smart..."

"Yeah... shouldn't be a problem for evac, though. The Cambrai's picking us up, and I dare say her GARDIANs can shred an Oculus in seconds..."

"Right."

Before they could discuss the matter any further, a loud _clang _rang out – Murphy had just staggered out of the shuttle, shaking his head wearily and holstering his rifle.

"Pilot's dead," he announced, as Irving and Andersen rejoined the others. "Killed on impact. Is everybody else alright?"

"Fine," Sarah Jade nodded, on behalf of the group. "What's the plan?"

"We need to clean up here before we proceed to the outpost. For a start, our flight logs make several mentions of the plan to relieve Palaven. If the Reapers acquire that data, the turians are screwed."

"We need to make sure they don't get hold of it," Andersen muttered, "one way or the other..."

"Exactly. That's down to you, Andersen. I'll rip out the black box – if you can, hack the firewalls and wipe that data. If you can't, we'll take it with us for security. Zel, Ethan, set up a cordon, ten metre radius – nothing gets near. Sarah, I want you close – worst comes to worst, a biotic barrier could cover us for a few more minutes while we deal with the black box. Irving, Alec?"

"Sir?"

"You two are on point. Haul ass to the north – I want eyes on the turian outpost ASAP. Hunker down on the clifftop, get us a sitrep, and we'll come meet you once we're done here."

"Aye aye," the two marines muttered.

"Get to work, people. We've got a job to do..."


	233. Operation Miracle Part 2

_**Southern Polar Expanse, Menae**_

_**Day 1, 1205**_

"Irving, Alec," Murphy called over the radio. "Coming up on your position, ETA sixty seconds."

"You took care of things, then?" the big marine replied.

"Affirmative. The black box is wiped, and I'm keeping hold of it just in case. The shuttle's ablaze, too – with any luck, they'll never know we were here. How's it looking down at the base?"

"Can't tell for sure without a scope," Irving grunted, "but from up here, it looks like hell. Half the outpost's a ruin, and I can't see much movement."

"Alright. Hang tight, we'll be with you soon."

Sure enough, after just a minute of waiting, Irving heard footsteps clattering across the ground behind him, and as he looked up from his rifle, he saw Captain Murphy at his heel, followed by the other four members of their team.

"Ready to move?" the captain asked.

"Sure," Irving confirmed, while Alec nodded his agreement. The duo clambered to their feet and turned to face the rest, even as Murphy beckoned for them to move.

The group moved ponderously along the cliffs until they reached the defile Murphy had mentioned in his briefing, and wordlessly set about descending along it, single file, with the captain himself taking the lead.

The path was... _interesting_, to say the least. It was about a metre wide, roughly fourty-five degrees in gradient, and twisted one-hundred and eighty degrees on itself three times before finally reaching the valley floor below. Irving quickly realised that looking over the side was both unavoidable and unadvisable – the drop was at least fifty feet, straight down onto the metal-rich rock while made up Menae's surface.

After a few minutes' silent concentration, the squad reached the base of the defile – the path levelled out, twisting onto the open plain which hosted the turian base, and Irving was more than a little relieved to be off the rocky precipice. Still, he couldn't help thinking that climbing back _up _would be harder, especially as he suspected they would be doing it at speed, with Reapers on their heels...

"Stick together," Murphy called out. "Single column, watch your flanks – Zel, take rearguard and keep your sniper rifle handy."

They shifted silently into a tight column once more, with about two feet between each shooter, and Irving found himself wedged in place between Ethan Cash behind him, and Captain Murphy ahead. As they proceeding, crossing into the turian base proper, the latter was calling out over the radio, on local frequencies, he presumed:

"This is Captain Zachary Murphy, Alliance Navy. Any and all friendlies in the vicinity, please respond."

There was an interminable silence, and the captain's body language seemed to shift to apprehension – with the radio still operating wirelessly in his helmet, he braced his rifle fully now, casting around the abandoned prefabs for some sign of occupation, until finally...

"Captain?" an anxious voice murmured. "Captain, can you hear this?"

"We hear you, now who are you?"

"Lieutenant Vidanis, Turian Engineering Corps."

"TEC?" Manado piped up, from the back of the column. "What the hell are you doing out _here?_"

"There were three of us attached to the garrison," the lieutenant explained. "It was our job to keep the QEC configured and running at all times."

"Where are you?" Murphy asked, as the squad fanned out into the centre of the base, a small area between the prefabs which was dotted with makeshift barricades and cover positions, hastily constructed out of cargo crates, empty ammo containers, and even chunks of scrap metal.

"Right here," Vidanis replied, with a sigh. His words were punctuated by a subtle _hiss_, and the door of the prefab behind them slid open to reveal the lieutenant – he was a rather slim turian, wearing comparatively light, black armour, and with a pistol hanging weakly in his right hand. His left hand was bandaged, the wrappings stained with blue blood, and he had a nasty cut through his right brow plate.

"Looking a little worse for wear, lieutenant..." the captain observed.

"Tell me about it. Even this bloody gun's for show – it's empty. Blew off the last clip three days ago..."

The turian engineer tossed the pistol aside and paced down the ramp that led to the prefab, joining the squad. He looked out wearily over the ruins of the outpost, as he continued:

"I'm guessing you're here for the intelligence officers?"

"Yes," Murphy nodded. "Niall and Bentiss. How did you know?"

"They were the only VIPs in this whole bloody hemisphere," Vidanis muttered. "The rest of us were just grunts. Besides, before the attack, they were practically _bouncing_. Never seen 'em so excited. I'm guessing they found something, something important?"

"_Very _important. But, you mentioned an attack?"

"Yeah. About a week ago, the Reapers pushed in en masse. Don't know why, don't much care. All I know is, a couple of those bloody drones pushed through the flak curtain. One of them scorched the whole west side of the base, reduced it to rubble. The other smashed into our radio tower – kamikaze attack, blew the damn thing to pieces. We've had no comms since then."

"You've been holding out for a _week?_" Murphy asked, incredulously. "How did you survive?"

"Most of us didn't," the turian replied, simply. "Only half a dozen of us survived the first attack. Both my colleagues were killed in the airstrike, and most of the marines went down fighting. That prefab was our camp clinic – the doctor and I locked ourselves in the prefab with four wounded until the Reapers left. Two of the marines died from their injuries while we were in there..."

"Wait," the captain muttered. "If you were hiding in there... who drove the Reapers off?"

"We got reinforcements yesterday," Vidanis explained. "Two infantry regiments were in the region – they heard my distress call and rolled in to drive the Reapers off. One of the captains told us to hole up in the clinic again while they went off to hold the flanks – Palaven Seventh have companies to the west and east, and the Fifth's guarding the northern passage."

"What about Niall and Bentiss?"

"Niall was killed in the first strike. He was heading for the comm tower, spirits only know why, and he got crushed when the thing came down..."

_That_, Irving noted, was truly ironic. The turian must have been on his way to hand off the oh-so critical data when the comms tower that he was using to send it fell on top of him...

"I don't know where Bentiss is, though," the turian engineer admitted. "He was a tough bastard – a proper rifleman, not a biotic like Niall. Probably did time in the Blackwatch, if I had to guess. He was still fighting fit when the reinforcements rolled in – I think he dug into an MG nest during the initial attack and just weathered the storm. Went off with one of the marine companies, don't know which."

"He's our best bet for finding the data," Murphy muttered. "We need to find him... Vidanis, how defensible is this base?"

"With just us to defend it? Not very..." the tech sighed. "The airstrike obliterated our defences on the west flank, and we don't have the numbers to man all the MG nests and sniper posts on the perimeter. Maybe..."

"Maybe what?"

"Maybe if we abandoned the peripheries, held out in this central area? The prefabs are solid, you can't get through them without artillery or armour-piercing rounds, and we've got plenty of makeshift cover. I could probably repair a couple of the turrets and drag them over here... how long would we need to hold out?"

"Just long enough to find your flanking companies," the captain mused. "Our frigate's ready to perform an evac from the cliff tops up there" – he pointed south, back the way they had come – "once we've got the data."

"That could work," Vidanis nodded. "The infantry regiments are still guarding the choke points north, east and west – if they weren't, the Reapers would be on us by now. If we can pull them back to the centre, concentrate our firepower... we might just hold off the Reapers long enough to perform a tactical retreat up the cliffs."

"Then that's what we'll do," Murphy agreed. "Everybody, listen up! Sarah, Irving, Alec, I want you three holding the centre. Find some shelter and dig in while Vidanis sets up his turrets. I'll get up on the roof of the prefab and provide sniper cover."

"What about us, captain?" Zel murmured, gesturing to herself, Andersen and Cash.

"I need you three running out on the flanks. Cash, head west. Zel, east. Andersen, you're going north. When you find the turian companies, rally whatever's left alive and pull them back to the centre. If you find Bentiss, secure his data at all costs. Everybody, you've got you assignments, move out!"

"Aye aye!"


	234. Operation Miracle Part 3

_**Southern Polar Expanse, Menae**_

_**Day 1, 1215**_

"This is Manado to Murphy. How's it looking back there, captain?"

"Quiet," Murphy replied, simply. "No sign of Reapers troops yet. Course, there's no sign of friendlies either... what's your status?"

"I've got a few dead turians here, and a _lot _of dead husks. No sign of anything living yet, though... this gulley goes on for miles, they could be holding out anywhere..."

"Keep pushing," the captain urged. "We need that data, and we need every turian soldier we can _get _to hold off the Reapers."

"Understood. Pushing up, double speed."

Closing the radio, Zel did just that, sprinting off along the gulley. To be perfectly honestly, though, her attention was elsewhere. She knew this mission was vital. She knew _Menae _was vital. But her gaze was drawn invariably upwards, to the pale planet burning above her. To her homeworld...

Seeing Palaven burn on the vids was one thing. Seeing it in person was quite another. Cipritine, the great sprawling metropolis that had been their capital, was dotted with little pin-pricks of light, blooming and disappearing in the blink of an eye as entire districts exploded. To the east, a rather insignificant peninsula was engulfed in one giant inferno. To Zel, it was anything _but_ insignificant, however, and she had to suppress an errant tear inside her helmet as she watched her home city burn.

She tore her eyes away from Palaven, away from the Reapers drifting through space above her, and set them back to the task at hand. The gulley she was running along twisted to the right just up ahead, and she took it at full speed-

As she did, she almost ran headlong into the Reaper troops around the corner. Two Marauders sent Phaeston rounds at her with a harsh chatter, and her shields flared under the first hit, even as she brought her rifle up.

_Crack crack_. Two quick rounds, neatly delivered, delivered a headshot to each of the Marauders. They slumped dead, and as a couple of human husks came rushing up, she sent them flying off to one side with a powerful flurry of biotics. There were more Reaper troops pushing up behind them, however – three Cannibals were closing in, weapons at the ready, and behind them, she could see a Ravager scuttling out from around the next twist in the gulley.

A grenade came whistling towards her from one of the Cannibals, and she dove aside, hitting the ground hard as it skimmed past her head, bounced for a few feet, and then exploded with a violent _bang _behind her.

It was then, with her mandibles scraping against the rock, that Zel realised something. She had run into the Reapers _before _she ran into the turians. She could see no evidence of any surviving resistance. So why weren't the Reapers flooding into the base right now?

The answer came with a loud _bang _– as one of the Cannibals pitched sideways, decapitated by a precise shot to the temple, she realised that you didn't need to _see _something for it to be there. A moment later, a second _bang _rang out, hitting the Ravager at the back of the column and puncturing the sac on its belly – livid green acid poured out, dissolving the hideous creature alive, and burning the legs of the Marauder running next to it.

"Keep your head down!" a voice cried out from on high.

Casting her eyes around, Zel saw the top half of a turian pop up over the top of the embankment to the right – a Krysae sniper rifle was swung out, and a glowing blue round slammed into another advancing Cannibal, blowing it off its feet. Then, as quickly as he had appeared, the mysterious sniper span around, shimmered, and disappeared.

Before Zel could locate the cloaked sniper, another harsh _bang _rang out, this time from the left – the shooter was out of sight, but his handiwork was immediately obvious, as the head popped clean off an approaching Marauder's shoulders. That made _two _snipers, then.

Rather contrary to the first sniper's advice, Zel scrambled to her feet, drawing up her rifle as she let her biotics flare into a potent barrier. No sooner had she done so, however, than _something _hit her – the unseen force collided at chest height, and she found herself dragged back, spun around...

"I told you to keep your head down!" someone growled, _very _close by. The force around her chest was now rather recognisably an arm, as, with a dull shimmer, the cloaked sniper re-appeared in the act of pulling her back down the gulley.

"Who the hell are you?" she cried, even as she span around and began to sprint along the path back west.

"Rien Tyrus, Palaven Seventh!" he shouted, still pushing her along.

"Zelva'Aris Manado, Third Cabal" – she caught herself – "SSV Cambrai!"

"Alliance?"

"Long story!"

"Duck!"

With a hefty shove, Tyrus sent her flying around the corner, then dove in to follow – a Cannibal grenade skimmed past even as Zel hit the ground, and it exploded with a vicious _bang _a few feet away from the two turians.

"Braxi!"

The cry had come from Tyrus, and utterly bewildered Zel for a few moments, before she saw another figure appear on the far bank of the gulley, rifle in hand. She could only presume it was the invisible shooter from before... With a grunt, the turian marksman leapt over the side, slid down the rocky slope, and launched himself into a flying forward role – as he hit the ground he disappeared, and Zel lost all sight of him.

When he finally reappeared he was, much to her surprise, sat _right next to her_, on the opposite side to Tyrus.

"Selim Abraxis," he muttered, by way of an introduction.

"Right. Braxi," Tyrus shrugged, simply.

"You know I hate that name..." the other turian scowled.

"_Not _the time. Zel, Braxi. Braxi, Zel. Now what the hell are we going to do about _them?_"

He nodded around the corner, and to illustrate his point, a husk came dashing around it. 'Braxi' simply leant over Zel and Tyrus, drew a hefty-looking pistol, and blew the thing's head off.

"Okay..." Tyrus murmured, slowly. "Fair enough. We might need more than _shoot it_, though. For example, what do we do when we run out of bullets?"

"Use our fists," Selim grunted.

"Great... Cabal, you're up. Any ideas?"

"My team are evacuating everyone from the outpost to the west," Zel explained. "If we can get back there, they'll pull us out."

"And the Reapers'll have a clear route to the base," Tyrus sighed. "You'd better radio your team, make sure they can handle what's following us."

"Alright," she nodded. "But I'll need some time..."

"I can give you thirty seconds," Selim said, firmly, standing up with rifle in one hand and pistol in the other. "Make it quick..."

"I... okay," the biotic replied nervously. Then, just as the big marksman was about to stride out into the firing line, she called: "Wait, one last thing!"

"What?"

"Do you know anything about an intelligence officer called Bentiss?"

"Ex-Blackwatch," the marksman rumbled, almost instantly. "Went off north with the Fifth."

"Got it. He's the one we're looking for..."

"Figures. I _thought_ he was trouble..."

With that, Abraxis swept out into the gulley. He took two shots – _bang bang_ – with his pistol, and Zel could only assume two targets had gone down, around the corner. The big turian fired off a round with his sniper rifle next, then ducked low to avoid a volley of return fire, and disappeared with an electronic _crackled. _As Zel tried to radio the captain, he reappeared, tucked into an alcove on the far side of the gulley, firing wildly with both guns as shots continued to crash down around him...

"Zel, what have you got?" Murphy's voice asked, suddenly.

"Bentiss went north!" she cried, hastily. "I've got two turian snipers here, the rest of their unit's dead, we're falling back towards the base!"

"Signal's patchy," he replied. "Can you confirm, Bentiss went _north?_"

"Yes! One of the snipers sent he went up with the Fifth."

"Right. I'll let Andersen know. You said you were falling back – are the Reapers on your tail?"

"Yes, and they're close."

"Damn... alright, fall back, but lay down suppressing fire every so often. I'll get Vidanis to set up some automated turrets to try and hold the Reapers back."

"Understood. We'll be with you in fifteen, sir!"


	235. Operation Miracle Part 4

_**Southern Polar Expanse, Menae**_

_**Day 1, 1220**_

"Andersen?"

"Boss?"

"I've got confirmation: Bentiss is north, with the Fifth."

"The other two struck out, then?"

"Yeah... The regiment to the west was wiped out – Cash found a whole load of dead turians, and a rockslide where they'd blocked the gulley up. He's back at camp now. Zel's on her way back with a couple of surviving snipers, but they confirmed Bentiss went with the Fifth, _not _the Seventh."

"Understood. I'll get the data, captain."

"Good man. Murphy out."

The radio crackled into silence, and Andersen found himself ploughing on with renewed vigour. Now he _knew _he was the one on Bentiss' trail, it added a fair amount of pressure to his task. In fact, the fate of Palaven was pretty much down to him...

No it wasn't, no it wasn't! God, that was a scary thought...

He managed to mentally pummel his brain into silence, and ran on. For some ten minutes, he was simply pounding along the same deserted gulley – there were no turians, no Reapers... nothing at all, and when change finally came, he initially thought his eyes were playing tricks on him.

Up ahead, the gulley widened into an open crater, and he could see a few minute white flashes passing back and forth. As if to confirm that this was _indeed_ reality, a red-rimmed shot from the crossfire escaped the crater, whistled up the gulley, and slammed into his arm, causing his shields to crackle. He couldn't be more than fifty feet from the apparent battleground... fourty... thirty... twenty... ten...

He exploded into the crater, a round _bounced _off his visor, and he immediately dove off into cover, bravado gone as he sprawled behind a rocky outcrop, bringing his rifle up in readiness.

"Who the hell are you?" a surprise voice called out, from a few feet away. Looking up, Andersen saw a turian soldier pressed into a nearby boulder, Krysae in his hands as enemy fire continued to whizz past.

"Alliance!" he yelled back. "Who are you?"

"Grattus Maxam! Fifth Regiment! What are you doing here, human?"

"Pulling your ass out of the fire! Is this all that's left of the regiment?"

"Wait there!"

The turian span out of cover, then disappeared with a shimmer, activating a cloaking program. As he waited, Andersen took a brief look at his surroundings – the crater was dotted with debris from what appeared to be a ship, and about a dozen turians were taking cover either behind the debris, or behind the natural shards of rock jutting up around the mouth of the gulley.

With a loud _thump_, Maxam slumped down next to Andersen, rifle still in his hands. On closer inspection, the turian didn't look too good... there was a wound leaking blue blood from under his arm, and his shoulder looked disjointed, as if broken.

"Is this all that's left?" the engineer repeated.

"This is just the reserve," Grattus muttered, shaking his head. "Captain left the wounded back here with me while he took the fighting fit up ahead, into the thick of it."

"How many of _them _are there?" Andersen asked.

"When they went up there? Eight. For all I know, every one of them's dead now. Knowing the captain, though, I doubt it..."

"What about Bentiss? We heard he was with you – is he still alive?"

"The intel officer? He's up ahead. The captain tried to keep him back on account of his being a VIP, but he refused, said he wanted to fight. Can't blame him, he's damn good at it."

"I need to get to him," the human murmured. "He's got data – recovering it is our main objective."

"_Our?_"

"My team's locking down the outpost to the south, getting ready to evacuate. But we need that data..."

"I see..."

There was a long pause, and the turian looked contemplative, before Andersen piped up again:

"Can you get me to him? I know you're hurt, but-"

"_I'm _fine," Grattus scowled, dismissively. Apparently, his definition of _fine _covered open wounds and broken bones – wait, of course it did. He was turian...

"But?"

"_But_, this lot are in a bad way. I'm the only able-bodied shooter here. I can't just leave them."

Another pause, and then:

"You said there were more Alliance troops, back at the base?"

"Only half a dozen or so."

"Better than the two of us here. Is the route south clear?"

"Not a Reaper in sight."

"Alright... I'll send my men back, and we'll push up to find Bentiss."

"Good plan," the engineer nodded.

With that, Grattus leant out of cover ever-so-slightly, and hollered at the top of his lungs:

"Everybody, listen up! The Alliance is holding the outpost back south! Move if you want to live, we'll cover your exit!"

Almost instantly, the wounded turians began to shuffle back, out of the crater. Andersen couldn't help noticing that they looked incredibly _relieved _at the reprieve – the best of them were sporting blood wounds, and the worst could barely hold their rifles, let alone shoot. All in all, they were a shambles as they fell back, out of the crater. Grattus, however, still seemed to be in fighting shape, just as he said, and he turned to his human companion with something akin to a _grin _spreading over his features.

"Ready?" he breathed, standing tall and shouldering his gun.

"Ready," Andersen nodded.

Wordlessly, the two of them span out on either side of the boulder, and almost instantly they were in the thick of the firefight. Shots were zipping through the surrounding air, a couple _pinged _against Andersen's shields, and as the engineer peppered the air with Phaeston rounds, his turian companion was sending glowing blue _bolts _at the Reaper mob from his Krysae.

_Crack crack_. Two quick rounds sent a Cannibal crashing to the ground, and Andersen caught his first sight of the turian 'fighting fit'. A flash of steel crossed his vision as a turian soldier slammed a Marauder into the ground, trod down hard on its chest, and then blew it away with a shotgun round.

"I see the captain! Maybe twenty feet!" Grattus roared, putting the last round of his clip through a husk's stomach, before popping it open to reload.

"Grattus?" someone called, from the battle line up ahead. "What are you- shit, Brute incoming! Take it down!"


	236. Operation Miracle Part 5

_**Southern Polar Expanse, Menae**_

_**Day 1, 1230**_

_Wham._ With an unearthly roar, the hulking Brute slammed a turian rifleman into the nearest boulder. His spine gave way with an ugly cracking noise, and he slumped dead on the ground as the ghastly creature wheeled around to find another target.

"Garin!" one of the turian soldiers – presumably their captain – yelled out. Without warning, he dashed out of cover, ignored a Cannibal's shot bouncing off the side of his helmet, and slid into cover to check on his fallen comrade.

He had barely taken the soldier's non-existent pulse before the Brute chose _him _as its next target. The creature shot forward, slamming its shoulder and muscular forearm into the same boulder it had just crushed the turian against – the captain escaped only by virtue of his reactions, rolling out under the monster's massive arm and reaching for the hefty Carnifex pistol in his belt.

"Get down!" Andersen bellowed out, surprisingly loudly – spending so much time around marines was starting to rub off on him, apparently... The turian's helmeted head bobbed up, looking for the voice calling him, and as he saw the human engineer taking aim he darted back, abandoning any thought of resisting with a mere pistol.

As the turian sprinted away, searching for a better way of striking, Andersen filled the air with Phaeston rounds. The rifle's steady _rat-a-tat _chatter was almost _rhythmic_, as he punched bullet after bullet into the Brute's soft rear, eliciting a trickle of cybernetic blood from the wounds he made in the creature's back.

The Brute wasn't as dumb as it looked, however, and within a few seconds of his opening fire, it had wheeled around, using its bulky steel arm as a shield of sorts to fend off his attack. With his shots bouncing ineffectually away, Andersen simply gave up, popping in a fresh clip to be safe, and continually pacing back, away from the approaching Brute... To be honest, he was hoping one of the turians had a _bloody _good plan in mind.

As it happened, the turian captain _did _have a rather good plan in mind. Stupid, maybe. Reckless, certainly. But undeniably effective... While Andersen distracted the hulking creature, he had used those few moments to clamber up onto the nearest boulder, the one the Brute had previously pinned his comrade against. With a blood-curdling war cry, he leapt off, open-palmed, and an omni-blade sprang into life on his right arm as he thudded down right on top of the Brute. As Andersen watched on, stunned, the turian dug the claws of his left hand into the creature's soft back, drawing copious amounts of blood, before driving his omni-blade in between the thing's shoulder blades, once, twice, thrice-

Just as he drove in the third time, the Brute pitched upwards, standing terrifyingly tall and leaving the turian hanging on for dear life. His omni-blade cut a jagged line all the way from the beast's shoulder plate to its hip, before finally he ran out of flesh to cut through – he plunged rather ignominiously to the floor, reaching for his weapons anew-

_Wham_. Too late. The Brute whirled one-eighty, lunged forward and dealt the turian captain a furious backhand with its clawed right arm, connecting with his head and knocking him to the floor. The monster skulked forwards, as if contemplating a finishing blow, but Andersen began to fire once more, rattling off a dozen or so Phaeston rounds and stinging the creature between its ribs, baiting into action... sure enough, it wheeled around to face him, evidently planning to come back and finish off the captain later.

"Watch yourself!" Grattus called, sweeping in from the left to rejoin the fight. He put two rounds into the Brute's side, and they _exploded _violently on impact, but Andersen had just seen a mob of Cannibals pour off the embankment and into the crater, and they were pushing hard...

"Get them!" he yelled, waving wildly at the pack of Cannibals. "I've got this one!"

The turian infantryman gave him a brief nod, and darted off to one side, taking aim as he did. That left Andersen to face the Brute alone.

Admitting that he didn't actually 'have this one' wasn't a particularly appealing prospect, but all the same, the Brute looked _very _big as it lumbered towards him, picking up steam. His Phaeston would be utterly ineffective against the creature's steel-armoured front, so he went for his omni-tool instead, and began to run at the creature in some sort of grand bluff.

He was about six feet from the Brute when inspiration finally – thankfully – struck. The Brute came swinging in with its claw arm, but in the seconds prior, Andersen had prepped a cryo program, and now he lashed out with it, snap-freezing the monster's arm mid-strike. Laden with ice, it dropped, thudding against the floor, and the Brute seemed to stumble in confusion. Andersen took the chance to wrap his gauntlet in plasma-fire and lash out, dealing a fiery punch to the monster's face.

It fell back, screaming synthetically, but if anything, he had just made it mad... Even wounded, the Brute ploughed forward – Andersen found himself bowled off his feet a moment later, slammed down hard on his back as his rifle clattered away across the ground.

The Brute was looming over him now, and its guttural roar seemed to shake his very bones, but it hadn't killed him _yet_. Its left hand, the smaller of the two, was currently being used to prop the creature up, because the larger right hand, the one which could probably snap him like a twig, was still stuck in a ball of ice. That gave Andersen his opportunity, if you could really call it an opportunity – it was more a slim, almost non-existent chance...

With his opponent helpless for a few precious moments, he did the only thing he could – he lunged to the left, reaching out a desperate hand for his gun. Even as the Brute roared its displeasure, his fingers found the sleek, polished body of the Phaeston, and he grabbed the rifle with an eagerness born of desperation. The monster above him was raising its right hand laboriously, perhaps planning to bludgeon him to death with the block of ice encasing it, but it was too late – he had a rifle in his hands, and as he rolled over, he squeezed the trigger determinedly.

_Crack crack crack crack crack crack._ The first half a dozen shots tore into the Brute's throat and chest, spattering blood over Andersen's armour and visor. Nonetheless, he kept a firm grip on the trigger until the assault rifle's clip was exhausted – shock alone seemed to keep the Brute upright, but as his thermal clip finally gave up, blowing off a puff of steam with a protesting _hiss_, the creature was riddled with several _dozen _bullet holes, all bleeding and weeping. It tottered and swayed, and Andersen scrabbled aside, rushing to freedom beneath the Brute's arm before it finally gave in to gravity and crashed to the ground, dead.

"They're falling back!" Grattus was yelling, in the background, and sure enough, Andersen could see the turian marksman chasing back the Reaper tide, peppering the backs of a few husks and Cannibals with Krysae rounds.

Closer at hand, the turian captain was still alive, to Andersen's mild surprise. He was clutching his rifle tightly, and was sat with his back pressed against a nearby rock for cover. His grey armour was bloody – although the engineer could quite tell who or _what _the blood belonged to – and a deep crack ran down his visor where the Brute had struck him. Still breathing heavily, he reached up, grabbed the back of his helmet, and yanked it off, throwing it into the dirt. For the first time, Andersen caught sight of the turian captain's face, and as that face stared back at him, the engineer's eyes bulged.

"Told you you needed a proper gun," Kamur grinned.


	237. Operation Miracle Part 6

_**Southern Polar Expanse, Menae**_

_**Day 1, 1240**_

"You have _got _to be kidding me," Andersen muttered, a grin breaking over his features nonetheless.

"Afraid not," Kamur smiled. "Now what the _hell _is the Cambrai doing on Menae?"

"Picking up a VIP," the engineer explained. "An intelligence officer named Bentiss. Is he with you?"

"He _was_."

"_Was?_"

Kamur nodded off to one side, and Andersen's eyes followed his gaze. Off to the right, crumpled up against a boulder, was a heap of grey scales and blue armour. The turian was quite obviously dead, and his rifle was still lying at his side where it had fallen.

"That's Bentiss?"

"Yeah. He went down in the first wave – Ravager got onto the flank and opened fire on him. Never stood a chance."

"Buggar. We needed him."

"Did you? Or did you need this?" the turian captain muttered, a fanged smile breaking over his features. He was reaching into the collar of his armour, and when his hand emerged, it was clutching a slender blue datapad. He tossed it to Andersen, the engineer stared back at him, open-mouthed...

"How the _hell _did you know?"

"He told me," Kamur shrugged. "Said to get this to the Hierarchy if he didn't make it out. I told him that if he stayed in reserve I wouldn't need too, but the headstrong bastard wouldn't listen..."

"I see..." Andersen murmured. "Well... this is good, anyway. I'll radio the captain, and we can get the hell out of here."

"Not so fast," his turian friend grunted, as he tried to turn and lead the way out – in a matter of moments, Kamur had dragged himself to his feet and latched a firm hand onto Andersen's shoulder, spinning the engineer back round to face him. "I need to know... what's on that datapad? We tried to check, but it was encrypted..."

"I..." he hesitated. Was he meant to say? Ah, hell, Kamur was a turian, and more importantly, he was _Kamur_. With a meaningful stare, Andersen waggled the datapad in his face, and continued: "These are plans. Plans that could save Palaven, if they reach the Hierarchy."

There was silence for a moment. And then, quite slowly, Kamur began to nod.

"If that's true," he muttered, grabbing his rifle, "then we're coming with you. We'll get that data off Menae if it kills us..."

"No arguments here, we'll need every gun we can get – but, err, try _not _to die, alright? Captain Murphy and the others are at the comms outpost to the south – if we move fast, we can make it there in ten."

"Then we move fast..."

Andersen turned to depart for real this time, and Kamur followed him, bounding along with newfound energy. The Reapers had drawn back, leaving the crater eerily quiet, and making it all the more deafening when he bellowed:

"Squad! Move up on my six, we're heading south!"

"South?" one of the turians called back, emerging from cover – Andersen vaguely recognised him, but he couldn't figure out where from...

"That's what he said, Varin," Grattus murmured, also popping into view.

_Varin._ Andersen remembered him now – he had been the lieutenant on Kithoi Ward, the one he and Tyco met, and whom Kamur departed with.

"Our guys _died _fighting up here," the lieutenant protested, "and now we're just retreating?"

"It's not a retreat, Varin," Kamur snapped. "_Never _a retreat. But we've got a new objective. Get that data back to the Alliance, and we save Palaven."

"Says _who?_" Varin replied, cuttingly. It was a fair point. Andersen had pretty much popped up out of the blue, claiming to have a way to save an entire planet. _He _wouldn't have trusted himself...

"Says him," the turian captain muttered, nodding to the young engineer next to him.

"And who's he?" the other turian persisted. "He's just one Alliance soldier, from _one _Alliance ship!"

"Now look here!" Kamur roared, suddenly becoming rather fierce. He broke away from Andersen's side and strode purposefully over to Varin, staring the younger soldier right in the eye. "It's the _Cambrai_. In case you'd forgotten, Varin, I served on that ship! And they've done more to help this war than the entire turian fleet!"

"Sir..." Grattus interjected, moving in with a steadying palm held out. Kamur's anger, however, continued to flare, as he snapped:

"No, Grattus! The lieutenant here might be a good shot, but he still needs to learn his bloody place!"

"My place?" Varin scoffed. "We're talking about a human ship – they're not turians!"

"And you should count yourself lucky – they'd put you to shame if they were turians," Kamur growled. "That frigate and her crew saved Aephus while our fleets were blind. They're saving Palaven while we sit here and die for a couple of yards on this wretched moon! Now you can come with me, Varin, or you can stay here and fight the Reapers yourself. What's it going to be?"

What happened next would forever affirm Andersen's impression of the turian race. Had an Alliance officer launched such a tirade at his junior, the latter would have complained, protested, called foul, or at the very least replied with an angry glare and a line of grumbling sarcasm. Lieutenant Varin, however, took one glance at the battlefield, another at his fiery-eyed captain, and then replied:

"With you, captain. To the end."

"Good man," Kamur nodded – and with that, the two of them were walking off south with the rest of the company once more, as Andersen watched on incredulously.

After about five minutes' hard marching down the gulley, Kamur sent Varin off ahead to try and catch sight of the reserve group, giving Andersen a chance to speak to his old friend about what had just happened. Trotting up to his side, he nodded at the lieutenant's back as he sprinted on ahead, and asked, quietly:

"Is he going to be a problem? You were pretty hard on him..."

"He's a turian," Kamur shrugged. "He knows it's nothing personal."

"I see..."

They fell silent again for a minute or so, before the big turian finally spoke up again:

"You might want to call Captain Murphy. Tell him that you've got the data, and we need an evac plan? I doubt the Reapers will stay gone for long..."

"Right," Andersen nodded. Pulling up the radio, he called aloud: "Captain? Can you read me?"

"I hear you," Murphy's voice replied. The background was free of gunshots or explosions – that was something, at least... "I've got a whole load of wounded turians traipsing in, I'm assuming that was your doing?"

"Yes, sir, and I've got a squad of healthy ones at my six."

"What about Bentiss?" the captain asked, urgently.

"Dead, sir. But I've got the data – the turians managed to secure it from Bentiss' body."

"Well, that's something... What about these turians? The others that came in were in a pretty bad way..."

"Those were the wounded, captain, left back in reserve. I've only got five turians with me, but they're all marines, fighting fit, led by a Captain Destra..."

"Captain De- oh, you have _got _to be kidding me."

"That's what _I_ said!"


	238. Operation Miracle Part 7

**A/N: This is going to be quite a long author's note. It _has _been three weeks since I last updated. So, here goes:**

**1. An apology. You know, for the three-weeks-since-I-updated thing. By all accounts I shouldn't be making excuses, I should just be apologising and getting on with it, but hell, this is a good excuse. If you were one of the dozen or so people who sent PMs asking after me, you'll already have heard this, but for the rest of you, about three weeks ago, my PC just... well, broke, taking with it the entire archive of Galaxy at War and all my other fics, plus the ten or so chapters I had written in advance. I got a new laptop a week and a half or so ago, and since then I've been manually copying the archive off FanFiction - I've finally managed to copy all two-hundred and thirty-seven chapters onto my computer, and I'm starting to write new chapters as of today. So, that's my excuse, and this is the apology: err... sorry?**

**2. Polls - the last two are closed now. I'm taking the "future fics" poll into consideration, and it was really helpful to get your thoughts and feedback. The results (as well as the responses in PMs and reviews) rather speak for themselves, so it looks like the next fic you'll see from me will be set during the First Contact War... I must admit, it's an idea I want to run with, so I'm glad you guys agree. As for your favourite chapter, it was incredibly close, but Operation Thunder takes the honours. Also on the topic of polls, I'm setting up a new one as I write this. It's an old friend, I think you'll recognise it...**

**3. Another apology. I know, I know... The world seems to be pretty fickle at the moment, and just as I start the fic back up again, I have to leave it. Tomorrow, I'm flying off to Russia for a week for a school trip. I won't be able to write any new chapters, let alone update, so... well, sorry. Again. I get back at the start of next week, though, and normal service will be resumed then.**

**4. In light of the two apologies I've had to make today, and the massive break since the fic's last update, I'm making this a Triple Monday. Enjoy!**

* * *

><p><em><strong>Northern Polar Expanse, Menae<strong>_

_**Day 1, 1250**_

"Captain Murphy!" Kamur yelled merrily, bounding over to the captain and the group gathered behind him.

"Captain Destra," Murphy nodded, shaking the big turian's hand. "Sorry to delay the catch-up, but we've got a rough situation down here…"

"Some things never change… give me the rundown, captain."

"West's blocked off – the turian company there made it their last act to seal the path – but east and north are both open and hostile. Vidanis says the Reapers were _falling back _to the east – is that true to north as well?"

"Yup."

"Then they're massing for an assault… We need to get our men dug in, fast."

"Agreed. My squad's at your disposal, captain – we'll die to get that data off-world."

"Nobody's _dying_, Kamur."

"We both know that isn't true, captain."

Awkward silence followed that rapid exchange, and Murphy took the chance to take stock of those around him. He had called together all the fit fighters to make plans. His own squad was all present, now Andersen was back, and they were joined by the key players in the turian force – Kamur and his squad, the snipers Tyrus and Selim, and Lieutenant Vidanis. There was one turian missing, however…

"I'll assume Bentiss is dead?" Murphy muttered, finally.

"Yeah…" Kamur sighed. "Could've done with that mad bastard right now. Blackwatch make a point of thriving in chaos."

"And the data?" he murmured, expectantly.

"Right here," Andersen piped up, producing a blue datapad and handing it to the captain.

"Perfect. Priority one is to get _this _back to the Cambrai" – everyone nodded in agreement at that – "and there is no priority two."

"So we send a runner, and the rest of us dig in," Zel suggested.

"Exactly," he nodded. "But we need to be smart about this… Andersen, Vidanis?"

"Yes?" Andersen replied.

"I want you setting up defences. Turrets, drones, mines – anything that you can get running and keep running in the next ten minutes."

"Understood."

The two engineers trotted off, powering up omni-tools as they went, and Murphy rounded on the turians in turn, continuing:

"How many snipers in your squad, Kamur?"

"Just the one, Lieutenant Varin"

"Just one?" the sniper Tyrus interjected, in surprise. "Snipers are usually the last units standing…"

"Our snipers split off into a flank company," Kamur explained. "Thought they'd lay down some crossfire to stop the Reapers taking cover positions. About an hour into the fighting, a Banshee pinned them down on the flank – they were torn apart before we could get to them. Varin only survived because he was bringing a message to me at the time…"

"So, with me and Braxi here, that's three snipers," the turian marksman muttered, dubiously.

"Snipers can each take one of the prefabs, dig in on the roof, and rain down fire from above. You three plus myself makes four…"

"Not forgetting about me, are you sir?" Zel piped up.

"Not at all, Manado. But we've only got two biotics – I need you on barrier duty with Lieutenant Jade, understood?"

The turian biotic merely nodded, although there was a hint of disapproval in her eyes…

"That just leaves the line infantry," Kamur concluded. "I say we split into four companies. Your troopers" – he gestured to Irving and Alec – "take one apiece, Grattus takes a third, and I take the rest."

"Fair enough," Murphy agreed. "Irving and Alec hold the broad north flank, Grattus holds the path east, and you keep your best men in the centre to guard the evac route."

"Right," the big soldier nodded. "I'll organise the men. We've got… ten minutes?"

"Five to be safe. Move out!"

The huddle did just that – Irving and Alec marched off with Kamur and his right-hand man to take control of their companies, the turians dissipated off across the base, and the two biotics walked off together, prepping their amps. A lone figure, however, was left standing next to Murphy, just as the captain had predicted.

"Ethan," he murmured.

"Captain," the sentinel muttered back.

"Something on your mind? Speak freely."

"Alright… we're all lying, we all know it, but none of us is pointing it out. _That's _what's on my mind."

Murphy turned questioningly to his subordinate, raising an eyebrow and giving him a wordless glance which said, _"Go on"_. Accordingly, Cash continued:

"We're not all making it out, captain. Hell, we'll be lucky if _any _of us make it out. Most of the turians can barely hold a rifle, let alone fight, and we've got a whole legion of Reapers coming our way. You really think we can survive this?"

"No," Murphy admitted, after a moment's pause. "But I think you _have _to."

"_What?_" Cash scowled. Apparently, he'd just realised why the captain hadn't assigned him a task yet…

"You're getting _this _back to the Cambrai," he continued, pressing the datapad into Cash's hand.

"No I'm not!" the other man protested, nonetheless taking the pad. "Captain, you need me here. I've got biotics, I can run tech, I can _fight_ – with these implants, I'm better than ever!"

"No, you _think _you're better than ever. Fact is, you haven't tested those things in the field yet, and a battle with the Reapers isn't the place to start. Besides, I need a quick runner to take this thing – the only person quicker than you is Zel, and she sure as hell won't leave without a fight."

"Neither will I," Ethan growled, defiantly. "I'm going to fight!"

"No, soldier, you're not," Murphy hissed back, getting in very close to the sentinel's face. He contemplated grabbing him by the collar, but decided against it – a big man like Logan or Kamur would have looked intimidating, but sniper Murphy was a little too lean to square up to Ethan like that. Instead, he fixed the younger soldier with his fiercest glare, and continued: "What you're going to do is shut up and follow my orders. This data is the key to saving _Palaven_. Akito and Erika already have standing orders – if we're not retreating by the time you make rendezvous, they're to take the data and run, without us. Now buck up, and get that datapad the hell off-world before I have you court marshalled!"

"So, if I stay and throw my life away, you'll kill me?" Cash laughed, with a hint of dark humour and a roguish grin on his face.

"Alright, I didn't think that through…." the captain muttered, "but the point still stands! You stay here, you might kill a few dozen before you go down – at best, a couple of us might make it out. But if you get this data away, you save that entire planet."

He gestured to the burning orb in the sky above, and Ethan turned to stare at it – something of the firelight flickered over the sentinel's face, and when he looked back, there was a resolute glint in his eyes.

"Captain Murphy!" a fresh voice yelled. It was the sniper, Tyrus, over to the east of the camp. "Hostiles incoming, thirty seconds!"

_Boom_. Thirty seconds early, one of Vidanis' turrets sent a missile ploughing into the front line of the approaching Reapers, decimating a group of Cannibals. Moments later, a cacophony of rifle fire blared out as the horde began to billow out from the east gulley, and a quick check to the north showed a similar flood of skeletal creatures, rushing into the firing line of Irving and Alec's companies.

"Ethan," Murphy muttered, wheeling around and fixing the sentinel with a meaningful stare, "_get moving._"

The other man hesitated for a moment, before finally, reaching for his guns, he murmured:

"Aye aye, sir. Good luck."


	239. Operation Miracle Part 8

_**Northern Polar Expanse, Menae**_

_**Day 1, 1305**_

"Marauders, all over our position!" Irving yelled, dropping down into cover as a hail of shots passed by his head. The gunnery chief was sheltering inside one of the abandoned prefabs, accompanied only by his rifle and two rather shaky turians, who were clutching Phaestons. "Make your shots count, they're shielded!"

"Anyone with disruptor rounds, share 'em out!" the turian captain, Kamur, roared over the radio.

"Why are there so many of these bloody things?" the marine cursed. "Field manual says they're command units, not infantry!"

"Reapers make their armies out of the dead," Kamur replied, "and there are a lot of dead turians on this moon… Damn it! Vidanis, shield generator just packed in, two of my boys have lost cover-"

A harsh _crack crack _filled the airwaves. Irving winced, and the captain let out a stream of turian words that sounded distinctly like curses…

"Two down," he reported, finally. "Murphy, we can't keep this up much longer, we're almost overrun!"

"Moving to cover you," Murphy chipped in. "We just need to hold out a little longer – Ethan's away, he just needs time to reach the rendezvous…"

They lapsed into silence at that, and Irving set his mind back to the fight. Rounds were still whistling overhead, but he got the distinct impression that the fire was dying down – he and his two turian squadmates were all ducked low, out of the firing line, and the Reapers were taking the chance to finish off more open targets. Sure enough, after a few moments:

"Irving, where the hell are you?" Alec bellowed, from the prefab to the right. "Hostiles pushing on your side, they're on my flank!"

A loud _crack crack crack _burst out, swiftly followed by the unmistakeable gurgle of a dying turian.

"Irving!" the younger marine cried out, with a little desperation creeping into his voice. "I need covering fire!"

"You heard him!" Irving called, to the turians on either side. "Suppressing fire, now!"

In surprising harmony, the three of them pushed themselves up over the sill, rifles drawn, and a deafening chorus of fire blared out as the three riflemen began to fill the air with shots. The Reaper troops – who had taken the lull in their firing as a chance to move in close and drive into Alec's flank, just like he said – fell in droves under the new hail of crossfire. Even as he picked off Marauders, however, adopting the nigh-automatic _point, aim, shoot _cycle of marine training, Irving couldn't help noticing that the barricades in front of them, previously filled with turian troops, were now abandoned. At least half a dozen turian marines had been cut down where they stood by the advancing Reapers, and they were strewn haphazardly across the battlefield, bloodied and broken. Irving shoved them to the back of his mind, however, and focused on his aim once.

_Point, aim, shoot. _A Marauder went down, skull exploding in a messy red haze.

_Point, aim, shoot. Point, aim, shoot_. A couple of husks moving up in support were cut down, spurting silver-blue blood and falling dead.

_Point, aim-_

_Crack!_

"Argh!"

With a yell, one of the turians at Irving's side went down, an ugly wound blossoming in the side of his skull. He was gone before he hit the floor.

"Keep up the fire-" Irving began, but even as he turned to reassure his other squadmate, a skeletal form appeared in the corner of his vision. Before he could do a thing to stop it, yet another Marauder had popped up, this time mere feet away, and a vicious crackle of rifle fire rang out as it put half a dozen rounds through the window. The second turian was dead in moments.

Throwing caution to the wind, Irving hurled himself forward – he was flying through the empty window before his last squadmate even hit the ground, and he grabbed the Marauder around the waist with more than a little desperation, dragging it to the ground. They thudded down, rolled over, and with a slight crackle of energy, Irving drove his omni-blade through the creature's skull, snuffing out what remained of its so-called life. He rolled over again, well aware of the bullets whizzing towards him, and straightened up to join the firefight once more.

Another Marauder was charging in, trying to close him down at melee range – he batted the creature's rifle away with his off hand, then put two rounds through its chest. As the creature dropped, two more were rushing in. He dropped to one knee, took aim-

And watched on in surprise as the two Marauders burst into blue flames, shrieking and crumbling to ash. In the distance, near the base's perimeter, an approaching Ravager was raised high in the air, surrounded by a swirling haze of biotics, and then slammed back down to earth – it _burst _with a hideous squelching noise, showering the surrounding husks with livid green acid.

"You alright, chief?" a familiar voice murmured. Before Irving could reply, Sarah swept past him, wielding her SMG in one hand and summoning up a biotic barrier with the other.

"Fine," he grunted, taking a quick glance down – in the initial rush of adrenaline, he had failed to notice the blood on his armour, seeping out from a previously-unseen hole in his flank.

"That wound doesn't look _fine_," Sarah muttered over her shoulder, even as she backed up, pulling away from the battle on the perimeter.

"Blood's fine," Irving scowled, dismissively. "I can handle blood. Where's your backup?"

"Haven't got any," she shrugged. "Zel ran off to bolster a flank, and the others are pinned down. Where's Alec?"

"Off on the flank," the big marine replied, popping a fresh clip into his rifle. "He's about to get swamped… Alec, do you copy?"

"I copy!" their young colleague yelled back, over the radio. "Where the hell are you, chief?"

"Pulling back! My company's dead and gone – back out, before the Reapers take your flank!"

"Affirmative," Alec growled, frustration evident in his voice. "Falling back…"

"This front's lost," Sarah murmured, peering over her shoulder. "If we stay here, they'll cut us off. We need to haul ass back to the centre and regroup."

"Aye," Irving nodded. "Haul ass it is. Now move!"


	240. Operation Miracle Part 9

_**Northern Polar Expanse, Menae**_

_**Day 1, 1315**_

"What do you mean the north flank's down?" Murphy was muttering over the radio, aghast.

"Reapers came on too strong, captain," Irving Wolfe's deep voice replied. "The turians were wounded, they dropped like flies… I think we might have underestimated this one."

"It's not over yet," the captain growled. "Get back to the centre, we just need to hold a little longer… Kamur, you too!"

"Negative," the turian snapped. "We're holding the evac route open, pull back and the Reapers take it."

"We can't stay spread out," Murphy argued. "We need to regroup in the centre. If need be, we can punch our way back to the evac site, but I think we both know that isn't likely…"

"I… understood. Falling back to your position, captain, keep the guns warm."

The radio crackled with static, and Ethan did his best to blot out the prior conversation. _"They're going to make it," _his brain hissed. Then, more resolutely, it added: _"You'll make sure of that…"_

With that, the sentinel set his gaze back to the trail, and focused on blotting out the pain filling his body. His leg muscles were burning, his lungs were pounding against his ribs, and his cheek was bloody – a bullet had grazed his face as he escaped the base, and he hadn't yet had time to apply medi-gel. One thing was propelling him onwards, though: he was close.

"Cambrai!" he shouted, _forcing _the cry out of his weary lungs as he opened a new radio channel. "Where the hell are you? I'm thirty seconds out!"

"Coming in for landing," Erika Solov replied, in her usual clipped tones. "The hangar has been evacuated, Akito will meet you on the ramp for the hand-off."

If the pilot said anything else, Ethan didn't hear it – the world at large was drowned out by a _deafening _roar, and everything went black for a moment as a dark shadow swept overhead. With a loud _whump_, the Cambrai's airbrakes engaged, pulling the craft to a halt as Solov span it on a dime, gliding to the floor with surprising grace. When the frigate finally came to a halt, it was about a hundred yards ahead of Ethan, cargo ramp dropping down to hover a few feet off the ground. It was fortunate that the plateau was guarded by AA guns – Cash could _see _the static being discharged from the ship's hull, and that meant the oh-so vital barriers were down…

He closed what remained of the gap in twenty seconds or so, pushing himself to go faster with the promise of imminent success. A tall form was already waiting for him up ahead, and he practically _fell _onto the cargo ramp in front of the surprised Akito Yurai.

"Have you got the data?" the co-pilot murmured, crouching down concernedly next to Cash.

"Right here," the sentinel grunted, producing the datapad and pressing it into the other man's palm.

"And the others?"

"Still at the base."

There was a very long, very meaningful stare, as the two men stared at each other. Ethan was picking himself up now, and yanked his helmet off as Akito sighed:

"I've got orders…"

"And _I've_ got a plan," Cash muttered, defiantly.

Another pause.

"God damn it, I'm listening," the co-pilot replied. "I don't care what the captain says, we're not hanging them out to dry…"

"Good man. Now, delicate question – who's the better pilot, you or Erika?"

"Better? You'll have to be more specific…"

"Alright," Ethan snapped, "who would be _better _at landing a ship this size with an error margin of ten feet?"

"That… would be me," Akito murmured, sheepishly. "Erika's great on manoeuvres, but she's not a… _precision _pilot."

"Then you'll have to take the helm," the sentinel nodded, before explaining: "The turians blocked off the west path into their camp – it didn't need defending, so the Reapers wouldn't have bothered committing troops. That leaves the whole west flank of the base clear for landing…"

"Hot drop," he observed. "We'd take a _lot _of fire, and the barriers are still down…"

"We can hold out long enough," Cash muttered, dismissively. "Infantry won't bring down a ship this size inside a minute. What matters is, can you make the landing?"

"Easily."

"Then _do it_."

"What about you?"

"I'll stay here, put my plan into action. I'm… gonna need some help, though…"

"Who do you need?" Akito prompted, shrewdly.

"The krogan."

"Oh dear…"


	241. Operation Miracle Part 10

_**Northern Polar Expanse, Menae**_

_**Day 1, 1320**_

"Target left!" some unknown voice yelled.

_Thunk. _A split second after the shout rang out, Zel put a Viper round through the offending husk's head, dropping it instantly.

The turian biotic, like the rest of the contingent, was dug in in the centre of the base – a pair of large, two-room prefabs now hosted all that remained of the turian and Alliance infantry, with snipers on the rooftops and the rest packed into what were now essentially shooting galleries. Zel was sharing this particular room of the prefab with two turian marines and Kamur's second in command, Grattus, who was proving to be a bloody good shot. The room off to the right held her new sniper friends, Selim and Tyrus, as well as the engineer Vidanis and a couple more marines, and she was pretty sure Captain Murphy was on the roof, judging by the _rain _of fire coming down from above her head.

On the far side of the battlefield, in the second prefab, she could see more of her colleagues. Andersen was desperately working away at his omni-tool, deploying turrets as quickly as the Reaper troops could destroy them, while the turian sniper Varin covered him. In the adjacent chamber, Sarah Jade was covering a group of wounded turians with a rather impressive biotic barrier, as Irving and Alec mowed through the Reaper onslaught, firing away side by side.

"Stay down!" Grattus called out, as Zel tried to stand up and fire once more. "That crossfire will _slaughter_ us, but we can hold our own at close range. Keep your head out of the firing line and wait for them to come to us…"

Zel had to admit, the tactics worked. She pressed herself down towards the floor, and listened as shots whizzed past, smashing against the far wall with rapid, heavy _thunk_s but missing her by miles. Then, just as she was getting comfortable:

"Three by the window!"

With that, Zel saw Grattus hurl himself up into the fray once more. The biotic followed suit-

And found herself staring at the hideous face of a Marauder. Up close and personal, its ex-turian features were all the more obvious, and they filled the young biotic with a hate more intense than any she had felt before.

Yelling for no apparent reason, she grabbed the muzzle of the Marauder's rifle, slamming it down into the window sill just as the abomination tried to raise it. A metallic _clang _rang out, the weapon dropped away, and the creature stared blankly back. Gripping her Viper rifle like a club, Zel swung with both hands, smacking her adversary across the jaw and knocking it to the floor, before- _crack_. One final round punched through the Marauder's head, killing it outright.

To her right, Zel saw Grattus plunge a curved dagger through the face of a Marauder challenging him, while to the left, one of the turian marines was grappling with a third…

And very suddenly, the world went to hell. Still struggling with his opponent, the turian marine to her left had inadvertently put himself in the firing line for too long. A hideous chatter of machine gun fire rang out from across the battlefield, and the marine's head snapped back horribly. He was dead before he hit the floor, and just as Zel turned to finish off the Marauder herself-

_Thud_. Something small, hot, and _incredibly _painful buried itself in the biotic's flank. Her shields barely protested as the round punched through them – and her armour too, to boot – and sank into her flesh. With a small groan of protest, she keeled sideways, and crashed to the floor.

Falling to the floor got Zel out of the firing line, but her head was spinning and her side was burning, blue blood spilling out onto the floor. As she stared at it pooling beneath her, she felt a larger form slide down at her side, but she didn't _see _Grattus checking her wounds, blindly rattling off cover rounds as he did. Nor did she see the black boots which swung down from the rooftop, _kicked _the last Marauder through the window, and then jumped down to pursue it – she didn't see Captain Murphy roll across the floor, cast his sniper rifle off to one side, and go for his sidearm-

_Bang bang bang_. Even if she didn't see them, Zel still heard the captain's shots ricochet off across the prefab, and she still heard the dull _squelch_es of their impacts, followed by the low, rumbling groan of the dying Marauder. That was a satisfying noise, at least…

"How is she?" a tense voice growled, dropping into cover.

"Alive," Grattus replied, simply.

"Well, that's something," muttered the voice, which she now recognised as Murphy's. "How the hell did one shot bring her down?"

"Armour piercing round," the turian lieutenant grunted, from behind her back. "Deep puncture."

"Lots of blood, too," the captain observed. "Have we got a medic?"

"Negative, he's on the other side of the base. I can give her emergency treatment if you buy me a minute, captain."

"I'll buy you two," Murphy replied.

"Understood. You, marine! Over here, _now!_"

Grattus rolled her onto her back surprisingly gently, and staring up at the world once more, Zel saw the other surviving marine in the room scurry over to her side, a firm hand clamping around her waist as Grattus reached for a dose of medi-gel. Above her, towards the window, she saw Murphy kneel down with his now-recovered sniper rifle, take aim, and-

_Bang, bang, bang. _Three shots rattled out of the captain's Valiant, and as he went to reload, Zel tried to distract herself by deconstructing and assessing the human sniper's form. It was good, even by turian standards – arms in the correct position, body not too loose or tense, breathing steady… for a human, the captain was remarkably well drilled, and-

"Argh!" she screamed, suddenly – so suddenly, in fact, that it took her brain half a minute or so to realise that she _had _screamed, let alone work out _why_. Looking down, she saw a syringe buried in her side, clasped in the firm hand of a rather apologetic-looking Grattus.

"Sorry," the lieutenant murmured, placing a hand on her chest and pushing her back down flat. "No local anaesthetic, I just carry the emergency stuff… Now lie back, you're going to be fine…"

Zel did just that, and went back to staring at Murphy. He had just rattled off another clip, but as the biotic watched on he ducked down, uttering a string of human curses.

"Drawing a lot of _bloody _fire here!" he swore. "Selim, Tyrus, I need you to draw some attention!"

"Will do!" came a muffled reply in the radio, and Zel saw the distinctive tracer fire of the two turians' Krysaes race out across the battlefield from the room to the right.

"Kamur!" Murphy continued, still ducking low. "Where the hell is your squad? We need backup, _now!_"

"Coming in on your six o'clock, captain!" Kamur's familiar voice replied. His voice was very loud, thick with ragged breathing and coursing adrenaline. "Five of us still standing, and we laid out a little surprise for the Reapers – heads down, everybody!"

Murphy barely had time to murmur "Wha-" before he was deafened by a cataclysmic _boom_. The world outside – or at least, the glimpse of it Zel could see through the window – turned red, smoke and flame raced into the sky, and the prefab's interior was drowned in fiery light. Zel's skin began to crackle instinctively with biotics, and it took a steadying hand from Grattus on her chest to calm her down again. When the roaring from outside finally faded, the air was thick with ash and smoke, and the battlefield was eerily quiet.

Moments later, however, the firing began again. Shots were cracking out on all sides, and before Zel had quite recovered her bearings, she heard the door at the back of the room slide open to admit a series of pounding turian boots. Then, with a rather jubilant war cry, a silver-armoured form dropped down next to her side – Kamur slid on his flank, span around, and crunched into the window sill, still clutching his rifle doggedly.

"What the _hell_ was that?" Murphy muttered, as the turian captain signalled for his squad to spread out throughout the prefab.

"Ammo dump," Kamur replied, taking great gulps of air as he did. "Laid down the last of our charges inside and… well, _boom_. Should've taken a few dozen Reapers with it…"

The hastatim fell silent, rather suddenly, and Zel realised something was off when Murphy followed suit. In fact, the whole prefab had gone quiet – a few rifles were still blaring out, but conversation wasn't exactly forthcoming. Everyone was listening, intently, as a deep _thrum _filled the air. The smoke outside was whirling into odd patterns, and something was _moving _beyond it.

"Reaper?" Grattus breathed, finally breaking the silence.

"No," Kamur murmured, suspiciously. "Would've shelled us from orbit. That's-"

"SSV Cambrai to ground team!" a firm voice yelled – Solov, maybe? Zel couldn't quite tell in her dazed state, but her heart was pounding at the voice's meaning nonetheless.

"Cambrai, what's going on down here?" Murphy roared back, over the din. "Something's above us, something big!"

"That would be… us, sir. Now get the hell back on board…"


	242. Operation Miracle Part 11

_**Northern Polar Expanse, Menae**_

_**Day 1, 1330**_

"Spirits, are you kidding me?" Kamur yelled, in equal parts shock and awe. "What the hell is the Cambrai doing here?"

"Damned if I know," Murphy replied, almost _laughing_. "But you heard the lady. Move!"

"What do you mean _move?_" one of the turian marines scowled. "We're running away?"

"You gone deaf or something?" Kamur growled. "Yes, we're running!"

"With all due respect, captain, turians don't run!"

"Then pretend you're human!" the hastatim snapped. "Spirits know they live longer…"

"What about her?" Grattus interjected, and Zel knew instantly that she was the subject of the conversation.

"Prop her up and carry her out," the human captain muttered. "No-one left behind, turian!"

"No-one left behind," he nodded, a hint of approval in his voice.

With that, Grattus slipped an arm under her shoulder blades and yanked her upwards, to her feet. Despite the aching in her flank, Zel's blood was coursing with adrenaline now – if they hadn't taken her rifle, she would have been firing it, but as it was she settled for biotics, sheathing her hand in a cloud of glittering blue.

"I'll clear a path," Kamur growled, rising to his feet, and for the first time Zel noticing that he was carrying _two _rifles – he had a Phaeston machine gun in either hand, and wielding them both, he made for a terrifying sight, face streaked with blood and dust and ash…

"Cambrai, transmit a rendezvous," Murphy called over the radio. "We're about to move!"

"Just head west, captain," a new voice replied – the co-pilot, Akito. "And look up!"

_Bang. _At that very moment, there was a flare of thrusters, and a great cloud of smoke billowed out of the way to reveal a silhouette above – a hawk-like form, hanging weightless in the air above…

"SSV Cambrai," Murphy muttered. "You're a sight for sore eyes… Everybody, move!"

With that, Zel felt herself propelled forwards, and she staggered a little way before finding her feet and matching Grattus' stride. The turian rifleman was still propping her up with his left arm, while simultaneously popping out rounds from a Predator sidearm in his right. They clambered somewhat awkwardly through the window sill, and out into hell.

As they began their run, Zel noted that Kamur's team had done them all a favour without actually realising it. Quite apart from killing a load of Reapers, blowing up the ammo dump had shrouded the entire base in translucent smoke, meaning the surviving Reapers could barely shoot straight. All the defenders had to do was set their sights on the Cambrai, floating above the battlefield, and run through the smoke. Not much risk at a-

_Crack. _Zel was proved _very _wrong as a stray burst of fire arced out of nowhere, cut past the heads of the defenders, and promptly killed one of Kamur's men, a shot burying itself in his eye socket. The Reapers might have been blind, but _so were they…_

"Double time!" Kamur bellowed, and Zel saw him spraying off shots from both his rifles as he bounded off into the smoke. Murphy was close behind, taking a rather more intelligent approach and sweeping the surroundings with a thermal scope. The rest of the group was following doggedly, picking up their pace, and off to the right, Zel could just about make out the silhouettes of Tyrus, Selim and the others. Up ahead, the Cambrai was partially obscured by the smoke, but her engines still shone through like four giant beacons, lighting the way…

"Down!" Grattus yelled, sharply, and mere moments later he shoved Zel to the ground as _something _exploded out of the smoke. A Cannibal ploughed into the turian lieutenant, and they fell to the floor, tangled together – Grattus struck out, sinking a clawed fist into the monster's chest, before kicking it away. His pistol had fallen a little way away, however, and as they scrambled apart, the creature had a clear shot-

Zel rolled over, blotted out the pain in her side, and let loose with a truly _vicious _torrent of biotics. The Cannibal was flung into the air, crumbling to ash even before it left the ground, and then it was gone, lost to the smokescreen.

Grattus scrambled to his feet, abandoning his pistol where it fell, and yanked Zel to her feet once more, the two of them ploughing off into the thick of it again. The rest of the group had gone some way ahead, and as they ran on, the biotic heard Murphy call:

"Cambrai, we're thirty seconds out! Get on the ground, now!"

"Aye aye," Akito replied - the frigate's silhouette shifted in the smoke, swinging around and dropping to hover a few dozen feet above the ground. A low, steel rumble signalled the opening of the cargo hold, and then:

"Watch your heads!"

_Crack crack crack crack crack crack crack. _Machine gun fire rattled out from beyond the smokescreen, and a couple of shots narrowly missed Zel and Grattus as they dashed forwards. Then, the smoke cleared, and Zel had to work very hard to stop her jaw from dropping.

The Cambrai was hovering a way off the ground, like before, but now, Zel could see the open cargo hold waiting to greet them. The hold was open, and the cargo ramp had been lowered – it dipped down at a rather steep angle, finishing just a foot or two above the ground, and there was _something _dangling there…

It took the turian biotic a few moments to realise that that _something _was a tank. The ship's Mako was balanced precariously on the lip of the cargo ramp, her machine gun spitting out red-hot rounds in great arcs across the battlefield, and the only thing stopping gravity from pulling it earthwards was a chain wrapped around the front axle. Zel's eyes followed the loose ends on either side, and she noted with some incredulity that they weren't wrapped around a bulkhead or mooring clamp. They were being _held_. Yui and Dax were visible towards the back of the cargo bay, chains wrapped around their shoulders, making it look effortless as they used the slack to support the Mako.

Setting her eyes back to the fight, Zel realised that a melee was breaking out. The Mako was cutting down targets at range – as she watched on, a Brute was tossed effortlessly away by a mass accelerator round – but the Reapers were charging en masse, and they caught the defenders' tails at the very base of the cargo ramp. She saw Kamur mow down an entire squad of Marauders, even as one of his marines was picked off half way into the hold – he slumped, hit the floor, and tumbled limply to the ground, falling unceremoniously off the end of the ramp. Off to the left, the snipers had broken away – Captain Murphy was stood alongside Varin, Tyrus and Selim, and the four of them were sending shot after shot at the chasing mob. Irving Wolfe and Alec Carter had fallen back to the Mako's side, grappling fiercely with husks which were trying to break in and kill the driver, whoever it was.

Grattus changed direction sharply, avoiding the high-velocity round of a Ravager and making for the tank himself, dragging Zel with him. She just had time to see Sarah Jade _hurl _a group of Reaper troops away with her biotics, and then they were at the ramp. Grattus practically scooped her up and threw her down onto the ship – she fell near the Mako's wheel, and watched as the turian lieutenant scrambled up himself. Behind him, two turians who had been lagging slightly were sprinting towards them, when _boom. _A Cannibal's grenade went off, and they were gone, torn apart.

"Captain, this is all of us!" Grattus roared aloud, falling down next to Zel as he did and firing off the last of his pistol rounds. "We need to go- unh!"

That grunt accompanied a loud _bang_, as a leering Cannibal popped up over the top of the ramp and put a round through Grattus' leg. It stumbled forwards, readying to fire again, and Zel began to focus her biotics, but someone beat her to it – a blunt _thump _rang out as a ball of blue energy swept down, knocking the creature back, and a new figure had just appeared to one side.

Practically _erupting _out of the Mako's hatch, Ethan Cash went for the Cannibal like a mad beast. He rolled under a burst of vengeful fire, jumped back onto his feet, put one omni-blade through the Cannibal's gun hand, then whirled around and decapitated it with the other.

"Yui, get the ramp!" the sentinel roared, going for his pistol.

As Ethan went for two approaching Marauders, bringing them down with a precise _crack crack _of gunfire, Zel twisted around to see Hei Yui drop his end of the chain and run for the far side of the hangar, where the main console rested.

Unfortunately, gravity was a cruel and rather predictable mistress. As Yui ran for the console, his length of the chain went slithering downwards – it whipped and cracked against the deck, showered sparks into the air, and came racing down towards them like a rather hefty grey serpent. Before Zel could react, it broke across her brow, slamming her head against the deck and turning her world into a blurry mess. Grattus caught a crack across the back, and as Zel rolled dazedly over, she saw Ethan's legs taken out from under him, even as he tossed a husk clean out of the cargo hold. The Mako slipped, and slid down towards the precipice despite Urdnot Dax's best efforts, and for one horrible moment, it felt like they were all about to crash back down onto the moon below…

Then, Yui reached the console, and the moment was gone. All momentum reversed as the cargo ramp shot upwards, tipping them in the opposite direction. Rather than dangling below the cargo hold, Zel found herself rising above it, and as the ramp pushed up towards the ceiling, she felt herself begin to fall.

A few moments later, she was tumbling downwards, bouncing painfully against the steel cargo ramp. Everyone was off their feet – Grattus and Ethan were falling on either side of her, and in one brief moment, dangling in mid-air, she caught sight of Murphy rolling to a halt on the floor below. The Mako was shifting too, free and falling, and Dax had to dash out of the way, abandoning any pretence of control as the tank _crunched _down on its roof just feet from where he had been standing. It bounced once, span, and then crashed to the floor by the elevator, narrowly avoiding Hei Yui – the krogan warrior crumpled to the floor, with only the cargo console saving him from being crushed beneath the tank's axle.

Finally, and with her stomach well and truly churning, Zel hit the base of the ramp and rolled to a halt on the level cargo bay floor. Her blood was coursing with adrenaline, her stomach was upside down, and she was pretty sure she had a concussion… but at least she was alive.

"Akito," Murphy called over the radio, breaking the stunned silence. "Get us moving, and patch a line to Councillor Sparatus."

"Aye aye."

The hangar faded to silence once more, saving for the creaking of metal as Yui extracted himself from the wreckage near the elevator. Still clutching her face in her dazed state, Zel heard a quiet murmur in her ear, not directed at he, but at the world at large.

"We made it," Ethan was sighing. "We all _fucking _made it… I'll be damned."


	243. Operation Miracle Debrief

_**SSV Cambrai, Apien Crest**_

_**Day 1, 1400**_

"So… those upgrades are working pretty well," Murphy observed, awkwardly leaning on the war room table.

"Told you," Cash grinned – he winked, and his cybernetic eye flashed from blue to brown. The sentinel was the only other person in the room – the rest of Murphy's squad were in the med bay, while the turian survivors assembled in the battered hangar.

"Alright, I'm going to cut to the chase," the captain muttered. "You disobeyed an order."

"I saved your ass," the other man pointed out, obstinately.

"Noted, just… don't do it again, alright? Sometimes, acceptable losses need to happen."

"Captain, we both know they're not _acceptable _if they're preventable."

"See, it's stuff like that that makes the turians look down on us," Murphy laughed. "But… it's also the exact same thing I'd say in your shoes. Dismissed, corporal."

Cash saluted and turned on his heel, pacing out of the war room. Just as he did, however, another figure took his place – Kamur stepped wearily through the door, and moved to the captain's side.

"How are you holding up, captain?" Kamur smiled, weakly.

"Just fine, captain," he smirked back. "How about you?"

"I just saved Palaven," the hastatim chuckled. "I'm bloody brilliant…"

Murphy decided to take his word for it – the turian was still covered in blood and the worst of the dust, and his armour reeked of smoke, but he was smiling a broad, fanged smile, and his eyes were bright.

"Come on then," Murphy shrugged, turning to the table and drawing up the comms panel. "Councillor Sparatus, are you hearing this?"

"Loud and clear, gentlemen," came a rasping voice from the other end, as the turian councillor appeared – in holographic form – at the head of the table. "What news from Palaven?"

"Mission accomplished, councillor," the human captain smiled. "We've got the data, transmitting now…"

"It's encrypted," Sparatus murmured, almost instantly. "Didn't Niall and Bentiss give you the decryption keys?"

"They're both dead, sir," Kamur chipped in. "Niall died in the initial airstrike. Bentiss was with my squad – he died defending the front."

"Sounds like him," the councillor shrugged. "Bentiss never did like being posted to intelligence. Makes sense that he'd go die on a battle line instead…"

"He wasn't the only one," noted the other turian. "We lost the base, and the QEC. Most of the garrison died in the initial strike or the evac."

"Most, soldier?"

"All but four. An engineer, a medic, and two wounded marines were the only ones who made it out."

"I see… which are you, soldier?"

"I'm not from the garrison," Kamur replied. "Captain Destra, Taetrus Fifth. My regiment's last company was in the area when the base was attacked, so we joined the defence. Two companies of the Palaven Seventh did the same."

"Commendable, captain. To rush in of your own accord… what were the casualties in these companies?"

"Heavy, sir. Both companies of the Seventh were wiped out – the only men who made it out were a couple of snipers, Rien Tyrus and Selim Abraxis."

"They ran?"

"They held the line, councillor. Helped us evacuate the base."

"Hmm… what about your own company, captain?"

"Nowhere near as many casualties as the Seventh, but… still considerable, sir. Roughly fifty percent, including our entire sniper force save one."

"Then the solution seems rather obvious, captain. I've pulled the relevant files – Tyrus and Abraxis will be transferred to the Fifth to bolster your sharpshooters, along with this engineer Vidanis, if you want him."

"Much appreciated, sir. What are our orders?"

"For now…" – the captain turned to look meaningfully at Captain Murphy – "stay with the humans. I'll have further orders once I've been in touch with General Coronati. There's a situation brewing on Oma Ker that might require your unit's… specialist touch."

"Understood, sir."

"Now, Captain Murphy…"

"Yes, councillor?"

"I owe you a great deal, captain. You didn't have to do this, and spirits know I wasn't even sure you _could_, but damn it, you might have just saved my home world…"

"My pleasure," Murphy smiled. "We've got a reputation to uphold, after all…"

"Indeed you do. Speaking of which… I might be able to held you correct a rather _black _mark on that reputation."

"Go on," the captain murmured, frowning.

"Four hours ago, while you were on Menae, one of our listening posts discovered an artificial body orbiting Illapa, in the Maroon Sea."

"An _artificial body?_"

"A space station. Whoever built it did a bloody good job of hiding it – between the gas giant's atmosphere and the one-hundred and twenty moons orbiting it, it could have been there for years and we'd never have noticed it."

"How _did _you notice it, then?"

"A pirate ship attacked a turian supply transport heading for Irune. They tried to hide on one of Illapa's moons, our ships pursued, and they stumbled across the base by mistake.

"Why are you telling this to _me?_" Murphy scowled, suspiciously.

"The base was human, captain. Not Alliance, not any more at least, but it was made from human components, using technology and human frequencies…"

"Cerberus…" he growled.

"I think so. Our frigate squadron is holding on the perimeter – command wanted them to blitz the station, but I know you've got history with Cerberus. I thought you might want to deal with it personally."

"Damn right I do. Tell your ships we'll be with them by tomorrow morning. We'll make our move then."

"Understood, captain. Good luck."

With that, Sparatus shimmered and faded, leaving the two captains alone.

"Been a while since I got to tangle with Cerberus," Kamur grinned, grinding his palms together in anticipation.

"What makes you assume _you're_ coming?" Murphy replied, with half a smile.

"Oh, give off… I'm surprised you humans lasted _this_ long without me…"


	244. Downtime 16

_**SSV Cambrai, Apien Crest**_

_**Day 1, 1430**_

"Making the jump now," Akito muttered, over the radio. "Eight hours to the Caleston Rift, then another six to the Maroon Sea. Captain wants the following operatives in the war room at oh-eight-hundred: Jade, Wolfe, Carter, Ekris and Rilum. The rest of you, get some rest and be ready to go on short notice. Bridge out."

"The Maroon Sea?" Cash murmured, from the med bay's doorway. "I take it we're _not _getting shore leave, then…"

"Guess not," Andersen sighed, from across the room – like Cash, the engineer wasn't hurt too badly, and he was applying his own bandages to the bloody gash in his left hand. Dr O'Leiph's attention was reserved for the more serious cases – she had already removed a shot from Grattus Maxam's leg, and now she was attending to Red, who had passed out on the way up from the hangar.

"Must be important, though," the sentinel mused. "We're heading there on short notice…"

"Yeah," his friend began, but a moment later he stopped, looked through the open door to the mess hall, and scowled: "Christ, are those two at it _again?_"

"You just don't listen, do you?" an angry voice yelled, drifting into the med bay for all to hear. "You don't have any say in my life any more, Alec!"

Cash shifted slightly, moving towards the doorpost and peering through it. Stood in the mess hall, shouting and red-faced, were two human figures. One was slim and pretty, the doctor's assistant, while the other was a bulky marine Ethan had encountered on Menae, but had yet to actually _speak _to. From the body language, they seemed to be brother and sister, and they both seemed to be _pissed_.

"This is a military ship!" Alec retorted, angrily. "And you're not a soldier, Alicia!"

"I am now!" 'Alicia' snapped. To her credit, she was standing up to her brother rather well, with a demeanour roughly resembling a terrier.

"No, you're not! You're a little girl who put on a uniform!"

With that, the terrier became a _tiger_. Alicia went an even more vivid shade of scarlet, and her slender form seemed to _swell _angrily, as she shrieked:

"I can't _believe _you just said that! Just like when we were kids – you always were a condescending-"

_Thunk_. The door slid shut, as another new figure swept past Ethan and hit the console. It was the biotic from Menae, the human one…

"Sometimes I'm _glad _I don't have a family," she sighed darkly, turning and slouching against the door. "So complicated…"

"You think they'll simmer down any time soon?" Andersen muttered.

"Well, Alec's a guy, so… no."

They both stared at her, eyebrows raised, until she murmured beneath her breath: "No offence."

"_Anyway_…" the engineer sighed, changing the subject, "I don't believe you two have been introduced."

"Indeed we haven't," the biotic girl nodded. She extended a slender hand, and added: "First Lieutenant Sarah Jade. N7."

"Corporal Ethan Cash," he grunted, shaking her hand in return.

"Corporal?" Sarah echoed, quizzically. "I saw you on the battlefield, and you sure don't _fight _like a corporal…"

"Made it to NCO before," Cash explained. "Then resigned, re-enlisted… plus, Grissom doesn't exactly churn out _normal _soldiers."

"Fair enough," she replied, a hint of a smile flickering over her features at the mention of Grissom Academy. Evidently, she was a fellow alumnus…

"So," the sentinel continued, turning to Andersen. "I notice Miss Jade here isn't the only new addition to the crew. Care to fill me in?"

"Sure. Let's see… Sarah came in with two other N7s – the one bickering with his sister in the mess is Alec Carter, and the big guy with the scars is Irving Wolfe. Both riflemen."

"Word of warning on Irving," Sarah chipped in, "_never _mention batarians around him. Those scars? He got them at Torfan…"

"Yikes. That's rough…"

"Yeah. The guy's been through a lot," Andersen muttered. "Aside from those three, you've only got two other humans. The little wildcat currently screaming at Alec is his sister Alicia, biotic and medic – odd combination, I know. Then there's Victor Cross. Former Alliance. Renegade, and a bloody lethal one at that, but he's a good guy."

"Uh-huh."

"And that just leaves the aliens. Two biotics – a drell called Ekris and an asari called Liselle – and a quarian engineer by the name of Klara'Tseni. We've also got a batarian on the crew, but he's currently in Shalta General with half a dozen broken bones, so you won't be seeing him for a while."

"Right… Now that I'm up to speed, how about picking up where we left off?"

"The bar?"

"Precisely…"


	245. Operation Talon Briefing

_**SSV Cambrai, Maroon Sea**_

_**Day 1, 0750**_

"Boss, let's face it, you need a couple of extra guns."

"If I needed you, Tyco, I'd have called you up."

"Oh, come on!" the sniper protested. "This is Cerberus we're talking about! We all want a shot at them!"

"How do you know it's Cerberus?" Murphy scowled, accusingly. "I haven't briefed anyone yet."

"With all due respect, captain, it's pretty obvious," Ethan Cash interjected, from Tyco's side. "You went into a meeting with the turian councillor, and came out with a new objective for first thing in the morning. That makes it important – Reapers or Cerberus. If it were Reapers, we'd be flying in

with the stealth systems engaged, but we're not… so that just leaves Cerberus, sir."

The captain sighed with a _'you're too smart' _look in his eyes, and took a few moments before replying:

"Just keep your guns handy. That base is a complete unknown, we might need backup pretty sharpish."

"Aye aye," Cash murmured – Tyco just nodded, and the two of the turned and left.

With that out of the way, Murphy paced into the war room proper, to find his squad assembled and waiting. Sarah, Irving and Alec were together as always, on the left of the table. Ekris was to the right, fiddling with his biotic amp and chatting to Rilum, who looked stoic as ever.

"Alright, people!" Murphy called, taking the head of the table. "I'm sure word's already gotten around, but today, we're striking at Cerberus."

"'Bout time," Irving grunted. "Been waiting for a shot at those bastards…"

"Quite. The turians have located a Cerberus installation hidden amongst Illapa's moons, and they invited us to do the honours in shutting it down."

"What do we know about this place?" Sarah asked.

"Not a great deal. Akito's exchanging data with the turians right now, he should have more intel…"

He paused, tapped away at the console in front of him for a few moments, and then called over the radio, to the bridge:

"Akito, what have you found?"

"Just a few superficial details from the turians' scans," the co-pilot replied. "The base is about the size of a small cruiser, well shielded, and built to look like one of the asteroids at first glance. Exterior scans located half a dozen GARDIAN turrets, airlocks on the west and east faces, and what looks suspiciously like a fighter bay on the north…"

"And the interior?"

"Our scans couldn't penetrate. The only objects of note were two large heat sources near the centre of the base – we believe they're eezo cores, keeping the base in orbit."

"Alright… patch the turian frigates in for final planning."

"Patching them now…"

After a few seconds' delay, two large holograms blossomed at the far end of the table – the two turian captains looked rather grave and more than a little impatient, but they were polite enough, as they reported:

"PFS Mavarr, reporting in."

"PFS Vinatar, reporting in."

"Good to see you, gentlemen. Ready for the off?"

"Systems have been ready since last night," the Vinatar's captain responded. "Let's just blow this thing up and go home…"

"There might be a _small _problem with that," Akito interjected. "That whole base is shielded to military standards, and we've only got frigates. The Cambrai might be able to do some damage with her Thanix cannon, but even so, a bombardment would be slow work without a cruiser-class vessel to call on."

"So we take it down from the inside," Murphy responded, instantly.

"How?" replied the Mavarr's representative. "The airlocks are shielded too, we'd never get a shuttle inside."

"Then we get them to open the door for us," the captain muttered, simply.

"Are you thinking what I'm thinking, captain?" Akito asked.

"Quite possibly… we move in close, they open up the fighter bay, and then we slip in behind them while the barriers are down. If we can get a couple of shuttles inside, we can find the eezo cores and shut them down – mass effect fields fails, the whole base falls and burns up in the atmosphere.

"Are you volunteering your men for this, captain?" came the voice from the Vinatar.

"Naturally… We lost a shuttle on Menae, though. We'll need you to provide one for our second team."

"Understood. We'll send a shuttle and pilot over ASAP. Give us the word when you're ready to attack."

The two holograms faded from view, and the Cambrai team was left to mull things over for a moment or two. Then, with a look of clear confusion on his face, Ekris leaned over, and muttered:

"Second team, captain?"

"Yeah. Tell Kamur to gather his men and meet us in the hangar."


	246. Operation Talon Part 1

_**Cerberus Facility, Illapa Orbit**_

_**Day 1, 0830**_

"You sure you want to be riding with us, Kamur?" Murphy muttered. "I thought you'd be going with your men…"

"Grattus can handle himself," the turian captain shrugged. "I trust that man with my life, and more importantly, my squad… Besides, I want to be here. It's been way too long since I fought with you guys."

"Agreed," the captain smiled. "Now, everybody ready? We're going into a hot zone, you'll need to have your weapons ready the second we step off the shuttle."

"Way ahead of you," Irving grunted, slipping a fresh clip into his rifle with a _click_. "We're ready, captain."

"Good man. Now… Grattus, what's the status on your team?"

"Ready to go!" came the turian's reply, over the radio. "We're on your flank, tight formation. Let's do this, captain…"

"Aye aye… Mavarr, Vinatar, begin your attack run. Draw those fighters out and keep them away from us!"

"Affirmative," the Vinatar replied. "Moving in, direct bearing. Mavarr, hold our six, watch for bombers!"

There was a dull rush in the air around them as the two turian frigates swept forwards, and moments later, the shuttle followed suit, lurching forward through space. Murphy checked his Valiant once more, loaded a magazine of armour-piercing rounds, then slipped it onto his back and drew his sidearm. For jumping off a shuttle, he preferred a manoeuvrable weapon, a pistol as opposed to a rifle or sniper rifle, and the Phalanx he carried had enough stopping power to get him to cover safely.

"Thirty seconds!" the shuttle pilot cried out, then: "Christ! Fighters everywhere!"

_Bang._ _Something_ rocked the shuttle, and it swayed in mid-air, before ploughing ahead on its onward course.

"Mass accelerator hit," the pilot reported. "Single impact, no real damage… lucky. Ten seconds!"

Murphy clambered to his feet, pistol clutched all the more tightly in his hand, and found Ekris stepping up next to him. The drell's arms were already glowing with biotics, and Murphy knew exactly what he was planning. He merely gave him a nod of approval, and then-

"Doors opening! Go, go, go!"

The shuttle doors slid aside, and Captain Murphy was provided with a split-second view of the hangar in perfect stillness. His marksman's eyes were already picking out the white and gold-armoured troopers pacing the halls, but his vision was blotted out moments later as a fighter whizzed past, just feet away, launching out to join the fray outside. Then, he snapped back to attention, and opened fire:

_Bang, bang, bang. _Taking aim at a trio of troopers across the hangar, Murphy killed one with his first two shots, and took the last one's leg from underneath him with his third, before diving out into the open air alongside Ekris. It took the Cerberus troopers a few moments to realise just what was happening, and Murphy managed to finish off another one with a quick double tap – _bang bang _– which pulverised his target's head, before shots began to fly back towards him. The crackling of rifle and SMG fire rang out across the hangar as Irving and Alec hopped down behind him, Valkyries braced in their arms. A loud _crack _sounded out to the left, and Murphy wheeled around to see another trooper, _very _close by, wielding one of those shotgun pistols-

Before he could do anything to _deal _with the shotgun wielder, however, Ekris pounced. The drell biotic landed a hefty kick to the trooper's stomach, levered him face-first into the floor with a flurry of eezo-blue energy, then bounded around in a half-circle and shot his palms upwards. A biotic barrier came blossoming out of his hands, a great blue dome which enveloped them all and sent Cerberus' shots bouncing back across the hangar.

"Get to cover, _now!_" Murphy bellowed, tapping Ekris on the shoulder as he did and signalling towards a heap of spare parts and crates a little way across the hangar. The whole squad was pressed inside the barrier now, and they made a mad dash for the heap, Murphy leading the way. It took just a few moments for him to reach it, and as he did, he slid down to the floor, tossing off a grenade and hearing the satisfying _boom _as it exploded amongst a group of troopers. Rilum thudded down next to him, swiftly followed by Sarah Jade, Kamur, and then Ekris. Irving and Alec were the last ones down – the two troopers had begun spewing out a wall of covering fire the moment Ekris' barrier subsided, and they were cutting down the shocked Cerberus forces in droves as they finally came to crouch behind an abandoned cargo crate.

"Keep up the fire!" Murphy yelled to his men, drawing up the comms as he did, and continuing: "Grattus, report!"

"We're down, captain," came the turian's reply, and as he listened, Murphy caught sight of their shuttle, towards the rear of the bay. "All accounted for and ready for the fight. What's our plan?"

"Two-pronged attack," Murphy muttered, on the fly. "I need your team to take out the main reactor. Just follow the heat signature right to the core, then lock it down until we're ready to blow it."

"What's _your_ team doing?"

"We'll locate the shield generator and wreck it – as long as the base is shielded, we're not getting out of those airlocks, and personally I'd prefer to have an escape route open before we crash this place into the planet…"

"Understood… good luck, captain. Squad, move up!"

"You heard him," Murphy nodded. "Move up!"


	247. Operation Talon Part 2

_**Cerberus Facility, Illapa Orbit**_

_**Day 1, 0850**_

"Room clear!" Irving Wolfe called, from the door on the far side of the room.

"Lock it down!" Murphy shouted back, gesturing to his squad and continuing: "Irving, door ahead, Alec, door behind. Kamur, Ekris, take the centre. Lynus, Sarah, help me check the terminals."

The team had been running for about ten minutes after blowing their way out of the hangar – with a satisfying trail of dead Cerberus troopers behind them, they now found themselves in a small, square room that sat astride the corridor from the hangar. Ahead and behind were the doors they were going through and had come through respectively, now guarded by Irving and Alec, and off to the left, where Ekris and Kamur were standing ready, was a collection of random paraphernalia. A table with a datapad and a deconstructed pistol, a rack on the wall containing three shotgun pistols and some ammo boxes, labelled 'For Category 0 Emergency'…

Off to the right, where the captain now was, there were a series of computers. In fact, 'series' was an understatement – the whole wall was _covered_ in holographic displays and consoles, so much so that Murphy didn't quite know where to begin. Sarah and Lynus stepped up on either side of him, and finally, the captain just chose a terminal and random and jumped in.

Immediately, it became apparent that _something _was up. Every one of the first three terminals was emblazoned with the scarlet-red words: "Category 1 Emergency."

"Captain, are you getting this too?" Sarah called, gesturing to another 'Category 1' screen on the screen in front of her.

"Yeah…" he replied frustratedly, moving to one of the consoles at the base of the wall. "Let's see if there's anything new on-"

With an electronic crackle, a cobalt-blue figure blossomed into life on top of the terminal, translucent but definitely human.

"Well _that's _new," Murphy muttered, as Sarah and Lynus moved to his side.

"This Poseidon Technologies installation is currently under lockdown pursuant to a Category One emergency," the VI began, in a synthetic but clearly female voice. "All databanks are locked down until the threat has passed. Poseidon Technologies apologises for any inconvenience this may cause, and urges you to seek out our security personnel as soon as possible for your own safety."

"Poseidon Technologies…" the captain murmured, then turned to Rilum, and asked: "Ring any bells?"

"Yes," the salarian nodded, after a brief pause to search his memory. "Small specialist company, based on the human world Trident. Officially a bio-technology firm, but dabbles in… other trades."

"Other trades?"

"Illegal exploitation. The planet has loose laws and plentiful resources – mineral wealth, exotic species… Poseidon suspected of illegal mining – iridium, uranium in high quantities, also rumours of dust-form eezo. Not illegal on Trident, but… questionable under Citadel and Alliance law."

"How do you know all this?"

"Trident is a rogue's gallery. Lots of smuggling rings, pirate gangs… STG profiled the planet and its factions on several occasions while hunting illegal operations. Never suspected Poseidon was a Cerberus front, though."

"Surely that's the _idea,_" Sarah pointed out, wryly. "Can you get anything from the VI?"

"I can try…" Murphy sighed, then turned to the console. "What is this place?"

"This facility is a secure testing site for Poseidon Technologies – the premier supplier of neural implants in the Systems Alliance!"

"And who _are _Poseidon Technologies?" he proved.

"Poseidon Technologies are the premier supplier of neural implants in the Systems Alliance!"

"Bloody sales pitch…" Murphy grumbled. "Can you give me the schematics of this station's interior?"

"I'm sorry, that information is stored in a databank currently under lockdown. This information will be available again when the Category One situation has reached its conclusion."

"Category One?" Sarah piped up. "What's Category One?"

"A Category One emergency refers to a hostile assault upon this station," the VI chimed in. "Until the Category One alert is repealed, all databanks will remain locked down."

"Us," Murphy laughed, darkly. "Category One is _us_. The moment we hit the station, they locked the databanks down."

"Why?" the biotic replied, although her face seemed to indicate she had suspicions already.

"Plausible deniability," Rilum muttered. "Locking down data prevents hostile forces acquiring records, documents. Suspect there is also a protocol for data wipe in the event of the station's loss. Even if the base is taken, Poseidon can never officially be linked to Cerberus, cannot legally be shut down."

"Would that _work?_" the captain frowned. "It'd still be pretty obvious that Cerberus was here. Just look at the bodies – the armour they're wearing, the weapons they're carrying…"

"No proof," the salarian shrugged. "Poseidon could claim Cerberus hijacked their station. Wouldn't work in Council space – STG, Blackwatch bend laws, Spectres break them outright. But in Alliance territory, might prevent official action."

"Defended by bureaucracy. Nice," Murphy scoffed.

"What _is _this place?" Sarah asked, quietly, so that the VI didn't answer for them. "The equipment, the consoles… it looks scientific."

"Scientific… perhaps," Rilum muttered. "Medical, in my opinion. Both make sense – Poseidon deals in biotech: neural implants and genetic modification. Doesn't advertise the latter – considerable Luddite and organic base-line movements in human society. Protests, boycotts, sabotage. Bad for business."

Murphy was about to reply, when a loud shout rang out from behind the trio:

"Sir!" Alec called. Then, _whoosh_…

_Thump…_

_Bang._


	248. Operation Talon Part 3

**A/N: So, I just took a look through the most reviewed Mass Effect fics, for curiosity's sake... and Galaxy at War is #4. Wow.**

**Extra long chapter today, guys, to make up for the lack of a Double Monday yesterday and the sparseness of updates in general over the last couple of weeks - things are about to get very chaotic, and very interesting, very fast... Hope you enjoy it. **

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><p><em><strong>Cerberus Facility, Illapa Orbit<strong>_

_**Day 1, 0855**_

It took Captain Murphy at least a minute to work out what the hell had just happened. Even before that, however, his gun was drawn and in his hand, an act of mere instinct.

The building blocks were fairly easy to work with. The door to the room – the one going ahead – had opened, and was still open. A white-and-gold armoured figure was standing in said doorway, fully armoured, but apparently without a weapon. At the figure's feet was Alec Carter – the marine had crumpled to the floor, clutching his stomach, but he still had some fight in him, and his rifle was clutched in his free hand, aimed squarely at the newcomer. The rest of the squad had all done the same as Murphy – Irving and Kamur had drawn their rifles and advanced on the target, Ekris and Sarah were warming up their biotics, and Rilum had his omni-tool ready in the one hand, SMG in the other. On closer inspection, the newcomer's hand was outstretched in a pose that wasn't exactly natural… _ah_. A little glimmer of reflecting light provided the answer, and Murphy finally spotted the bullet hovering motionless in the air by the man's hand, stopped dead by biotics. According to his visor's readout, the barrel of Kamur's rifle was still warm from the shot…

That made for a fairly logical sequence of events, then. Alec had cried out in alarm – _"Sir!" _– as the door began to open. The door had opened – _whoosh_ – the Cerberus agent had rushed in, he had brought down Alec with a blow to the gut, presumably biotic – _thump_ – and had quickly moved to block as Kamur took a shot at him – _bang._

So who the hell _was _he? The mere association of Cerberus and biotics rang alarm bells, but this certainly wasn't Creed – he was square-shouldered and rather strong looking, not like the slim, wiry Creed. Furthermore, Murphy suspected, Creed wouldn't have _waited _before attacking them all.

"Lower your weapons," the newcomer said, finally, in a low, even tone.

"Like hell," Kamur muttered.

_Bang._ Without warning, the turian fired another shot from his rifle – it whizzed through the air and came inches from the Cerberus agent's face, forcing him to make a wild, biotic swing to block it. The two rounds Kamur had fired fell to the ground with a subtle _plink plink_, and his target's arm continued to bristle with biotic energy.

"That was a warning shot," the turian growled, more to Murphy than to the Cerberus agent.

"I'm on your side," the Cerberus agent murmured, voice still even.

"Bullshit," Irving snarled, under his breath.

"Do I _look _like I'm trying to kill you?"

"Maybe not, but _that thing _looks like a great big bullseye to me," Alec rasped, reaching up and jabbing the Cerberus logo on the man's chest with the barrel of his rifle.

"My name's Eldridge," he sighed. "I'm a defector, turncoat, traitor, whatever the hell you want to call it, now lower your bloody guns!"

There was a very _long _pause, and the squad's guns completely and utterly failed to lower. Finally, however, a lone voice broke the silence:

"I believe him," Rilum piped up.

"_What?_" Murphy hissed. "Why?"

"Logical assessment," the salarian replied. "Too emotive and expressive to be implanted, indoctrinated - Reaper control causes deterioration of mental functions. No weapons drawn, no signs of aggression beyond initial confrontation. Armour marked" – for the first time, Murphy noticed the black shot scars across Eldridge's armour – "consistent with Cerberus Talons. Could be a Cerberus agent shot by a real traitor, but judging by entry wounds, multiple shot angles – therefore, multiple shooters, more likely that it was a Cerberus squad. No logical reason to distrust him, therefore logical conclusion – trust him."

Silence followed again, and Murphy was almost _angry _that he couldn't fault the salarian's thinking. Much as he wanted to put a bullet in anything wearing the Cerberus logo, there was a lot running in this one's favour…

"If you want an olive branch," Eldridge added, "I can get you into that terminal."

"Do it," the captain nodded. "We were after the base's schematics."

"A map? Alright..."

The biotic took a step forward, and moved past the glaring Alec, who kept his gun trained firmly on the turncoat's back. Kamur and Irving were still aiming at him too, although Ekris and Sarah had quelled their biotics for the time being, and Rilum had lowered his weapons. Murphy, for his part, kept his pistol trained on Eldridge's head throughout as he crossed the room, stepped up to the console, and stared directly at the VI:

"Computer, access station schematics. Single-terminal access only."

"I'm sorry, that information is stored in a databank currently under lockdown. This information will be available again-"

"Override."

"State clearance level."

"Black."

"Please align neural implants for identification."

Much to Murphy's amazement, Eldridge calmly reached into his belt and pulled out an implant that was _covered _in blood. He held it at head level, stepped to one side, and waited patiently as the computer began to scan where it _thought _a human being's head was.

"I don't want to _know _how you got that thing," Sarah murmured.

"You really don't," Eldridge agreed. "Just be glad it works…"

"How _does _it work?" Murphy muttered. "That thing said the databanks were locked down."

"Black-level clearance is reserved for the half dozen most important crew on the station," the defector explained. "Chief of engineering, chief of security, project director…"

"Whose head did that come out of, then?" the captain asked, darkly.

"Chief of security," the other man replied, and added wistfully: "He was a bastard…"

"Implant recognised," the VI chimed. "Welcome, sir. As you are no doubt aware, there is a Category One emergency in progress. If you have not already, please check in with the project director for instructions."

"He won't be checking in," Eldridge mumbled, under his breath, before continuing: "Draw up local data files."

"Any specific inquiries, sir?"

"Base schematics, project brief, experimental logs, subject file seven," the biotic rattled off.

"Project documents and subject files are classified to non-critical personnel. Are you sure you want to-"

"Yes."

With that, dozens of files began to blossom onto the screen above the terminal. As they did, Eldridge reached up, and began to run his fingers over the screen, dragging documents in all directions. The map went off to the left, the official-looking documents to the right. One last panel, which contained a photo of a blond-haired man, stayed in the centre, and he enlarged it to fill the screen before tapping it purposefully.

"Subject seven – name, Eldridge," he read aloud.

"_Subject?_" Murphy frowned, and for what felt like the millionth time that day, asked: "What the hell is this place?"

"Talon Cell," Eldridge answered. "One of several testing centres for Project Phoenix, studying and cultivating-"

"Advanced biotic potential," Rilum interjected, reading off the screen to the right.

"Right."

"Enlisted several hundred biotic candidates from within Cerberus ranks – backgrounds range from civilians, to ex-Alliance personnel, to co-opted biotic extremists. Phase one, initial assessment. Candidates with weak biotics, dubious loyalties or incorrectable genetic flaws were removed from the program. Sixty percent passed."

"That started a while ago," Eldridge nodded. "Back when Cerberus were still the good guys, fighting the Collectors and the batarians…"

"Phase two," the salarian continued, "upgrades. All remaining subjects underwent surgery to retrofit them with L-5x or L-5n implants, depending on volatility. Fourty percent died, ten percent lost mental function. Fifty percent passed."

"I'm amazed fifty percent made it," Sarah murmured, quietly. "Implant refits are… well, it's about the most dangerous neurosurgery you can undergo."

"Cerberus puts a lot of money into projects like this," their newfound ally explained, apparently oblivious to the guns still aimed at his back. "No good for them if we code on the table, so they get the best surgeons, the best operating theatres, the best equipment…"

"Phase three," Rilum interjected. "Training. Six months of intensive combat training. Advanced biotic techniques and controls, mental conditioning and stamina… acclimation to combat armour and basic weapons systems. All subjects issued with top-level biotic amps – black market asari stock."

"And then?" Murphy prompted – a very grave expression had passed over Rilum's face as he read, and the expression was shared by Eldridge…

"Phase four," he read out loud. "Implantation. Lowest five percent taken as test group, implanted with uplift cybernetics."

"Reaper tech," the captain translated, with a slight growl.

"Test group cleared, priority subjects fast-tracked in accordance with project director's orders. Then, implantation begins full-scale. Implants administered individually, starting with the weakest subjects and ascending."

"Perfecting the procedure before they get to the best candidates," Murphy guessed, as the salarian continued:

"Implanted subjects separated from main group after surgery. Non-compliant subjects… terminated."

There was a stilted silence, and then, slowly, gun still trained on his head, Murphy wheeled around to face Eldridge.

"Phase four hasn't been completed yet," the biotic muttered, clearly reading the suspicions on the captain's face. "There were delays – the first test group didn't survive. 'Priorities' have already disappeared, and they've started taking the rest of us away, one by one."

"But not you?" Murphy asked, almost instantly.

"No. Apparently, I'm one of the strongest subjects, but not strong enough to be fast-tracked. It's all in my file."

"All true," Rilum called out, from behind the captain. "Status reads 'Pending implantation', and it was last updated eight hours ago."

"Listen to him," Eldridge urged. "I'm on your side. We don't want this. One of our guys, he got hold of something he wasn't meant to. A datapad, containing that same project brief. He disappeared the next day, but we'd all seen the document – we all knew what was going on, and the majority of us didn't like it."

"The majority?"

"Some of the real fanatics actually believe all that 'uplift' shit. But, they're the same ones who got fast-tracked, so they're out of our hair now. Everybody down in the subject area's waiting for an excuse to escape – a Category One is the best distraction we could have asked for."

"Why?" Sarah murmured. "Why couldn't you escape before now?"

"We always knew we could break out – hell, I just _did. _The guards didn't make it hard to escape, they just shot the ones who did. Filtering out the disloyal, so to speak… We figured even if we did break out, we'd have to get off the station, and that was impossible until you guys arrived."

"Impossible?" their own biotic frowned. "A few dozen angry biotics with the best amps, implants and training money can buy? You could have taken over this whole base! Disable the guns, steal a shuttle, and fly away…"

"Where to?" Eldridge shrugged. "Everyone in the galaxy hates Cerberus – if they didn't shoot down our shuttle, they'd kill us on sight. The only way we could convince people we were on their side was by showing them _this_" – he gestured to the data on the screens, and their surroundings in general. "Besides which, they've got equipment to deal with a breakout. Tranquilisers, ammunition laced with omega-enkaphalin…"

"Is that what those are?" Captain Murphy asked, pointing to the ammo boxes on the far wall.

"Yeah. Land two or three hits with them, and a biotic loses his powers for a week…"

"Why are they labelled 'Category Zero'?" he persisted.

"Give me thirty seconds and you'll see," the turncoat muttered, moving back over to the console. "Computer, give me manual on the isolation doors."

"I'm sorry, sir, but those controls are restricted to the project director and chief of-"

"Override. Chief of security has access to the isolated sections to deploy security personnel during a Category Zero emergency."

"This is a Category One emergency only, sir. Are you declaring Category Zero?"

"Yes."

"Sir, the project director has not declared Category Zero. Declaring this state of emergency without higher consent may result in severe repercussions. Are you sure you wish to declare Category Zero?"

"_Yes._"

And with that, the hologram flickered and died. Eldridge went to work on the 'isolation controls', whatever they were, and mere moments later, the room was bathed in crimson light, as the same monotone synthetic voice declared:

"All personnel. Threat level has been elevated to Category Zero. All non-security personnel, return to your bunks for safety lock-in. Security personnel, collect ammunition from your nearest supply, and await new orders."

"Category Zero," Eldridge murmured, slowly, "is what happens when we get loose…"


	249. Operation Talon Part 4

**A/N: Sorry for the lack of an update yesterday, guys. I uploaded late at night, FanFiction wasn't displaying the chapters, and I was too tired to muck about with the settings to get it to work, so I decided to just delay until today. Prior warning, we're also going to be update-less tomorrow - I'm out all evening/overnight...**

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><p><em><strong>Cerberus Facility, Illapa Orbit<strong>_

_**Day 1, 0900**_

"Captain, what the hell did you just do?" Grattus was roaring, over the radio. "Cerberus is going crazy!"

"We just released a few dozen angry prisoners," Murphy explained – 'prisoners' would suffice, he didn't have time to explain what 'subjects' meant. "If you see anyone in combat armour, using biotics, check your fire, they're probably a friendly!"

"I… understood," the turian replied, not sounding at all as if he understood. "We're pushing towards the reactor, almost there now."

"Radio again when you're ready to blow it," the captain muttered.

The comms fell silent once more, and Murphy paced back over to the consoles on the wall – Eldridge was fiddling with the station schematics, enlarging them to cover a whole screen, while Rilum watched on over his shoulder.

"We're targeting the shield generator," the salarian was saying, "or the controls to disable it."

"Shield generator's on the outside of the base," the biotic replied. "So that's out. The controls are down in engineering, though – one deck below us, maybe ten minutes at a quick pace."

"And you can access them?" Murphy chipped in, dubiously.

"Maybe. If not, I can _break _them."

"That'll do…"

The captain turned to head for the door, but before he could take a step:

"Can I make a suggestion?"

"Err… sure," Murphy nodded, turning to face Eldridge once more.

"You're looking to hurt Cerberus as badly as possible, right?" the turncoat guessed.

"Right."

"Then it might interest you to know there's a VIP on the station. I doubt he'll want to stick around, but if you get men to the airlocks, you might be able to cut him off…"

"Who is he?" the captain muttered, rather suspiciously.

"No idea," Eldridge shrugged. "But I heard security talking about him, and they used a codename. In Cerberus, that means you're high up."

"High-ranking operative with an interest in biotic research," Rilum muttered, and quite suddenly, Murphy realised what he was getting at, stomach lurching as he did. "What was the codename?"

"Jackal."

Eldridge's face was hidden behind his domed visor, but his surprise at the crew's reaction was still evident, and with good reason – everyone in the room save for Kamur had gone for their guns, and looked rather _incredibly _angry.

"Creed…" Murphy growled.

"Guessed as much," Lynus spat. "Probably acquiring amp upgrades, or picking out henchmen from the implanted stock."

"It'd make sense," Eldridge murmured. "I told you about the priority subjects? They're picked out by high-ranking operatives. If this… Creed was looking for a biotic agent…"

"Creed _is _a biotic agent," the captain muttered. "A very dangerous one. And we've got history – if he's still on this station, then we're making sure the bastard dies."

"Got a plan?" the biotic asked.

"Yeah… Split into two. Irving, Sarah, Alec, I want you three to head to the nearest airlock. Take some of those rounds" – he gestured to the boxes of O-K ammo on the wall – "and lock down the exit. The rest of us will take down the shield generator, then push up to your position. We'll have a clear escape route, and if Creed's between us and the exit, we'll kill him ourselves. If not, we'll crash this place into the planet, burn the fucker…"

"Suits me," Irving growled, heading for the ammo boxes. As he reached them, he did a quick count through, and concluded: "Five mags..."

"Take two each," Sarah instructed, nodding to him and Alec. "I'll take the last one, I burn through less ammo anyway…"

"Careful with this, LT," the big marine grunted, tossing one of the mags to her. "If that thing leaks, you're powerless."

Sarah nodded tensely, but nonetheless fixed the mag to her hip, before giving her weapons one last check.

"What about the guns?" Kamur muttered.

"Talon pistols," Eldridge replied. "They fire heavy-gauge shotgun shells. I'll take a couple – didn't have time to grab a gun on the way here."

"Catch!" the turian called out, slinging two of the weapons through the air. Eldridge caught them deftly, slid them into his belt, and moved back towards the door, as Kamur asked: "Anyone for the third?"

"I'll take it," Rilum murmured. "Will make for interesting study later."

"Whatever you say…"

With a slightly perplexed expression on his plates, as if he didn't understand why you would _study _a weapon instead of using it, the turian passed the last of the three pistols to the salarian, and then readied his own rifle.

"Final check," Murphy said, moving to the door alongside Eldridge. "Everyone armed, everyone got ammo?"

"My squad's ready," Sarah nodded.

"Same here," Kamur muttered, now balancing a Phaeston in each hand.

"Ready," came the replies from Rilum and Ekris.

"We head right out of the door," Eldridge declared. "Quick pace. Airlock's straight down the corridor, shield controls require a little detour…"

"Just get us there," Murphy replied, bracing his sniper rifle. "Preferably in one piece."

"No promises," the biotic murmured, gravely, as he reached for the door controls. "Three, two, one… move!"


	250. Operation Talon Part 5

_**Cerberus Facility, Illapa Orbit**_

_**Day 1, 0905**_

As they thundered out into the corridor, it took Sarah's brain a moment or two to adjust as the chaos resumed. A squad of Cerberus troopers had been waiting outside the door, but by the time Sarah actually passed through into the corridor, they were scattered all over the floor. Murphy had taken the first one's head off with a well-placed sniper round, the turncoat Eldridge had crushed two of them against the wall with biotics, and Ekris still had a warped fist halfway through the final trooper's skull. He yanked it out with a horrible _pop_, and the man slumped to the floor.

"Pick up the pace!" the Cerberus turncoat roared, bounding off at the head of the pack. He had a Talon in each hand, and his arms were wrapped in bluebell flames – frankly, if this was just one subject, then the idea of a project with dozens of them was _terrifying_.

The squad set off at a headlong sprint, and Sarah did a quick check to make sure her own men were in position. Sure enough, they were right beside her – Irving was at her left heel, Alec at her right, and both men were toting their rifles as they thundered down the corridor. As ever, the two of them looked unstoppable, juggernauts flanking the comparatively small lieutenant. She could still kick their arses with biotics, though, she noted proudly…

"Troopers, two to the left!" someone shouted.

"They're mine!" Captain Murphy called out. Still running at full pelt, he swung his rifle into his left hand, reached out, and:

_Bang. Bang. _

Somehow, despite the recoil shaking his one arm, Murphy sent two clean shots whistling along the corridor, hitting both of the emerging troopers squarely in the head. They dropped as quickly as they appeared, and the squad thundered past them.

"Nice shot," Ekris grunted. "How- whoa!"

In the blink of an eye, the drell was in the air. A door off to the right had torn open just as the squad passed, and a Cerberus soldier had come charging out, shield raised, shotgun pistol rattling… Ekris had leapt out of the way, springing nimbly up into the air, but a moment later had caught a round of buckshot to the side which knocked him away like a ragdoll.

He hit the floor a moment later, _crunch_ing down and rolling a couple of times. Murphy, Rilum, Kamur and Eldridge were too far ahead to double back and help – that just left Sarah and her two companions. They swung into action with practised precision – as Irving stooped low, dashing towards the drell, Sarah and Alec turned to face their adversary, the former's brain going into overdrive as they did.

Their adversary was a Cerberus trooper. Obviously. Guardian-class, complete with composite crystalline shield – impervious to bullets – and Talon pistol, three rounds expended, one left.

Planning could only do so much, however, and Sarah's brain was quickly suppressed by her reflexes. Staring the armoured trooper in the eye, she swung out a biotic fist, stinging his face with blue fire and _ripping _the shield from his hands. It clattered off against the doorframe, and the Guardian stumbled a little way, before-

_Crunch._ Alec lunged forward in a well-aimed tackle, and the Cerberus trooper crumpled as the combined weight of a hardsuit and a six-foot marine applied itself to his ribs. They hit the ground, Alec dispatched the man with a quick slash of his omni-blade, and then he was clambering back up onto his feet, as he and Sarah set off running once more. Murphy, Eldridge and Rilum were way ahead now – a distance up the corridor, she saw the salarian incineratea hapless trooper, while Eldridge and Murphy both took targets down in hand-to-hand combat – but Irving and Ekris were only a few metres ahead. Irving had his rifle in one hand as he half-carried, half-dragged the drell up onto his feet and off down the corridor. Ekris was bleeding from his side, and his skin crackled with what Sarah recognised as shock-induced biotics, but he was alive, and that was _something_.

"Incoming squad, end of the corridor!" she heard Murphy yell, up ahead. A gaggle of Cerberus troopers was indeed visible – just about – charging through the next doorway – the four commandoes up ahead halted, raised their guns, and then:

_Bang bang bang. _A chorus of shots rang out, at the same time terrible and awe-inspiring, as the four men drowned the doorway with gunfire. Eldridge's buckshot was filling the air, Murphy's sniper rounds rang out louder than anything else, and the steady chatter of Kamur's Phaeston provided an odd kind of rhythm to the whole thing. Needless to say, after thirty seconds, there was nothing left alive at the end of the corridor…

"Hold!" the captain called, as the stragglers caught up. "Ekris, are you alright?"

"Fine," the drell grunted, unconvincingly.

"Bullshit," Murphy replied. "That looks deep…"

"Buckshot buried in flank," Rilum observed, stoically. "Estimated depth, two inches, spread from chest to lower abdomen. Shots lodged – could cause further ruptures, internal bleeding, especially given acrobatic drell fighting style…"

Ekris tried to protest, but this time he managed little more than a burbling, reptilian growl, and after a few moments, he merely nodded to the captain. The biotic was leaning rather heavily on Irving's shoulder now, and the wound was clearly worse than he was letting on.

"Recommend contacting Cambrai," the salarian continued. "Signal is… patchy, but present. Clear route back to the fighter bay – shuttle could land, extract, and then be on station again for final evac."

"Agreed," Murphy nodded. "I'll send a message…"

"I hate this place," Irving growled, leaning in towards Sarah. "Corridors pack us all in, no good for a big squad. We've come down _one _corridor and we've already got wounded."

"Cambrai!" the captain called out over the radio, interrupting the marine's grumbling. "This is Captain Murphy, do you read?"

"Affirmative!" came Akito Yurai's reply – explosions and general chaotic noise filled the background of the transmission, rather worryingly… "Signal's patchy, but we read! What's the situation down there, sir?"

"Could be better. This place is a sciencefacility, creating biotic soldiers. I'm uploading some files that should explain everything" – he gestured to Eldridge, who began to upload the files in question – "but right now, we need a medevac."

"Someone hit?"

"Ekris took a shot point-blank. The hangar bay we entered through is still clear – send the shuttle there for pickup. Get Alicia Carter on board for first aid" – Sarah noticed Alec tense slightly at the mention of his sister entering the warzone – "and send Ethan Cash with her for protection. Tell Dr O'Leiph to prep the med bay, too."

"Understood. Shuttle will be with you ASAP."

The radio faded to silence, and the squad was left hanging in awkward silence for a moment, before Murphy swung into officer mode once more:

"Ready up. Sarah, your team's heading on to the airlock. Straight ahead, follow the corridor all the way to the end. Kamur, Eldridge, you're with me. We'll blow that shield generator…"

"Assuming you want me to escort Ekris back?" Rilum murmured, presciently.

"Exactly. Don't let him black out on the way there…"

"I am _here_, you know," Ekris grumbled, under his breath.

"Move out, people," Murphy continued tensely, ignoring the drell. "Remember – we're two down, and Creed's in here somewhere… let's get the job done, blow this place and go home…"


	251. Operation Talon Part 6

_**Cerberus Facility, Illapa Orbit**_

_**Day 1, 0920**_

"You're shaking," Ethan observed, quietly, as the noise of the battle outside resonated through the shuttle walls around them.

"It's fine…" Alicia replied, unconvincingly. "It's not my first time in battle – I made it through the fall of Earth. Vancouver, Rio…"

"Those weren't battles," the sentinel muttered. "They were massacres. Reapers dropped out of the sky and you all had to run. You didn't get to _think _about it beforehand, adrenaline just took care of it."

"Real encouraging…" she croaked. "You're saying I _should _be worried now?"

"No… this isn't a combat drop, Alicia. We land in an empty hangar for thirty seconds, pick up the drell, and fly back out of here."

"So why did they send a _soldier _with me?"

"Just in case," he grinned, roguishly.

"Just in case," she echoed, scowling. "Great…"

There was silence for a moment, as Ethan took stock once more. He and Alicia were sat opposite each other in the shuttle as it lurched towards the Cerberus station. The ride felt calm enough, but he knew that, in reality, they were darting through a swarming mess of fighters and crossfire, as the three frigates continued to fend off Cerberus interceptors and bombers.

"Thirty seconds!" the pilot called out over comms, breaking the silence.

"Get some first aid ready for the drell," Cash murmured, business-like now. "Then keep your head down, and stay out of the doorway."

"Got it."

"Ten seconds!" came the call, as Ethan loaded his Eagle with a _click_, and powered up his tech armour.

The shuttle _bumped _to ground a few seconds later, and the doors swung open almost immediately. Ethan leapt out, and began to scan the supposedly-empty hangar, cybernetic eye roving over the surroundings. The floor was littered with corpses, white-gold forms scattered around, but curiously, most of the dead seemed to lie on two straight lines, from the shuttle's landing spot out to the opposite sides of the hangar. Murphy's squad had carved one trail, and the turians another, it seemed… Still, at least they were all dead-

"Raargh!"

All of a sudden, as that yell filled his ears, Ethan found a dead weight crashing into his back – a heavy, armoured form, a few inches taller and a fair bit heftier than himself. He spun around, dealing a sharp _crack _to his assailant's head with his elbow, and wrenched himself free of the other man's grasp, staggering back a little to take in the situation.

The ambusher was a Cerberus trooper, just as his brain had assumed, but two things struck him about the man. First, he had no weapon – hence the assault with his hands, rather than bullets. Second, he was _covered _in blood, bleeding from three wounds in his chest that looked rifle-calibre. He was badly hurt, then, and seemed to be propped up only by adrenaline and indoctrinated fury. Killing him would be pitifully easy – Ethan simply stood, faced him, raised his pistol hand-

And realised, with a lurch, that said pistol hand was _empty_. Then where was…? Ah, _there _it was… His pistol was a few feet away, dropped to the floor in the initial attack, and as he watched on, his attacker bent down and scooped it up, aiming with one hand, clutching his bloody chest with the other. Quite suddenly, Ethan was all too aware that he was unarmed, his shields had yet to recharge, and he had backed himself out of melee range. His brain was searching for a solution, but his eyes were fixed on the pistol now dancing in front of him, barrel glinting slightly under the hangar lights…

_Whump_. A flash of blue filled his vision, as the world was turned upside down for a moment. Ethan somersaulted back through the air, caught a glimpse of the Cerberus trooper toppling too, then hit the metal floor with a _thud_.

He scrambled to his feet, and in his slightly dazed state he saw a figure on the threshold of the shuttle door, her arms flooded with biotics. Alicia Carter had seen the deadlock and a shockwave at them, knocking both men flat to the floor. Now, Ethan was on his feet, but his opponent was scrambling up to, and now he was aiming for the young medic…

"Head down!" Cash roared, breaking into a sprint.

_Bang, bang, bang. _The Cerberus trooper let rip with three rounds from Ethan's own pistol, but Alicia had already leapt aside, leaving the bullets to bounce harmlessly around the shuttle's interior. The trooper made to turn, trying to deal with Ethan now, but it was already too late – the sentinel crashed into him with a body tackle, driving an omni-blade through his chest as he did. They toppled to the ground, Cash's blade still embedded in the trooper's torso, and the sentinel for his second blade – one quick blow to the throat, and his opponent lay still at last.

"You alright, Carter?" he called out, withdrawing his omni-blades.

"Fine," she replied, from inside the shuttle.

"Quite an impressive display," a third voice put in. Cash wheeled around, snatching up his pistol from the floor-

And found himself aiming at the pale green face of Lynus Rilum.

"Easy…" the salarian murmured, and Ethan quickly slipped his pistol back into his belt. Rilum was hunched over, his lithe form doing its best to support Ekris on his shoulder – the drell certainly looked the worse for wear, feverish and only half-conscious, and Cash quickly moved to take his other shoulder, carrying him over to the shuttle.

"We'll get him back to Cambrai for treatment," Cash grunted, as Alicia appeared in the shuttle door once more. "But, Lynus-"

"No."

"What?"

"I know what you're about to ask, and the answer is no."

"How do you know what I'm going to ask?" the sentinel retorted, petulantly, as Alicia took hold of Ekris and pulled him into the shuttle, leaving Cash and Rilum outside.

"Before the mission you asked Captain Murphy for the opportunity to fight Cerberus. He denied you it, so now you seek to _take_ the opportunity yourself."

"We're both fit to fight, Lynus!" Cash argued. "It's a waste sending us back to the Cambrai, and he needs our help!"

"Not true, on three counts. One, this ship punishes large squads – cramped together, 'like shooting fish in a barrel', to steal a human phrase. Two, the captain has two powerful squadmates with him. Three, regardless of how much backup he has, the captain is a formidable solo operator. We're better spent as an extraction team. Return wounded to the ship, then return and cover extraction."

"I… guess you're right," the sentinel relented. "Probably gonna be a hot evac, anyway…"


	252. Operation Talon Part 7

_**Cerberus Facility, Illapa Orbit**_

_**Day 1, 0925**_

"Area secure?" Sarah murmured, rather tensely.

"Area secure," Alec nodded back, prodding a fallen Cerberus trooper with the toe of his boot. "Three hostiles, all down…"

"Good riddance," Irving muttered. "Lock it down?"

"Lock it down," the biotic confirmed, and the three of them swept into place around the airlock.

In position on the left of the door, with Sarah to his right and Irving beyond her, Alec knelt down and began to check his rifle. The Valkyrie rifle itself… working. The stability damper… working. The expanded clip and heat sink… working _beautifully_ – his rifle was still cold to the touch, despite being fired not thirty seconds ago. Ammo was down to half a clip excluding the omega-enkaphalin rounds. That could be a problem…

"Gunny, you got a fresh mag?" he called out.

"Heads up," Irving replied – a spare grey mag went flying up into the air, spun over Sarah's head, and swept back down to earth. Alec snatched it deftly out of the air, ejected the almost-spent clip, and slid the new one in in its place.

"Have you two still got your O-K rounds?" Sarah asked.

"Yeah. Two mags."

"Nice to have some insurance," the gunnery chief rumbled. The lieutenant, however, looked less certain.

"I don't like it," she announced.

"Why?"

"Cerberus developed these rounds, this chemical," Sarah explained. "Doesn't it make sense that they'd do… _something _to stop it being used against them?"

"What, like a resistance to it?" Irving frowned.

"Anything's possible with gene mods," she shrugged, "and Cerberus is _way_ past basic alterations. The morals of genetic engineering are in their rear-view mirror by now…"

"These are for Creed though, right?" Alec piped up.

"That's the idea."

"Then we've got nothing to worry about."

There was a pause, as his two squadmates turned to stare questioningly at him.

"Explain, sergeant," Sarah prompted.

"Cerberus might make their men resistant to this stuff, but Creed? He ain't exactly a Cerberus loyalist… He's not a human supremacist, he _certainly _isn't working for the good of humanity… He's a serial killer, and the only reason he kills for Cerberus is because they let him."

"And they give him shiny new toys to play with," Irving grunted.

"Quite. But eventually, Creed's going to get bored, or become a liability, and either way, Cerberus is going to have to put him down."

"Your point being?"

"Creed took out a whole squad of our men. And we take down whole _platoons _of Cerberus troops on a regular basis. If Cerberus wanted to take Creed out, they'd need a small army…"

"Or a couple of guys armed with omega-enkaphalin rounds," Sarah surmised.

"Exactly. Why would they give him the immunity if it might be the only way of stopping him later?"

"Clever boy…" Irving muttered. "So if the bastard shows up, we load these things, and give him a taste of being ordinary before we cut his head off…"

"Err… right," the lieutenant nodded, uncertainly. "We… wait, what's that?"

"What's what?"

"I swear I saw something… shimmer, over by that door… check it out, sergeant."

"Aye aye," Alec replied, standing up and pacing forwards, rifle braced. He walked forward for about twenty seconds before calling back:

"I don't see anything! Sure it wasn't a trick of the light?"

"I… maybe…" the biotic murmured, biting her lip. "Wait, there! Watch your ba-"

_Wham!_ A metallic _clang _rang out as Alec's head smashed back against the wall, leaving a sizeable dent in the steel, and what felt like an even larger dent in his skull… dazed, he slid down the wall, rifle dropping to his side as a black-armoured figure appeared out of nowhere with a little shimmer of light. The figure was standing over him, blocking out the light ever-so-slightly, and two more white-armoured forms were sprinting up beside him from a now-open door…

Mere moments later, Irving and Sarah opened fire. A wave of rifle fire cut through the air from the former's rifle, and one of the newly-arrived troopers went down with a bloody gurgle as a round smashed through his helmet. The second took a biotic cannonball to the chest, and Alec _heard _his ribs cracking as he somersaulted backwards. The black-armoured figure took a round to the arm, then to the hip, but in a split second he turned, drew a pistol, and-

_Bang. _Irving's shields gave way, and his knee _exploded _in a bloody haze. He crumpled down into a kneeling position, before:

_Bang. _A second shot punched into his stomach, knocking him flat against the wall and causing him to collapse at its base. Sarah, however, was _screaming _furiously, fists crackling with blue fire, and a wave of biotics came shooting down the corridor, slamming into the black-armoured soldier's chest and head – he rose a few inches off the floor, flailing as if he was being choked, and quite suddenly, Sarah had the upper hand.

_Whump._ Just as suddenly, victory was snatched away, as the corridor _exploded _in a flash of blue fire. Alec felt himself forced backwards, slammed even harder against the wall at his back, and he saw Irving, who had been staggering to his feet, smashed against the airlock. Sarah was hurled into the air, thudding against the wall and sliding down it, and the black-armoured figure too was sent somersaulting through the air, landing a little way down the corridor in a heap.

The whole place was _shaking_ now – the walls were juddering, the roof creaking and groaning, and somewhere out of his field of vision, Alec heard a clattering of steel as part of the corridor gave way, and a roof panel came crashing down, right over his midriff. Sparks were jumping down from the roof as cables snapped and fell free, and there was a smell of acrid smoke in the air.

Finally, Alec's brain just gave up. Footsteps were pounding along the metal floor, and, pinned to it as he was, he saw little more than blurry shapes running past, thundering down the corridor towards the airlock. And then…

Blackness.


	253. Operation Talon Part 8

**A/N: Double Monday, folks, and you finally get to see what that latest poll was about...**

* * *

><p><em><strong>Cerberus Facility, Illapa Orbit<strong>_

_**Day 1, 0930**_

"Ready to breach?" Murphy asked.

"Ready," his two companions nodded.

Murphy, Kamur and Eldridge had spent the last ten minutes sprinting down various staircases and corridors, shooting their way through chambers full of Cerberus troopers, and generally carving a path… Now, they were stacked up on the door to engineering, with Kamur and Murphy to left and right, and the Cerberus defector in the centre, biotics raging as he prepared to storm through.

"Engineering aren't fighters," Eldridge muttered. "Light armour, sidearms, tech. Maybe a couple of troopers playing bodyguard."

"And we're after the chief of engineering?" the captain murmured.

"Aye. Get hold of his implants, and we can take down the station's shields.2

"Best get a move on, then. Let me check in with the evac team, and then we'll move…"

"With respect, captain, make it quick. Only so long before they realise we're here…"

"Noted," Murphy nodded, then called over the radio: "Evac, can you hear me? Lieutenant?"

Silence.

"Sarah, come in. Sarah? Irving? Alec? Anyone?"

"Shit…" Kamur mumbled, under his breath.

"Evac, final request, come in… damn it! Rilum, can you hear me?"

"What is it, captain?"

"Are you ready to deploy?"

"Yes. Operative Cash and myself are in the shuttle."

"Good. I'm sending you co-ordinates to one of the station airlocks – our team there just went dark. Check it out, on the double."

"Understood, captain. We'll bring Alicia Carter with us, just in case. Rilum out."

There was a slight, awkward silence as Murphy closed down the comms once more, before finally, all three men settled on a distraction…

"Breach?" Eldridge asked, impatiently.

"On three," Murphy nodded. "One, two… three! Now!"

Kamur thumped the control panel with a plated fist, the door slid open, and Eldridge stepped into the fray. Before Murphy and Kamur had even stepped through the doorway, the Cerberus biotic had taken down the two troopers lying in wait on the other side of the door, _crushing _them into the floor with biotics. Moments later, he sent a blue cannonball hurtling at a figure in what appeared to be officers' dress – the chief, apparently. It hit with a dull _whump_, sending the man flying back across the deck, and he hit the floor with a thud.

That just left the engineering officers – four of them were scattered around the room at various consoles, and seemed utterly surprised to find three heavily-armed commandoes storming through the door. They tried to turn and draw pistols, but it was already too late – Kamur mowed down two with a chatter of machine gun fire, Murphy brought one down with a well-placed shot to the head, and Eldridge lifted the last one into the air with a flurry of biotics, before hurling him across the room. He hit the far wall with a _crunch_, and slumped to the floor, dead.

As suddenly as they had entered, the three men found themselves in a completely pacified room. Only the chief of engineering was still breathing, and Eldridge looked like he was about to correct that… as the chief crawled across the floor, making a futile, almost pathetic attempt to escape, the biotic strode up behind him, drew one of his shotgun pistols, and-

_Bang._

Murphy winced and looked away, as Eldridge reduced the man's head to a pulpy mass. Even the hard-stomached Kamur looked disgusted as the defector plunged a hand into what had once been the chief's head, ripping it back out a moment later with an implant clutched in his fist.

"Are they intact?" Murphy asked, feeling rather queasy.

"Yeah," Eldridge nodded. "These implants are worth more than the man himself – naturally, Cerberus puts more effort into making them indestructible…"

"Just get the shields down," the captain sighed. "Then we can all get out of here…"

"Will do."

As Eldridge paced off towards the engineering consoles, Murphy turned away, catching Kamur's eye as he did. The turian's brow plates were raised as if to say _"wow…"_, and he was watching the Cerberus biotic with more than a little trepidation in his hawkish eyes. The captain was about to comment, when his omni-tool burst into life, glowing and letting off a rather irritating chime.

"Captain, do you read?" Rilum was saying, as the captain opened up his comms.

"I copy," Murphy replied. "Are you on-site yet?"

"Negative, captain – evac route blocked."

"_What?_" Eldridge cried, turning away from the consoles to rejoin the conversation.

"There's a shuttle docked already," Ethan Cash explained, piping up on the other end of the radio. "Flying Cerberus colours!"

"The station's on lockdown," the Cerberus defector scowled. "No-one's allowed to leave, not even the project director… if anyone runs, they're up for execution the moment Cerberus catches up with them."

"It's Creed," Murphy deduced, instantly. "He's making a run for it…"

"He _can't_," Eldridge repeated, patronisingly. "The shields are up. He can't get through without authorisation, and he doesn't have it."

"He doesn't _need _it," the captain glared back. "We're about to open the shields _for_ him…"

"Bastard," Cash cursed. "That's why our evac team went dark. We can't open those shields, he's not getting away again!"

"If we don't open them, _we're _not getting out," Kamur pointed out.

"We could get down there and raid the shuttle," Eldridge suggested. "Take him down, then make our own escape?"

"I don't fancy a close-quarters fight with Creed," Murphy admitted, "but maybe we've got time-"

"Captain! Captain Destra, come in!"

"What the-" Kamur began, checking his own omni-tool. "Grattus, what is it?"

"We're in the reactor room, sir! Pinned down! Henner's dead, the rest of us are about to follow! We need to blow this thing and get out, _now!_"

"Well, there goes our time…" the Cerberus defector murmured, drily. "Blow it and go, captain."

"No!" Ethan protested. "We can't let him escape!"

"No choice, sergeant…" Murphy growled. "Make sure your shuttle's out of the way, and we'll have the Mavarr pursue. With any luck, she'll blow him out of the sky."

"She'd better," the sentinel grumbled. "Pulling out, we'll move up to the airlock once Creed's made a run for it. Cash out."

That left the three men in the engineering room to their own devices. Kamur was anxiously checking his omni-tool, as the comm connection to Grattus faded and died, while Murphy nodded to Eldridge, prompted to continue. The defector turned back to the console, swiped the chief's implants past the VI which popped up, and muttered something which he assumed was _"lower the shields"_. A moment later, this was confirmed, as the biotic wheeled around, and reported:

"Shields down. Creed's got a clear escape route now."

"But so have we," Murphy pointed out. "Time to pick up what's left of the squad, and get out of here…"

"Agreed," Eldridge nodded. "Your men are waiting with the shuttle… send one to the turians, and one to the lower deck – my men are breaking bulkheads open to delay security, but they won't last long, they need evac…"

"Problem," the captain muttered, gravely. "We've only got two shuttles on station. The Vinatar might be able to scramble another, but they'll be ten minutes or so."

"My men can't wait," the biotic snapped, instantly.

"Neither can mine!" Kamur called, from behind Murphy. The turian was still jabbing furiously at his omni-tool, and his eyes were blazing in outrage. "They're pinned down, we can't abandon them!"

"They can wait."

"No we _bloody _can't!" Grattus swore, bursting onto the airwaves once more. "Our escape route's vanishing fast, we need to go, _now!_"

"Well there you go!" the turian captain growled. "We can't hold the reactor long enough to evacuate Cerberus. My men have to take it down, and then they're _out of there_, captain, understood?"

"You can't be serious," Eldridge hissed, coldly. "You're proposing evacuating half a dozen turians instead of an entire projects' worth of biotics?"

"_Cerberus _biotics," he retorted.

"Captain," the defector murmured, turning to appeal to Murphy instead, "evacuate his men, and you get a few battered turians. I've got _dozens _of biotics waiting for evac – they're more powerful, more _valuable_ than anything the turians can give you, and… and they're more trustworthy than bloody aliens!"

"There it is…" Kamur snarled, and now his rifle was out, pointed at Eldridge's head. "True _fucking _colours. You might not have agreed to the implants, but you still joined Cerberus for a reason!"

"This is ridiculous! He's got nothing to offer you, captain, just worn out soldiers! Let the turians blow the reactor, then save my men. If the turians get out in time, great, but the needs of the many outweigh the needs of the few…"

"The _few_ won't stab you in the back though," the turian growled. "I'm saving my men, Murphy. With or without you."

There was silence for a moment, as Captain Murphy looked from one to the other, and then:

"Choose."


	254. Operation Talon Part 9

_**Cerberus Facility, Illapa Orbit**_

_**Day 1, 0940**_

"_Choose_," Eldridge hissed again.

Murphy simply stood there, paralysed by indecision for a moment. It was just like the Jericho, just as chaotic, just as terrible… and then, as these things often did, the dilemma clarified in his mind, and the answer, the _practical _answer, became obvious.

"Grattus, blow the reactor," he muttered, gravely. "Cambrai… sent a shuttle to the west airlock. The turians will meet you there."

"No!" the Cerberus biotic snarled, his panicked voice betraying the emotionless mask of his helmet.

"I'm sorry…" Murphy murmured. "Vinatar, dispatch another shuttle to the lower bulkheads as soon as you can. If you can get anyone out, do, but… don't expect to."

"This is… you…" Eldridge was stammering. Quite suddenly, his arms began to flare with biotics, and he took a threatening step forward, before-

"Don't even _think_ about it."

Kamur had pushed Murphy to one side, stepped up to meet the challenge, and now had a rifle pressed against the biotic's visor.

"If you want to help them, _don't _make me blow your head off," he growled.

Eldridge let out a low rumble of anger, but he stepped back, biotics dimming, as Kamur continued:

"Go down there, and try to get some of them out alive. Better than dying here."

There was a pause.

"I said _go._"

With that, Eldridge turned, and swept out of the room without a backward glance, palms still rippling with rage-induced biotics. Murphy felt rather conflicted as he did. On the one hand, he was _very _relieved Kamur had stepped in. On the other, he couldn't help feeling guilty – and rightly so – about his decision.

"No time for guilt, captain," Kamur murmured, perceptively. "We need to move. This place is falling into the planet in about… fifteen minutes?"

"More like ten…" Murphy muttered. "Move!"

With that, they were both bolting out of the room. Captain Murphy couldn't recall running quite so fast since his N7 training – it was that sort of fast where everything but your muscles shut down, switched to automatic. The primal areas of his brain kept his feet moving and his arms swinging, and everything else was an afterthought. In the blur, he was vaguely aware of fire, of sparks, of crunching, creaking metal as the base fell apart. Luckily, the second reactor, although not enough to keep the base in orbit, was at least powering the gravity and the lights on emergency settings… At one point, a chunk of roof came hurtling down, burning as it did, and his instincts kicked in _just _soon enough to allow him to leap high, clearing the obstacle by inches and sliding down on the other side, with Kamur _thudding _down next to him. They kept running, ascended a staircase, turned, rose up another, sprinted down a corridor – left, right, left again, then up, then down, where a whole section of corridor had collapsed, dropping into the one below… five minutes passed in a blur, and his brain only became aware of itself again as he turned onto the corridor that led to the airlock.

Almost immediately, it was clear that there was _something _wrong, and his newly-restored faculties went to work in earnest. The corridor itself was twisted and battered, more so than any so far, and there were remnants of blue fire still burning on the scorched walls… A few figures were visible by the airlock, darting around, and as he and Kamur approached, one of them turned to accost him.

"Captain!" Rilum called. "Need you over here, quickly!"

It took about ten seconds for Murphy to sprint down the corridor to where Rilum was, and as he arrived, he saw just what the fuss was about. His stomach lurched at the sight of Alec Carter, slumped unconscious against the wall, the back of his head bleeding profusely… Alicia Carter was stood over him, _shaking _as she ran medi-scans, and the captain felt almost as sorry for her as for Alec…

"Is he alright?" was his first question.

"He'll… he'll live," Alicia nodded. "We need to get him back to the ship."

"I've got him," Kamur grunted, moving over. "Any spinal damage?"

"Err… no…"

"Alright then…"

With a noise that was half-grunt, half-growl, Kamur reached down, yanked the armoured marine into the air with one arm, and slung him over his shoulder as if he were light as a feather, before striding off through the airlock with Alicia in tow.

"Where are the other two?" Murphy asked, fearing the worst.

"Not sure," Rilum murmured, then corrected himself: "No, _am_ sure … gone, captain."

"_Gone?_" he echoed, aghast.

"Found Gunnery Chief Wolfe's rifle, and his blood on the wall. That's it."

"I… _shit._"

"Quite. Evidence of a firefight, discarded ammunition at both ends of the corridor, intense biotic scarring on the walls… no time for a full assessment, have to assume Creed came through, neutralised them, and…"

"Took them," Murphy concluded, with a slight growl.

Rilum nodded.

"Can we track the shuttle?"

"PFS Mavarr is pursuing," Rilum nodded.

"Then tell them not to use heavy guns, for god's sake!" Murphy cried, alarmed.

"Strike team to Mavarr," the salarian called out, promptly. "Change of parameters. Do _not _destroy that shuttle!"

"_What?_" the turian replied, clearly confused.

"_Change of parameters,_" Rilum repeated. "Friendly captives on board the shuttle! Disable if you can, but do _not _destroy!"

"Understood, ground team. Moving to disable!"

"We need to move," Murphy muttered, once the radio was off again. "This whole station's going to make planet fall in a matter of minutes."

"Correct. We should-"

"Sir!"

The two of them wheeled around, to see Ethan Cash waving frantically at them. He was digging through a pile of steel wreckage, and his arm was beneath a sturdy roof beam, holding onto… was that an arm?

"Not one of ours!" the sentinel continued, as they rushed over to him, "But he's not in Cerberus colours, either…"

"Get him out!" Murphy muttered, sharply, grabbing hold of the beam and yanking on it. Rilum leant his own efforts a moment later, and they finally managed to raise the girder skyward, as Cash dove in, grabbed the unconscious figure about the shoulders, and dragged him out in full, black armour.

The captain took one look at him, and his jaw _dropped _inside his helmet.

"Reach…" he murmured, quietly.

"Typical," Rilum tutted, with a rare display of anger. "Creed even leaves his allies to rot…"

"He's Cerberus, then?" Cash growled. "Should we leave him to burn?"

"No," Murphy snapped, instantly. "Get him on the ship, and tell Alicia to tranquilise him."

"Sir?"

"We've been waiting all this time for Creed to make a mistake, and now he has. The bastard just handed us a bargaining chip…"


	255. Operation Talon Part 10

_**Cerberus Facility, Illapa Orbit**_

_**Day 1, 0950**_

"Cambrai to strike team!" Erika was screaming over the radio, as Murphy hopped through the threshold into the shuttle. "The station's dropping! Substructure's starting to fail – get out of there!"

"Already out the door, Cambrai! We're leaving!"

"You heard him!" Rilum called to the pilot. "Get us aweigh, now!"

No sooner had he given the order than the shuttle lurched away from the airlock, tail end scraping painfully against the station exterior as, in his haste, the pilot rather botched his manoeuvre. They were moving, though, and that could only be good…

"Is anyone going to explain why I'm tying a man up and _sedating _him?" Alicia muttered, from the floor – Reach was face-down in the middle of the compartment, arms tied behind his back with a length of surgical tape, still out cold.

"His name's Nick Shelton," Murphy explained. "Codename Reach. He's Creed's right-hand man."

"And he helped with _this?_" she hissed, very quietly, nodding to her brother and apparently suppressing a good deal of anger.

"Most likely," Rilum nodded.

"Good… then I won't have to be gentle with _this_," Alicia murmured, drawing a syringe from her medical kit. Without further ado she found one of the soft joints between the plates of his armour, and jammed the syringe in with a ferocity that made Murphy wince. She left it in for a good few seconds, then yanked it out none-too-gently, producing a little trickle of blood as she did and not deigning to clean it up.

"How long will he be out for?" Murphy asked, finally.

"Twenty-four hours," she replied, "but I can bring him round manually whenever you want."

"Noted," the captain nodded. Then, nervously, he drew up his omni-tool, and called out over the airwaves: "Grattus, are you reading this?"

"Affirmative, captain," the turian replied, through a thin veil of static.

"Are you all out safe?"

"Affirmative," he said again, and Kamur's shoulders sagged visibly with relief…

"Casualties?"

"Just the one, like I said before. Henner bit a bullet in the reactor room. We couldn't get his body out – sorry, sir."

Murphy knew that last part was aimed at Kamur – he looked at the turian captain, prompting him to say something, but he merely shook his head, and gestured for Murphy to continue.

"Head back to the Vinatar, Grattus. We're about a minute out from the Cambrai. With any luck, the Mavarr'll catch that shuttle, and we'll all be out of here before too long."

"Understood, captain."

"Mavarr, this is Captain Murphy," he continued, "can you read me?"

"We read, captain," the frigate replied.

"What's your status?"

"Pursuing. Our techs just ran a full overhaul on the GARDIANs. Decreased the power output, improved accuracy to a threshold of two inches. We're going to close them down and fire a single laser at their thrusters – paralyse them."

"Good-"

"Coming in for landing!" the shuttle pilot yelled, interrupting the captain. "Hold tight, we're going in a _little_ faster than recommended!"

"Everybody brace!" Murphy called aloud, and then-

_Crunch_. The shuttle touched down with a bump, accompanied by the horrible sound of grating metal, and seemed to slide a few feet across the hangar before finally coming to a rest. There was silence for a few moments as everyone checked themselves, and once they were all confident that there were no broken bones, the squad began to stand up and gather their gear, readying to disembark. Kamur had Alec slung over his shoulders once more, and Cash was preparing to drag the restrained Reach ashore.

"Mavarr, we just touched down. Continue."

"Closing!" the turian ship's captain cried, and it sounded like he was talking to his bridge crew, rather than Captain Murphy. "Half a klick and closing, that's the sweet spot! Open fi… oh, spirits…"

Murphy paused, half way out of the shuttle door, frowning in confusion. When he finally stepped out into the hangar, however, that confusion disappeared as quickly as it had come. The hangar doors were still open, and beyond, the Mavarr was visible, hanging in space…

And utterly dwarfed by the grey ship which had just jumped in front of it.

"Cruiser!" the turian helmsman screamed. "Dropped out of FTL, they're at weapons range!"

"Return fire-" his captain ordered, but it was already to late.

_Boom._ A shell came hurtling down from the Cerberus cruiser, ploughing into the Mavarr's midriff and causing a plume of scarlet flame to billow out from the spot where the bridge had been. Little pin-pricks illuminated the turian ship's wings and hull as the cruiser's own GARDIAN batteries began to fire, and another mass accelerator round soon followed, clipping the left wing right off. In the space of thirty seconds, the Mavarr had been reduced to a smoking hulk.

"Where the _hell _did they come from?" Kamur swore, incredulously.

"Probably responding to the Category Zero…" Murphy murmured. "Akito, what are our chances against that thing?"

"Not great," the co-pilot replied. "We could give a military cruiser a run for their money, but God only knows what kind of tech Cerberus used to build that thing… it could be running on Reaper tech for all we know. They might even have Thanix cannons of their own…"

"So, in summary, we'd better get running?" the captain muttered, bitterly.

"_What?_" Alicia snapped. "We can't run, they've got two of ours on that shuttle!"

"And if we want to live long enough to get them _back_, we need to run…"

Alicia kept up her reproachful stare for a moment or two, but eventually, she relented, and nodded meekly in assent.

"Vinatar, what's your status?" he called out.

"Taetrus Fifth are on board!" the captain cried back. "We're seeing escape pods from the Mavarr and the station – should we make a pass?"

"Negative, Vinatar, too risky. Stick tight to our six and calibrate for a mass relay jump!"

"Understood!"

"Erika, give them a shot across the bows with the Thanix cannon, then make a beeline for that relay!"

"Aye aye!"

The Cambrai lurched forward, picking up speed, and from the hangar, the squad had a view ahead as they plunged towards the Cerberus cruiser. The Thanix cannon was unfolding from the frigate's nose just beyond the hangar's atmosphere barrier, and as it charged, it bathed them all in azure light, charged streams of particles dancing in the gulf of space before them. And then-

_Whoosh_. The Thanix cannon went off with a roar like a breaking wave, and a beam of blue shot out, racing towards the cruiser, which itself was getting larger and larger as they got nearer and nearer. At the last moment, just as Murphy was expecting a mass accelerator round to rattle their way, Erika flipped the ship on its side and twisted off to the right. Out of the corner of his eye, Murphy saw the Cerberus cruiser's nose explode with a _boom _and a flash of blue, and then it was gone, and they were racing towards the relay.

"Sixty seconds to the relay!" Erika called down. "Took some GARDIAN hits, but we're out of their accurate range. Home and clear, captain…"

"Vinatar?"

"Same here, captain. Lost a wingtip, but we're clear…"

"Alright… good work, everyone."

"Sir, what's our destination?" Akito interjected.

"I… don't know. Somewhere we can lay low from Reaper patrols while we figure things out… head for the Caleston Rift."

"Aye aye."

As the radio faded into silence, the squad went… well, back to normal. Everything had happened in a dizzying blur, and now, they were just carrying on as if nothing had happened. Kamur and Ethan were hauling their charges towards the elevator – with very different degrees of care and attention – while Rilum strode off ahead, presumably to prepare for a debrief. That just left Murphy, and Alicia, who sidled up next to him with a pensive expression, biting her lip nervously.

"You realise we just left them behind?" she murmured, quietly.

"_No-one_ gets left behind," Murphy replied, firmly. "We're going after them."

"Sir?"

"They might have two of ours… but we just captured possibly the only man in the galaxy who can lead us to Creed."

"What makes you think he'll help us?" Alicia asked, still rather timidly.

"He's not getting a choice in the matter…"


	256. Operation Talon Debrief

_**SSV Cambrai, Mass Relay Transit**_

_**Day 1, 1020**_

"You… err… you all know what happened today," Murphy muttered, uncertainly. He had gathered what remained of the squad – Kamur, Rilum and Cash – and was addressing the small group across the war room table. "We did a lot of damage to Cerberus today. We shut down an abominable program, destroyed an entire station and millions of credits' worth of assets…"

"And we lost four of our own," Cash murmured, saying what everyone else was thinking. "Two wounded, two missing…"

"Ekris and Alec aren't _lost_," the captain sighed. "They're being treated now, and Dr O'Leiph says they'll both pull through just fine. Might take a week or two, but they'll be back in the fight."

"The other two, though…" the sentinel murmured. "I didn't know them too well, but they're still part of the crew. The thought of Creed getting them…"

"You say it like they're dead," Murphy frowned. "They're MIA. MIA is better than KIA."

"No it ain't. KIA means they're done. MIA means the enemy has their hands on them…"

"MIA's better… because MIA is _temporary_," he retorted, firmly, standing up and leaning over the table as he did. "MIA means we can get them back – means we _will _get them back."

"Now that's more like it…" Cash nodded.

"Thought you might agree… dismissed."

The sentinel saluted, turned on his heel, and marched out of the room, still in his armour. Rilum, at the other end of the table, shot the captain a quick nod of approval, before following. Kamur, however, lingered at the side of the room, arms folded, watching him appraisingly.

"What?" the captain said, meeting his gaze.

"A turian commander would never have said that…" Kamur murmured, slowly. "Too many unknown variables, not to mention the raw odds… I'm not saying a turian commander wouldn't _try_, but he certainly wouldn't claim victory before he even reached the battlefield."

"What's your point?" Murphy frowned.

"I prefer human commanders. You've got a better grasp of _morale _than ours…"

"We're the same rank, _captain_," the human grinned, emphasising the last word.

"Not here. As long as I'm here, you're the boss… captain."

"Alright then…" he continued, pacing around the table. "Question, then. Why _are _you here?"

"What?"

"Your team's on the Vinatar. Shouldn't you be with them?"

"I checked in…" Kamur replied, with a shrug. "One dead, a few scrapes and bruises… nothing Grattus can't handle. Honestly, captain? I want to come back."

"To the Cambrai?"

"Yeah… I miss it. Fighting in the trenches is… grim, and all we ever seem to do is delay the inevitable. What the Cambrai does… that matters, and I want back in."

"Will your superiors let you come back? I thought it was rules and regulations that made you leave in the first place…"

"Regulations don't get a say in the matter," the turian laughed, wryly. "I'mcoming back. Besides, I already took care of official channels – Councillor Sparatus passed it up the line after Menae, and Primarch Victus signed my transfer request personally…"

"Glad to hear it," Murphy smiled. "The crew's been missing you. If you'd like, I can get you up to speed."

"No need," Kamur replied, shaking his head. "Cash got me up to speed – the new ship, the new crew… the ones we lost. I know they're not the only ones, but I can't believe Kyra and Vresh bit the dust…"

"Cyone was rough," the captain sighed. "Nobody came out of that one without scars. I assume Ethan told you about Creed?"

"Christopher Creed, codename Jackal," the turian nodded. "Serial killer turned Cerberus agent. Extremely powerful biotic, completely ruthless, constant thorn in your side…"

"Sounds about right," Murphy growled. "The bastard's killed four of our crew, wounded one, and now he's captured another two…"

"Hence the prisoner we're about to rough up…"

"What?"

"You said his lieutenant – Reach, is it? – was going to tell us where Creed was. I assume that information's coming out by force?"

"No," Murphy muttered, shaking his head. "Persuasion."

"You said it yourself, captain, Creed's killed a lot of ours… I don't think you can afford to play nice."

"Reach… _Nick_… he isn't like Creed. He's not a psychopath, not a killer. He's a soldier, an N7, who got captured, tortured… turned. I won't torture him _again_."

"He's indoctrinated, captain. What if he won't talk?"

"Then… then we go to force," Murphy sighed. "But I'll be damned if it's our go-to option…"


	257. Downtime 17

_**SSV Cambrai, Caleston Rift**_

_**Day 1, 1045**_

"Andersen, start the tape," Murphy muttered.

"Recording now," the engineer replied, over the intercom. His little drone, hovering beside Murphy's head, gave an electronic _bleep_, scanned the room once, and then just continued to hover at his side, a lifeless spectator.

The captain was stood in the abandoned starboard cargo hold, surveying the man sat in front of him. Reach certainly looked the worse for wear – his face was scratched and cut in a hundred places on the left side, where his visor had shattered, and his right arm was badly burned from what seemed to be a shield flare. Alicia also assured him that the man's chest and stomach were badly bruised and two of his ribs were broken, where the girder had fallen on top of him, and that there was a shot lodged in his upper arm, fired by one of the Cambrai's crew. All in all, he made for a rather pitiful figure, sat on a folding steel chair with his hands bound behind his back, head hanging limply in his unconscious state.

"Bring him round," he murmured to Alicia, who was hovering behind the motionless Reach. The medic nodded shortly, reached for a little syringe that she had prepared and stuck into her belt, and then stepped forward, sinking the syringe into a soft spot in Reach's collar bone.

Whatever was in the syringe, it worked quickly. Alicia briefly scanned Reach with her omni-tool to make sure nothing was going wrong, and then headed for the door. It had only just closed behind her when Reach came to, his head rising groggily to stare at Murphy.

The N7s features were just as he remembered them from training. Dark hair, slight tan, sharp jawline… the only difference was the barely-visible layer of cybernetics, a network of dark lines tracing beneath the skin of his temples and down his jaw. His eyes, too, were glassy, emotionless…

"Captain Zachary Murphy, Alliance Navy, interviewing," Murphy muttered, to the camera. "Interview begins at ten-fifty hours."

There was another little _bleep _from the camera, and Murphy stepped forwards a little, coming to crouch just in front of Reach so that his own head was level with the captive's. Then, in a flat, even tone, he began:

"State your name and rank."

Nothing.

"_Name and rank_," he repeated.

Still nothing.

"Fine. I'll do it for you. Lieutenant Nicholas Shelton, N7. KIA during an operation right here in the Caleston Rift."

Reach growled, presumably at the irony of the last statement, but his mouth stayed resolutely shut, and he continued to stare wordlessly at the captain.

"New intelligence – by which I mean _you_ – suggests you were actually captured, tortured, and turned by Cerberus."

Silence.

"You were assigned to operate with Christopher Creed – to keep an eye on him, I suspect, in case he stepped out of line – and you were present during our encounters with him on the Citadel and over Illapa. On the Citadel, you saved him from us, but at Illapa… he abandoned you, left you behind when you were wounded. Left you to _die_, I suspect."

More silence.

"We need your help," Murphy sighed, finally getting to the bare bones of the matter. "Creed has two of ours, but you know that already… You also know where he is, where he's hiding… help me out, _Nick_. We'll take our people back, kill Creed, and get you help."

_Still _silence.

"You know, Alicia – the medic, who was in here earlier? She was talking to me earlier, about a theory she had. She reckoned you and Creed… you were both slaves. To each other, to Cerberus… Creed was a psychopath, a renegade – if he stepped out of line, you had orders to put him down. We even found omega-enkaphalin rounds in your belt – for taking him out, I assume? But you weren't in control. Clearly, you were as expendable as Creed, and how do we know that?"

Reach looked up slightly, and, although it might have been Murphy's imagination, his staring eyes got a little brighter, a little less glazed, as the captain continued, sadly:

"They never gave you an ocular flashbang. I can tell, because your brains aren't scattered all over the walls. Alicia ran scans, too – no cavities, no surgical marks, so you didn't remove it yourself after they put it in… you never had one. Correct me if I'm wrong, but the only assumption I can make is that… well, they were afraid you might slip, or turn again. If you ever snapped out of the indoctrination, they were worried you'd kill yourself on the spot, and then Creed's on his own. Chaos sues. But, here's what interests me: if they were worried you might turn again… it must mean they didn't quite finish the job. Indoctrination reduces mental faculties, and they needed you sharp, not a mindless drone. So somewhere, beneath all that hate, all those lies they cooked into your skull… the old Nick Shelton's still in there. Which brings us back to Alicia's theory. You were Creed's handler. If he ever got too carried away, or started to act against Cerberus, you had to kill him. And if Nick Shelton ever broke through long enough to realise what he was doing, and put a stop to it, Creed was to kill you. A perfect little system. Two deadly agents, working together, unable to _stop _working for Cerberus for fear of each other."

Was Murphy's mind playing tricks on him, or had Reach _nodded _slightly, imperceptibly, at that?

"But Creed wriggled out of it. You got wounded at Illapa – I'm guessing by one of my men, or maybe by Creed himself. So he left you behind, to die. And now he's off his leash."

The silence continued, but there was something a little less cold, a little less emotionless, in the turncoat's glazed eyes.

"Cerberus shot themselves in the foot," Murphy muttered. "They never gave you a flashbang, which means they can't take you out remotely… I've got an offer for you, Reach. Help me take out Creed, and we'll get you away. I can arrange a pardon, rehab, whatever's necessary…"

There was a great long pause, and finally, with a sigh, Murphy turned to head for the door. This was going nowhere…

"Creed's a monster."

The captain wheeled around, to find Reach staring him in the eye, his words still hanging in the air, as he continued:

"He's a psychopath, a killer, and I've been itching to put a bullet in him for a long time… but I don't want your pardons. I just want you to let me go once this is all done."

"Back to Cerberus?"

"What's so wrong with that?"

"Cerberus are _evil_," Murphy scowled. "They murder anyone who crosses them, innocent or guilty. They violate the most sacred of human rights, turn their followers into abominations… They abandoned you, Nick, left you to die!"

"So did the Alliance," Reach growled.

"We thought you were dead," he retorted. "We tried to confirm it, but there was nothing left down there, just ashes.

"I'm sitting here," the turncoat laughed, darkly. "So you can't have tried too hard, Zachary."

"You know I can't let you go back to Cerberus, Nick."

"Then we have nothing more to say to each other."

Captain Murphy turned on his heel, and swept back through the door to the corridor, as behind him, Andersen's drone flickered off with a third and final _bleep_.

"Wow…" Andersen murmured, as Murphy locked the door behind himself.

"Quite."

The captain was about to run his thoughts out when his omni-tool began to chatter urgently. Checking his wrist, he instead continued:

"Akito, what is it?"

"Message coming in, captain. Tight-beamed to the ship, I'm relaying it to the war room."

"Who's it from?"

"I think we both know that…"


	258. Downtime 18

_**SSV Cambrai, Caleston Rift**_

_**Day 1, 1100**_

"Can you trace it?" Murphy muttered, business-like as he entered the war room. Akito was waiting for him, scanning on his omni-tool as he replied:

"No… it's being bounced through pretty much every relay from here to the Citadel. It'd take hours, even if I roped Andersen in to help."

"Whereas beating the information out of Reach might take… one?"

"Half an hour if you let Yui do it," Akito chuckled, darkly, "but I thought that was a last resort?"

"He didn't want to go for the first resort," Murphy shrugged. "Now, patch in the transmission…"

The co-pilot nodded briefly, tapped once on his omni-tool, and a video feed burst into life at the end of the war room table. The leering, bright-eyed face staring back at them was as unnerving as ever – in fact, more so, because his mouth was contorted into a devilish grin.

"Long time no see, captain!"

"Cut to the chase, Creed. You've got one chance to return my men, or I'm coming to find you."

"Oh, please do, captain. I'd like nothing more than to snuff your pathetic life out… but since you're not here, I guess I'll have to make do with these two."

Murphy's stomach lurched as Creed swivelled the apparent camera around, and two all-too familiar figures came into view – Sarah and Irving, both down to their Alliance uniforms, both sat on chairs and restrained, just as Reach was in the cargo hold beneath their feet...

"Look what we have here…" Creed purred, and as he left the camera hanging in mid-air – Murphy assumed it was a drone – he advanced, with something glinting silver in his hand, then turned back towards the camera, holding the object up to the lens.

"Christ…" Akito swore, under his breath, as the two of them realised it was a knife in Creed's hand.

"Now then," the biotic growled. "Let's have some fun, shall we?"

"Don't give him the satisfaction of screaming, ma'am," Irving muttered under his breath, just loud enough for the camera to pick it up.

"How brave… but that sounds like a challenge to me, tough guy."

He drew closer to Irving, as if studying him closely, and lifted the marine's chin with his free hand, staring him in the eye.

"Gunnery Chief Irving Wolfe," he snarled. "I've read your file. You're going to be a tough one to break…"

"How the _hell _did he get their files?" Akito whispered, back in the war room.

"Reach…" Murphy muttered back. "He probably had access to N7 records. Get a message to the Alliance, tell them to plug the leak, change all security codes on personnel files."

"Already done, sir."

"The batarians really did a number on you on Torfan, didn't they?" Creed murmured, drawing the two men's attention back to the video feed as he traced Irving's scars with his finger. "Beautiful savagery. It's almost… _art_."

"Admiring scars now?" Irving grunted. "You really are sick, aren't you Creed?"

"We all have different tastes… but yes, I am… _admiring_ them. And you know what they say, soldier… the greatest form of flattery is… _imitation_."

Without warning, he plunged the knife in, stabbing just below the gunnery chief's eye and _carving _a line back along the side of his head. The marine growled furiously as crimson began to blossom up across his temple, and Murphy felt rather sick as he realised what Creed was doing – _tracing _the batarian 'artwork' with the point of his blade.

Sarah looked away very deliberately as Creed traced the second scar down, then the third, then the fourth… by the time he was finished, the gunnery chief's face was streaked with thick rivulets of blood, coursing down his face and onto his shirt. Irving was growling, almost _roaring_, and Murphy recognised the tactic almost immediately – venting pain into anger was the most basic of principles for captured soldiers. By the time the last cut sank in, however, Irving was grunting and gritting his teeth in genuine pain, and his breathing had gone very rapid, very heavy…

Creed leant in very close, his knife-blade shedding blood to the floor with a steady _drip, drip_, and grinned:

"Much better, hey tough guy?"

And Irving spat in his face. The marine's eyes were _glowing _furiously, and his deep, racking breaths made his chest swell fiercely, emphasising just how much _bigger _the prisoner was than his captor. One got the sense that, if he hadn't been restrained, Irving could have snapped Creed's neck without much trouble…

Creed recoiled as if scolded, and glared furiously at Irving for a moment, before wiping the spittle from his face, raising his hand, and-

_Slap._ His palm crashed across the marine's bloody cheek, scattering crimson droplets over the floor and making Irving's face go even redder.

"What?" Wolfe growled. "That's what I did to the batarians, too…"

"Fine, then…" Creed laughed, darkly. "If I can't break you… I can break _her_."

He nodded towards Sarah, and even through the camera lens, Murphy could _see _Irving's glare harden.

"Fuckin' coward!" the chief yelled, as Creed rounded on Sarah.

"Another word, gunnery chief, and I'll cut out your tongue," Creed snarled – Irving didn't speak any further, but continued to growl at his back. "Now, lieutenant… how are the drugs? Biotics nice and quiet?"

"Omega-enkaphalin," Akito guessed – Murphy suspected he was saying something for the sake of dispelling the shock and tension in the room, rather than to make any particular point.

"Now, what to, what to do…?" the biotic murmured, leaning in very close again.

"Touch her, and I'll break your neck," Irving growled.

"Oh…" Creed replied, in mock disappointment. "I told you to keep quiet, chief. Now, make sure you're watching this, and you might learn to _shut… your… mouth!_"

Sarah let out a little yelp as he plunged the dagger into her stomach, and Irving _barked _in anger, throwing himself forward once more as he tried to break out of his bonds. He was practically _spitting _with anger, and as Creed straightened up, leaving the blade embedded in Sarah's midriff, he roared:

"I'm going to _kill _you, Creed!"

"I'm sure you are…" Creed laughed, sarcastically. "Now, captain, are you still there? Yes? Good… Here's how it's going to work. You've got twelve hours to come down here and give yourself up, or I'm going to start sending these two back to the Alliance in _pieces_. Think I'll start with the lieutenant, and make Irving here watch, hmm?"

Another furious roar in the background, and the captain saw Irving lurch forward in his chair, attempting - unsuccessfully - to get at Creed's back.

"I'll do it," Murphy growled, through gritted teeth. "Just tell me where."

"Oh… very noble of you, captain, but I'm not going to make it _that _easy. You'll have to come find me."

"Gladly," the captain snarled. "Akito, cut the transmission."

The video feed faded with a subtle _blip_, and the two men were left standing alone in the war room. Murphy, for his part, found his blood _boiling _furiously, until finally-

_Wham!_ He slammed his fist into the war room table, and as he looked down, he was bemused to see a large _dent _in the metal where he'd struck it.

"What do we do?" Akito asked, quietly.

"Get us to the mass relay," Murphy nodded, slowly. "Make ready to jump at short notice. And send a message to the engineering deck."

"Any message in particular, captain?"

"Yeah. Tell Andersen to turn the cameras off, and tell Tyco he's got until I reach the cargo hold to soften Reach up."

"Last resort, then?"

"Aye. Last resort…"


	259. Downtime 19

_**SSV Cambrai, Caleston Rift**_

_**Day 1, 1120**_

"What's the situation?" Murphy called, as he stepped out of the elevator and onto the engineering deck. Andersen was waiting by the door, along with Alicia, Tyco and Vanyali.

"Bastard's been well and truly _softened_, boss," Tyco muttered, massaging his fist in his other hand.

"No broken bones, I hope?"

"Nah. Just a burst lip and a black eye."

"I can't _believe _you let him do that, captain," Vanyali scowled, wearing a mask of disapproval.

"Yeah? Well you're not the one who just saw two of their men _tortured,_" Murphy hissed, then added, rather venomously:"_lieutenant_..."

"I… noted, sir," she said, relenting and taking a step back.

"Why are you even here?" he asked, sharply.

"I asked her to come," Alicia interjected – the young medic looked like she disapproved of the 'last resort' too, but was keeping it to herself. "I've got an idea…"

"_Better _than beating the shit out of him?" Tyco murmured, raising an eyebrow.

"_Smarter_, at least… Have you ever heard of associative regression, captain?"

"No," he replied, shortly, and rather impatiently.

"It's a psychological principle whereby being around a figure from younger years – an old friend from school, a former boss, even parents – causes a person to 'regress', and act as they did when they were first or most frequently around that person. For example, most people revert to their childhood behaviours when reuniting with a friend from their school days – their body language, their speech, even their views and actions can regress to those of their younger self. Likewise, mature adults seem to relinquish both responsibility and authority whenever they're around their parents."

"What's your point?"

"Your interrogation earlier didn't work," Alicia continued, stating the obvious. "You got him to negotiate, possibly because he knew who you were, but he remained loyal to Cerberus. What if we had someone else he used to know, someone he really cared for? They could draw him out, _and _regress him to the point where he might work with us. By definition, the indoctrination process makes him vulnerable to suggestion…"

Quite suddenly, Murphy realised why Vanyali was present, and turned to stare at her, meaningfully.

"Blabbermouth here" – she nodded at Andersen – "told her me and Reach used to be squadmates, and she reckons this… regression could work, at least long enough for him to tell us where Creed is."

Murphy knew damn well – or at least, _suspected _damn well – that Vanyali and Shelton had been more than 'squadmates', but he wasn't going to bring that up now. However tempting it was to unleash his anger on Reach, if Alicia's plan _did _work, it'd be a hell of a lot quicker, and they'd have Reach's co-operation, to boot…

"Try it," he nodded, finally. "We need to know whereCreed is, how to get to him, and how to take him down."

"Alright," Vanyali murmured, taking a deep breath. "Here goes nothing…"

The rest of the group parted to let her through, and the N7 opened the door with a subtle _hiss_ of hydraulics, before disappeared inside and shutting it behind herself. The others clustered around the display on Andersen's omni-tool, as he switched the camera on, and the strange scene began to play out before their eyes. Alicia, the captain noticed, had her fingers crossed…

"What the hell did they do to you, Nick?" Vanyali began, approaching Reach with a pitying expression on her face.

"What do you _think?_" he spat.

"I'm sorry… you realise they're just spooked?" she murmured, to Murphy's surprise. "Creed's got two of our own."

"I'm quite aware of that… Murphy made it very clear before he sent his thug to beat me up."

"You know Murphy… he'd do anything to save his men. Just like you, back in the Rift – he'd die for him, and he'd kill for them without batting an eyelid."

There was no reply to that. Reach went silent again – in response, Vanyali closed the gap, crouching down just in front of him, as she continued:

"We need your help, Nick. _I _need your help. You remember me, don't you? I'm damn sure you haven't forgotten…"

"I remember you, lieutenant."

"That's it? Lieutenant? No Vanyali? No…" she smiled, slightly, and leant forward to whisper something in his ear. As she did, Murphy felt someone _shift _next to him, and realised Tyco had just excused himself. The captain met Andersen's eye awkwardly, and the engineer raised his eyebrows, with a slight sigh. They both snapped back to the screen, however, as Vanyali continued: "Remember that night on Elysium? Our shore leave, just before the Rift? The ways the stars shone… the way you looked at me… can't I have that back? Just for a minute or two?"

"I don't know what else I can say…" Reach murmured, looking at his feet and seemingly suppressing a smile. "I already told Murphy my terms. He refused."

"Then sod the terms," she replied, firmly. "We can sort out _terms _when Creed's dead. All that matters is that two of my friends are being _tortured_. Are you really going to let that sick bastard do to them what Cerberus did to you?"

"I…"

"Come on. Help me out here, Nick…"

The next pause seemed to go on for an eternity, as Reach looked back up to meet her gaze, and then, finally, wonderfully, muttered:

"Alright. Tell Murphy… tell him I'll do it, I'll take him to Creed. On one condition."

"We can't let you go back to Cerberus, Nick…" Vanyali muttered, stoically.

"Not that," he replied. "A different condition. When we find Creed… we kill that monster. No capture, no arrest. Just a shallow grave."

"Somehow, I don't think the captain'll have a problem with that … Captain Murphy, are you still there?"

"I'm here," he nodded, over the intercom. "Tell Reach… tell _Nick_… he's got a deal."


	260. Operation Argo Briefing

_**SSV Cambrai, Caleston Rift**_

_**Day 1, 1135**_

"Are we really doing this?" Tyco grinned, leaning on the wall of the war room, arms folded over his chest. "Takin' the fight to Creed?"

"Right in his own back yard," Murphy nodded. "The bastard pays, here and now, for everything he's done to us."

"Now that's good news if ever I heard it…"

The conversation lapsed into silence for a moment, and Murphy used that moment to survey his would-be team. In simple terms, he had assembled the best fighters on the Cambrai – not specialists, not techs or biotics, but through-and-through warriors, regardless of skill set. Aside from Tyco, he had Ethan Cash – the sentinel was still itching for a fight after being denied one at Illapa – along with a stony-faced Kamur, Victor Cross, and finally Thorne, who was flexing his biotic muscles, tossing a ball of blue flame from hand to hand in preparation. He noted, with some irony, that both Irving Wolfe and Alec Carter should have been on his list.

With a subtle _hiss_, the door to the war room opened, and two new figures entered. One of them in particular was greeted with a tense silence…

"Captain," Vanyali nodded, as she and Reach stepped up their table.

He nodded back, before finally finding some words, and muttered:

"Nick, if you would?"

"Of course… Last I knew, Creed was planning to withdraw to his primary safehouse. Somehow, I doubt my 'death' will have put too much of a dent in those plans… The safehouse is located on the planet Trident, in the Hoplos system of the Hades Nexus."

"Out in the Traverse," Cross observed, "but not too far from the Caleston Rift…"

"Shouldn't be more than three hours by mass relay," Reach nodded. "The actual safehouse is an abandoned mining rig, owned by a corporation called-"

"Poseidon Technologies," Kamur interrupted.

"Yes…" the Cerberus agent frowned, staring at him in confusion. "How did you know?"

"The research facility we just left, 'Talon Cell'? The place was registered to a Poseidon Technologies, operating off Trident…"

"Wasn't sure you'd picked up on that," he replied, wryly. "But… yes. The rig is a cover for Creed – the iridium deposit it was mining was exhausted eighteen months ago, but it's still sitting on Poseidon's books."

"What's the plan, then?" Cash interjected. "Storm the place?"

"Not quite," Murphy muttered, thinking on the fly – he was hearing the information for the first time, like the rest, so he didn't actually _have _a plan as such. "If we storm in guns blazing, Creed'll just kill his hostages. We need to make the exchange, secure Irving and Sarah, _then _take him down."

"What _exactly _are we exchanging?" Kamur murmured, suspiciously.

"Well, Creed wants me… and I'm guessing he'll want Reach back too," the captain said, looking meaningfully at Reach – the Cerberus agent shot him a nod of assent, and he continued: "That makes it two for two."

"Usual hostage tactics?" Victor queried. "Swap in the middle?"

"No," the captain replied, shaking his head. "We're going to play by his game. Creed'll try to test us – he'll ask for _us _to go over before he releases the hostages."

"And you're going to _agree? _Rookie move, captain, he'll have all four of you where he wants you…"

"That's what I'm counting on. The key thing here is, we want all four hostages alive, and Creed would quite happily see all four dead. If we exchange in the middle, all disarmed, his men'll just cut us down. If we agree to go first, then it gets me and Reach closer to the hostages."

"And closer to Creed…" Nick growled.

"Quite. We get in close, and make the first move. Steal weapons off the Cerberus troops, get Irving and Sarah out, and take down as many of those bastards as we can while you guys open up on them. Creed's going to be expecting a double cross, so all we've got in our favour is our aim and our courage. We deploy on Trident at sixteen-hundred hours. Dismissed."


	261. Operation Argo Part 1

_**Mining Rig 32, Trident**_

_**Day 1, 1600**_

"Visual on the mining rig," the shuttle pilot called. "Touchdown in thirty seconds. Get your men ready, captain, this is a rough landing…"

"Rough?" Murphy queried.

"Big storm coming in from the east. Trident's surface is ninety percent ocean, so when a storm comes in, it's usually a big 'un. Waves are cresting over the top of the platform, so we'll have to make it quick!"

"Understood. Everybody, get ready to step off – I want everybody boots down and running within sixty seconds!"

Mere moments after the conversation ended, the shuttle touched down with a _crunch_, and the noise of metal grating on metal. The door slid open, and Murphy charged out, hopping down onto the steel deck of the rig.

As he did, a great wave, at least fifty feet in height, slammed into the side of the rig, sending a flood of water over the deck and throwing a _cloud _of spray at the captain – he felt himself buffeted back a few feet, and his visor was spattered with water, turning the world blurry for a few seconds…

"Move!" he bellowed, as he looked back and, through his drowned visor, saw the vague forms of Ethan and Kamur jumping down behind him.

The nearest door was off to the right, and appeared to run into a small guardhouse which then permitted access to the bowels of the rig. Personally, Murphy didn't much care _where _it led, as long as it was dry inside – according to his HUD, the temperature on deck was dipping the wrong side of zero, and his own body temperature was a few degrees lower than he would have liked…

He thundered off across the platform, kicking up plumes of spray as he did, and opened the door with his omni-tool from a foot away, darting into the room beyond. For a moment, his balance threatened to abandon him as his wet boots hit the dry steel floor inside, but _somehow _he managed to remain standing, and wheeled around, waiting for the rest of the team. Cash, ever the athlete, was the first one in, and the sentinel swept through the door in single, slick movement, whipping out his pistol and moving to cover the corridor in a matter of moments. He was followed, in quick succession, by Cross, Tyco, Reach and Vanyali, side by side, Thorne – who, having forgone a helmet, looked positively _demonic_ with sodden black hair framing his face – and finally Kamur, who had been waiting outside and counting the others through the door.

"Everybody in?" Murphy murmured. Kamur nodded in reply, and the captain continued: "Reach, where do we go from here?"

"Straight down," the Cerberus agent muttered, moving up the corridor a little way and opening the next door. "Creed's hiding out in what's meant to be crew area, on the floor below."

"Alright… everybody on me. Kamur?"

"Yeah?"

"I want you to stay here, keep this door secure."

"You think they'll try to flank us?" the turian asked, shrewdly.

"What can I say?" the captain shrugged. "I'm expecting a double cross."

"Of course you are… we're about to perform one. Don't worry, captain, I'll keep our exit open…"

"Good man… everyone else, move out…"

The squad traipsed off wordlessly, a rather grim silence hanging over them. Murphy couldn't speak for the others, but for him, it had just gotten very _real_. For once, Creed wasn't taking them by surprise – they were going to _him_, and that felt just a little bit crazy…

That silence persisted as the squad traipsed off after Reach, leaving Kamur by the entrance. They passed through into another corridor, descended the stairs ahead – with some difficulty, on account of their slippery boots – and then continued on as the stairs snaked back on themselves, running down to a final door, at the threshold of which they paused.

"Ready?" Reach muttered.

"Ready," Murphy nodded back, on behalf of the squad. "Remember, people, no pitched battles, no heroics, just in and out..."

With a dull _hiss_, the Cerberus agent opened the door, and they stepped through into the cavernous underbelly of the rig.

It had originally been a staff section, Murphy assumed. The walls were lined with consoles, readouts, and displays of every kind, and there was a door in the back corner which, according to the sign next to it, led off to the bunks. Right now, however, Murphy was fixating on a rather different feature – the motley gathering on the far side of the room.

Creed was stood at the front, glaring at them in a mixture of surprise and delight. Behind him were half a dozen Cerberus troopers – fair enough, considering the squad Murphy had at his back – and off to the right were his captives.

Irving and Sarah definitely looked the worse for wear, but personally, Murphy was just glad to see them alive. The lieutenant barely seemed to be conscious – the bandages around her midriff were saturated with blood, and she was being _held _upright by two Cerberus troopers. The gunnery chief, by contrast, had never looked more alive. His eyes were still _burning _withanger, and his hands were bound in front of him to stop him _killing _something – it hadn't escaped Murphy's notice that the trooper standing guard over Irving was keeping his finger on the trigger, just in case…

"What a pleasant surprise, captain…" the hateful voice called, drifting and echoing through the room towards them. "Shall we get down to business?"


	262. Operation Argo Part 2

_**Mining Rig 32, Trident**_

_**Day 1, 1615**_

As Thorne stepped up to Murphy's side, Creed's words were reverberating off the metal walls for all to hear – indeed, the echo made him sound even _more _sinister, if that was possible…

"I'll admit, I'm impressed," he was murmuring. "I thought I'd at least get to chop off a couple of fingers before you found me… ah."

He had just spotted the black-armoured figure at Murphy's shoulder.

"Reach," the biotic hissed. "_Now_ it makes sense…"

"You wanted Murphy…" the turncoat shrugged, with an air of hopefully-fake treachery about his words, "I brought him right into the hornet's nest…"

"So you did… alright, captain, here's how it's going to work. You're going to shuffle over here, nice and peacefully, and I'll take Reach back while I'm at it. Agreed?"

"Agreed," Murphy nodded, tensely. As he did, however, an idea that had been running through Thorne's mind since they set off came to the fore, and he stepped forward, quite to the surprise of all concerned, calling out:

"No. Change of plans."

"What?" Creed and Murphy frowned, in unison.

"You're taking me instead of the captain."

"Thorne, what are you doing?" Murphy hissed, pulling him back and whispering conspiratorially, so the Cerberus mob couldn't overhear them.

"Not your skillset to get up close and personal," Thorne growled back, flashing his axe at Murphy as subtly as he could to explain. "Besides, you and Creed are at the head of all this – if we're not getting him, they're not getting you."

"I'm sure there's some _very _convincing reasoning going on over there," Creed shouted, "but why would I take a lackey over the man himself?"

"Because I'm more valuable to you than he is," the biotic explained, glaring at Creed for good measure as he did.

"Oh, I doubt that…"

"My name is Malcolm Thorne," he pronounced, stepping forward. "The Batarian Hegemony has a standing bounty of one _million_ credits for my head. Ka'hairal Balak's still around to pay out, no questions asked. Imagine what you could buy with a million credits, Creed…"

There was a seemingly _endless _pause, before, finally:

"Alright."

A sharp intake of breath signalled Murphy's disapproval, but frankly, the captain wasn't getting a say in the matter.

"Drop your gun," Creed instructed, sharply. Thorne tossed his SMG back to Victor Cross, who was nearest, and then turned back to the Cerberus agent, who continued: "Now turn around."

Thorne turned one-eighty, showing his back to Creed, and heard the words he'd been hoping for since the plan came to mind:

"No amp. Good."

He winked at the captain, and Murphy gave a brief nod in return, recognising what Thorne's plan was, and why it _might _just work.

"Fine. Both of you over here, now."

"Fat chance," Murphy replied, obstinately. "They meet in the middle."

"No…" Creed smiled back, just as they had predicted. "I've got all the cards here, captain. They step over, and then I send these two back to you."

"How do I know you won't kill them all as soon as you've got them?"

"You don't…" the biotic replied, with an unhinged grin. "But it's the only way you _might _stand to get any of them back."

"I… _fine,_" Murphy growled. "Thorne, Reach… when you're ready."

The Cerberus agent stepped up to Thorne's side, the two men shared a firm, knowing look, and then they began to march forward. As they did, Thorne counted no less than three fatal blunders on the part of the overconfident Creed. Firstly, he had assumed Thorne, like the others, would only be carrying firearms. Thus, he had no idea about the axe now concealed in the sleeve of the biotic's armour. Secondly, and perhaps not unreasonably, he had thought that no amp meant no biotics – after all, Thorne's mutation was unique – and thus was about to get a _major _shock. Thirdly, he had presumed that Reach, having been a captive, would be disarmed already. Therefore, he hadn't noticed what Thorne had – the Predator pistol strapped to the back of Reach's hip.

He snapped out of his considerations as they reached the far side of the room, and the Cerberus party got within arm's reach. Creed was staring over the two of them as they approached, and two of his men were moving up to greet them with shotgun-pistols at the ready. Thorne took one look at the captives – Irving was staring back at him meaningfully – another at the squad, back on the far side of the room, and then, finally, exchanged a glance with Reach.

"Now?" the Cerberus agent muttered, under his breath.

"Now!" Thorne growled – from that moment on, the adrenaline _coursing _through his blood turned the world into slow-motion.

_Whump._ The two troopers who had been advancing on them let out _screams _of surprise as Thorne quite literally smashed their heads together with biotics. They slumped to the floor, motionless, and he went into combat mode, letting a ball of biotic fire blossom in his left hand as he slid his axe out of his sleeve and into his right. He wheeled around to face Creed-

And found that Reach had beaten him to it. Creed was trying to summon up the blue fire, but his former colleague had already whipped the pistol from his hip and brought it up to the biotic's head.

_Bang, bang, bang._

In slower motion still, Thorne saw Creed recoil as the three rounds bit at his head, spattering crimson blood through the air and causing him to _scream _in pain. He tottered back, staggering for a few steps… and then he crumpled to the ground.


	263. Operation Argo Part 3

_**Mining Rig 32, Trident**_

_**Day 1, 1620**_

"Open fire!" Thorne heard the captain yell, from the far side of the room. Almost instantly, rifle fire began to lance across the room – a Cerberus trooper he had been lining up for an axe blow was instead decapitated by a Widow round from Tyco or Vanyali, and shots were bouncing off the walls, the floors… If anything, the squad's barrage had the helpful effect of making Cerberus return fire – shooting back at the Cambrai's riflemen, the troopers neglected the opportunity to blow Thorne, Reach and the hostages away at close range…

Creed was still on the floor, blood spurting out of the ruined side of his face, and Thorne could only assume the bastard was dead or dying. Reach was standing over him, pistol braced, preparing to take the final shot-

And it was at exactly that moment that Thorne spotted the figure lunging at Reach. He had been disguised among the troopers to begin with, but now he had broken out of their formation, it was easy to see he wasn't a regular soldier. His armour was actually light silver, not white, and his helmet had a great, domed visor that covered the entire front half of his head. Furthermore, his wrists were _alive _with biotics, snaking down to the floor in pallid blue tendrils that looked almost like _whips_…

"Reach!" he yelled out, in warning, but he was prevented from seeing the results of his actions as another trooper bowled into him at close range, grabbing him around the midriff. By instinct, he shook the man off, _crushed _his knee with a biotic kick, and then slashed his throat.

"Thorne!" Murphy bellowed from across the room. "Get the hostages!"

Nodding, the biotic wheeled around to where the captive Irving and Sarah _had _been standing-

And was amazed to see that Irving was… well, taking matters into his own hands. The big gunnery chief had reared up, knocked his captor's weapon away, and positioned himself behind said captor before _throttling _him with his bonds. The two troopers guarding Sarah, distracted, had dropped her to the floor and begun firing at Irving, who used the suffocating trooper in his grip as a human shield to soak up the rounds…

"Chief!" Thorne called out, bounding towards him and raising his axe. Irving got the message in an instant – he pulled his 'shield' up off his feet, choking the last of the life from him, then dumped him to the floor and took a step towards Thorne. The biotic cleaved through his bonds with a quick axe blow, and then they wheeled around, turning to face the two troopers who had been guarding Sarah, and were now looking more than a _little _worried.

Thorne and Irving bounded forward side by side, and as the biotic brandished his axe, the big marine went for the nearest trooper with a haymaker – he knocked the man to the ground with a single blow, then pounced on him. As he did, the second tried to take aim and blow him away, but Thorne pulverised the trooper's rifle with a blow of his axe, shearing through the muzzle before slamming a shoulder into his opponent's jaw, forcing him back – and burying the axe in his face.

As his adversary crumpled to the floor, dead instantly, Thorne wheeled round to see Irving snap the neck of his own opponent – moments later, he snatched up the Cerberus trooper's rifle, crossed the floor in a neat combat roll, and came to rest alongside the semi-conscious form of Sarah Jade.

"Get her out!" Thorne called, throwing up a biotic barrier as he did. "I'll cover you!"

"Troopers!" someone else yelled – it was Murphy, who had just appeared a little way away, _flickering _out of cloak to end another trooper's life with a sniper round. As he did, however, he was motioning across the room with his free hand – Thorne followed his gesture, and was dismayed to see another squad issuing in from the door to the bunks, all bracing rifles.

"Make for the exit, we'll follow!" Irving shouted, sliding Sarah onto his shoulder as he did, before more quietly muttering: "Right?"

"Right," the biotic nodded, still filling the air with his barrier. "Stay close…"

The squad's withdrawal was instantly noticeable – they fell back in order, peppering the enemy with shots now and then, but there was no constant _wall _of covering shots, and it left the Cerberus troops free to pour more fire than ever on Thorne and Wolfe.

Then, as if his nerve wasn't being tested enough, he heard the worryingly familiar _snap _of a neck being broken. Looking across with a pang of guilt, Thorne _finally _remembered Reach. The sniper was face-down on the floor, and Creed's lieutenant still had his lash around the turncoat's neck. Thorne's heart told him to intervene, but his head quickly suppressed it, pointing out the odd angle at which Reach's head was resting, the vacant, glazed stare in his eyes… he was dead, he could tell that much even from this distance.

Creed's lieutenant, therefore, was free to come after the stragglers. A sniper round went whistling towards his head, courtesy of Vanyali, but he deflected it away effortlessly, and then lunged forward, swinging his lash high and cracking it against Thorne's shield.

He had to admit, the Cerberus agent was _strong_, whoever he was… the lash sent a jolt of pain running down Thorne's arm, even through his shield, and when he swung again, from the other wrist, the impact sent wisps of biotic fire racing into the air, giving an odd, smoke-like shimmer to the surrounding air.

"Watch out!" he heard Irving call, from his heel – off to the right, he saw a couple of troopers moving on the flank, trying to get around his barrier and hit him in the side. The warning, however, was largely unnecessary – a quick _crack crack _issued out from the rifle in Irving's free hand, and the two troopers dropped dead.

"Run for the door," Thorne muttered, urgently. "I've got this!"

The gunnery chief looked like he was about to argue, but at that moment the biotic lieutenant struck again, and the distracted Thorne's barrier crumbled and dissipated. Irving took one look at him, nodded briefly, and then sprinted for the exit, still supporting Sarah on one shoulder and filling the air with the last of the Cerberus rifle's ammo as he ran.

That just left Thorne, and Cerberus. His adversary was charging in again, whips flailing from his wrists, and with Thorne's barrier down he struck out, sensing victory. Much to his surprise, however, Thorne still had some tricks up his sleeve. With a subtle _bleep_, he hammered the program that was always loaded on his omni-tool, just in case, and the familiar omni-shield flash-forged on his arm – in the space of a second, the lash which had been carving through the air towards his head was now knocked away, and the momentum of the fight reversed. Thorne darted in, between the lashes, and swung out not with his axe, but with his shield. It _crack_ed over the Cerberus biotic's jaw, spinning him in a dazed half-circle and exposing his back to Thorne, who leapt into the air and delivered the fiercest biotic kick he could muster.

Creed's lieutenant went flying. He was propelled across the room, smashed through two approaching troopers on his way, and finally crashed down near the far wall, in a heap.

Thorne didn't have time to finish him, much as he would have liked to. The remaining Cerberus troopers were moving to encircle him, taking aim…

He was on a roll, however, biotics warmed up and ready – dissipating his shield and slipping his axe into his belt, he allowed his forearms to well up with biotic force before finally releasing it, in the form of a _brutal _shockwave, spiralling out in all directions. At least half a dozen troopers went down, dazed if not dead – Thorne took his chance, turned, and ran…

Irving's back was just disappearing through the far door, and Thorne made to follow, pouring all his effort into his barriers to protect him from the more accurate shots now racing at his back… He _shot _through the door, scaled the first set of stairs in a matter of moments, and caught up to Irving and Sarah on the second. He stood his ground for a moment to buy them some time, and launched a biotic cannonball at the first men attempting to climb the stairs, reducing them to glittering blue ash. Then, he was running once more. The second staircase went by as quickly as the first, and then he turned the corner, racing into the final, familiar corridor between himself and the outside world.

Kamur was waiting by the door, ushering Irving and his charge through, and as Thorne reached him, the turian stepped past, raised his rifle, and effortlessly mowed down two troopers who had just burst through the door behind them – tossing a grenade down the corridor to discourage the curious, he practically _pushed _Thorne through the door, and then made to follow.

"Shuttle's here!" Murphy roared, with one foot on the threshold of said shuttle and his sniper rifle covering the exit. "Get the hell on board!"

It took just a few seconds to slip and slide over the wet deck to the shuttle, and up ahead, Irving _somehow _managed to stay upright while balancing Sarah on his shoulder. Cross leant out of the compartment, took the lieutenant from the grateful Irving's shoulder and pulled her inside, before lending a hand to the gunnery chief himself, who now seemed to be running out of steam – he was coughing and spluttering as he stepped into the shuttle, and the dried blood on his face was a gruesome reminder of what he had just been through…

Thorne was close on his heels, and _leapt _through the threshold with a little biotic assistance, almost flattening Cross as he did. He collapsed down in the nearest seat, burnout finally starting to kick in, and watched as Kamur hopped up behind him. Finally, Murphy swung inside, hammered the door controls, and did a quick headcount as the door slid closed.

"Everyone accounted for but Reach," he muttered.

"Reach is dead," Thorne confirmed, flatly. "That lapdog of Creed's snapped his neck."

"Alright…" Murphy sighed, wearily. "Then we're done here. Get us off this bloody rig!"


	264. Operation Argo Part 4

**A/N: Sorry for another day's delay, guys. I had a final coursework deadline on today, so yesterday night was pretty much devoted to that. Normal service will now be resumed.**

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><p><em><strong>SSV Cambrai, Hades Nexus<strong>_

_**Day 1, 1640**_

"I don't like the look of this…" Erika murmured, examining the ladar screen.

"Me neither," Akito replied, tensely. "Captain, this is the Cambrai! We've got a big red dot on the ladar, and it's _way _too close for comfort! What's your ETA?"

"Sixty seconds," Murphy said. "Warm up the engines, we're not hanging around."

"You don't have to tell me twice… Erika, fire 'em up, we're- Erika?"

The pilot was leaning out of her seat, staring up through the clear cockpit, and her eyes had gone as wide as dinner plates.

"This is _not _good…" she whispered.

Shifting out of his seat and moving to her side, Akito looked up too, and felt his jaw dropping. He had to agree with Erika, to be honest. It really _wasn't _good.

A great white prow was emerging from the storm clouds whirling above them, and those guns looked far too familiar. So did the Cerberus logo on the ship's nose...

"Is that the bastard from Illapa?" Erika asked, her voice still full of shock.

"Readout matches," Akito nodded, looking at his omni-tool. "It wasn't just a patrol ship that stumbled into us… it's Creed's personal _bloody _cruiser!"

"Murphy!" the pilot screamed, over the radio. "Get that shuttle down, _now_, we need to move!"

"Touching down now," the captain replied, obviously confused. "Seal the hangar bay and fire the engines!"

"Aye aye!"

Erika swung back into the pilot's seat, as Akito tapped away at the hangar door controls from here. They were still closing as his colleague ramped up the thrust to the engines – going from idle to 'holy shit, run away' in the space of a few seconds, they let out a deafening _boom _and a whine of protest, but fired up nonetheless.

"Solov to crew! Everybody, find a flight harness or some mag boots, and hold on tight! Beginning evasive manoeuvres!"

The ship lurched forward just as Akito slid down into the co-pilot's seat, buckling himself in with one hand and drawing up displays with the other. As combat situations went, this wasn't exactly a _great _one. The weapons were calibrated for ground attack – they had been expecting, if anything, an attack from rockets or missiles on the rig, not another sip – and the shields had been discharged to allow them to descend through the atmosphere. That was risky enough with the storms raking their hull, but a _cruiser? _That could tear them apart without much trouble…

"Battle plan?" Erika murmured, looking to Akito for direction as they swerved through space without a destination in mind.

"Give me a moment…" he mumbled, skimming through the data readouts. "Mapping their weapons systems… send a Javelin their way."

"Why?"

"Just do it!"

She obliged, and sent a blue missile whistling up towards the Cerberus cruiser with the push of a button. It was barely half way before _boom! _The missile exploded in mid-air… err, mid-_space_, in a crackle of eezo blue.

"GARDIAN laser, quadruple the normal range…" Akito observed. "Frequencies into the ultraviolet band, almost to salarian standards – expensive, but effective…"

"Great, now how do we avoid it?"

"Uploading range parameters to the ladar screen… keep us out of that radius, and they won't be able to land a GARDIAN hit."

"What about big guns?"

"Main gun mounted on the nose, smaller mass accelerators on the wings. Keep the cruiser to port – the main cannon and port-side guns won't be able to hit us."

"And the starboard-side guns?"

"They _will_ be able to hit us."

"Great… Evasives?"

"Evasives. We don't need to take that thing down-"

"We just need to outrun it," she nodded. "_That, _I can do."

With a roar, the ship's thrusters flared again, and the Cambrai swung to one side, keeping the cruiser's emerging nose framed in the port-side windows. Akito could _see _the mass accelerators swivelling around to face them as they drew closer, and sure enough, a moment later:

_Boom! _A great mechanical bellow – usually inaudible in the vacuum of space, but _deafening _here, in-atmosphere, signalled the first volley of fire from the cruiser. Half a dozen bright flashes lit the starboard wing, and Akito knew that each gun had just hurled a ten-kilo slug towards them at several times the speed of sound. He would have made some comment about Cerberus risking collateral damage – the slugs wouldn't stop until they fell to earth, after all – but it hardly applied here, considering Trident was a planet of nigh-endless oceans.

Erika flipped the Cambrai upside down almost _effortlessly_, whipping off to the right and causing the speeding slugs to fall short of their tail by a fair distance.

"Get us up through the atmosphere," Akito instructed. "Mass relay's in the Hekate system, universal bearing two-twenty."

"Current bearing oh-fifty," Erika frowned. "Getting to the relay means doing a u-turn – either we slow down and give them an easy shot while we drop back, or we speed up and cross their guns…"

"Risky either way," the co-pilot mused, talking through his thoughts as quickly as they came, "but if we can pull it off, the u-turn works to our advantage. Cruisers have a slow turning circle – we can loop back, slingshot around the planet, and gain a few klicks on them before they manage to turn around. Once we hit the edge of the system, we're in the clear."

"_If _they don't follow us into FTL, and _if _they don't blow us out of the sky…" – _boom! – _"Salvo incoming!"

They swung to the right, but two of the mass accelerator rounds hit home, and Akito's display lit up with scarlet warning panels.

"What the _hell _did they put in those guns?" Akito snapped, swiping at the display in mild panic. "Power's fluctuating, kinetic barriers are down to thirty percent…"

"Prep countermeasures and divert non-essential power to the shields," Erika replied. "We'll give them a bloody nose with the Thanix cannon, dump some flares, and make a break for it…"

"Non-essential power?" he frowned. "This is a stripped-down frigate, every system onboard is _essential_."

"Ladar, sensors, navigation?" she replied.

"You want to fly blind?"

"Navigation's useless right now," Erika pointed out, matter-of-factly rattling off points of argument. "We don't need ladar to _see _the bloody big ship in front of us. Keep the thermal sensors online, and the rest are unnecessary until we're clear."

"Ready on your signal," the co-pilot muttered, with the appropriate controls at his fingertips. "You sure about this?"

"Just _do _it. I can fly blind, and our shields need the boost."

Rather reluctantly, he obliged. The shields flared around the ship's hull, but simultaneously, a score of warning lights came up across the board, informing him oh-so-helpfully that navigation was down, the sensors had stopped reporting in, and so on…

_Boom!_ A third salvo came racing towards them, and Erika swung the blinded ship to one side, rolling effortlessly through the air – the cruiser's shots sailed past in the port-side window, and they had a clear lane to the cruiser. Lining the ship's nose up with the centre of the cockpit viewscreen, the pilot hit the thrusters, and they barrelled forwards.

"Time to the next salvo?" Erika asked, tensely.

"Based on previous reload times… twenty seconds and counting."

Another press of a button and blue light began to rise up, filling the cockpit, as the Thanix cannon charged below their feet. They were flying straight at the cruiser's head, and the little wisps of vapour scattering upwards from the cockpit shields told Akito they had just entered GARDIAN range. Ordinarily, the warning lights would have been going crazy, but the sensor panels remained blank and impotent, powered down as they were…

"Ten…" he murmured. "Nine…"

"Firing!" Erika interjected. She slammed down on the controls, and a bright lance of cobalt blue went flying off ahead of them.

The Thanix cannon's effect was… predictable, to say the least. The blue beam punched clean through the Cerberus cruiser's nose, ignoring shields and hull alike and sending a plume of fire and smoke _racing _up into the thinning sky.

"Ditch the flares!" his colleague screamed, rolling the ship as she did and _swinging _them beneath the cruiser's prow. With one quick tap of his controls, Akito sent a dozen bright white flares spiralling out from the tail section. They were improvised weapons, improvised by the Engineering Corps – bundles of usually-stationary docking flares, rigged to a Javelin firing rack and configured to emit a wave of signal-jamming static, as well as blinding any pilot who got too close. Yurai had tested the first prototypes during his stint on the SSV Tokyo, and he knew the things were bloody effective, if only for a few seconds – in a ship-to-ship knife fight, a few seconds was usually all you needed…

"Foot to the floor!" he yelled. "Flares won't last forever!"

"Making for the atmosphere," Erika replied. "Thrusters to full-"

_Boom! _The ship _rocked _violently, pitching nose-down as if riding on a wave. The cockpit was bathed in crimson light, and Akito was thrown sideways, dangling off his seat but still attached to his harness. Up front, Erika had been slammed into the console, and he had a horrible feeling that there was _blood_ on her face…

"What the _fuck _was that?" he grunted, extricating himself from the flight harness and crashing to the floor as he did.

"Dunno," the pilot muttered, pushing herself up off the console. She sounded calm, nowhere near as panicked as Akito, and that fact alone led him to suspect she was concussed… "Get the sensors back online."

"Already done… oh, shit! We've been hit, breach on the engineering deck over the starboard cargo hold."

"Barriers?"

"Down. Reactor's spiking, generators are dead… we need to get out of here before they fire again!"

"Crossing the threshold now," Erika murmured. "Ten seconds to open space."

"Jump to FTL!" Akito shouted, taking the initiative on account of his colleague's rather bleary state.

"Co-ordinates?"

"No time – random jump, get us the _hell _away from that cruiser!"

Erika didn't reply to that – she merely nodded, dazedly, and after ten of the tensest seconds Akito had ever experienced, they burst out into the inky black of space. The pilot pressed down on her console with a weak palm, and there was a visceral _groan _from the ship, as if the eezo core, the frigate's heart, was giving the last of her strength to the effort.

Then, they were away – the galaxy became a dizzying blur in the cockpit window, and the Cambrai shot off into the abyss…


	265. Operation Argo Debrief

**A/N: If I can get it written in time, I'll be uploading another chapter later tonight, to make up for short this one is...**

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><p><em><strong>SSV Cambrai, Hades Nexus<strong>_

_**Day 1, 1700**_

As he paced onto the bridge, the first thing Murphy noticed was the sheer state of _disarray _the usually ordered cockpit was in. The navigator's chair was upended, half of the displays in the aft section were dark and inactive, and the pilot's console appeared to be spattered with _blood_. Erika Solov was absent, but her co-pilot was sat at the helm, simultaneously guiding the battered ship through space and juggling system readouts.

"Okay, three questions," the captain grunted, as he staggered up to the back of the helmsman's chair. "One, what the hell just happened? Two, where the _hell_ are we? Three…" – he hesitated – "is anyone dead?"

"One, we got hit by a mass accelerator round and our shields went down. We made a random jump to get out of danger… Two, we're on the border of the Hekate system – we'll be at the mass relay within the hour. Three… I don't know, sir, but it seems likely. Cerberus took a big chunk out of the engineering deck."

"Shit…" Murphy sighed, dropping down into the co-pilot's chair as his legs suddenly went rather tired. The adrenaline was wearing off now, and though the last hour – God, had it only been an hour? – had been only a brief encounter, it had been _intense_, to say the least…

"Captain, you never got chance to say… how'd the mission go?"

"Better than your flying," he said, wryly. "We lost Reach, and it was damn close to none of us making it out, but we got Irving and Sarah. They're both in the med bay."

"At least they're safe. That's the most important thing… what about Creed, though?"

"Unknown. He took three rounds to the head, but if the last few months have taught me anything, it's that a man can survive just about anything if he's stubborn enough. Or… maybe I'm being cynical. Maybe the bastard bled to death. All I know is, we didn't confirm the kill."

"Better than nothing," Akito muttered over his shoulder, still guiding the ship onwards as he did. "He was long overdue a bullet in the brain…"

They lapsed into silence for a moment, and Murphy watched intently as Akito took his eyes _off _the controls, flicked through a few more sensor readouts, and then went back to the seemingly _trivial _business of steering.

"What's the situation on deck?" Murphy continued. "Damage reports, fatalities…?"

"Damage reports are sketchy, mostly just system failures reporting in on the automated readouts. Fatalities… unknown. All I _do _know is, we've got a hull breach on the engineering deck, and the reactor's spiking every five minutes. Shields are at thirty percent and refusing to power up any further – I reckon most of the barrier generators shorted when the power fluctuated…"

"What do you recommend we do about it?"

"Sod all we _can _do, just patch her up well enough to get her to a shipyard. I've sent Rilum, Andersen and Klara to check out the engineering deck – they'll try to seal the breach, pressurise the bulkheads, and stabilise the core. Once that's done, we can jump via the relay."

"I take it you've got a destination in mind?"

"Possibly… the Horse Head Nebula's nearby – I dare say we could make it to Noveria inside twelve hours, and they'll _definitely _have the facilities we need."

"Noveria it is, then. Are you okay up here on your own?"

"So long as we don't run into any more hostiles…"

"How's Erika doing?" Murphy asked, and he felt a pang of guilt for not having asked earlier.

"I'm no doctor, but I think she's suffering from a mild concussion," Akito murmured. "Cracked her head against the console when we crashed. I sent her down to the med bay and took the helm."

"Good, good…" the captain nodded, sinking lower in the co-pilot's chair and finding his eyelids beginning to droop. "Keep me updated, flight lieutenant..."


	266. Downtime 20

_**SSV Cambrai, Hades Nexus**_

_**Day 1, 1510**_

The med bay was a blur of activity at that moment. _One _critical patient was an uncommon occurrence aboard the Cambrai, so _four _had pushed the medical team into overdrive. Alicia was trying very hard to keep herself composed as she pored over an unconscious Irving, and in the adjacent bed, Sarah was being attended to by Dr O'Leiph. The two wounded marines had been carried in from the shuttle by Rilum and Cross – the salarian had dashed off to the engineering a moments later, in something of a panic, but they had co-opted Victor into lending a hand, and the marine was now hunched on the other side of the med bay, applying his admittedly basic combat medic training to a concussed Erika Solov, who had staggered in just minutes prior. Finally, as if the situation wasn't bad enough, Alicia was very aware of the fire burning in the mess hall – out of the corner of her eye, she could see two Alliance crewmen and the hulking Urdnot Dax battling the flames with extinguishers…

"Diagnosis?" Ria murmured urgently, leaning over to address Alicia.

"Massive lacerations to the side of the head," Alicia replied, peering sadly at Irving's re-blooded scars, "and a shattered knee."

"Do you think he'll need surgery?"

"No. The facial wounds are bloody, but superficial. He'll just need stitches and a skeletal repair job on his knee. The real problem's the blood loss…"

"Can you deal with that?"

"Sure."

"Good. If Irving here doesn't need it, I'll get Sarah into surgery."

"How bad is she?" Alicia asked, anxiously.

"Not quite critical yet, but close… her renal artery's been punctured – I need to seal it off and stop the bleeding."

"Do you need an assist?"

"No, I need you to stay here with Victor and keep the other three from crashing. Can you handle that?"

Alicia nodded, and after flashing a brief smile of approval, Dr O'Leiph set about detaching Sarah's bed from the wall, dragging it towards the door of the surgical theatre. As she did, she turned to Victor, and called:

"How's Erika doing?"

"Stable," the marine nodded, straightening up from his task. "I cleared her airways and stemmed the bleeding. Besides that, she just needs to sleep it off."

"Good work," the asari muttered, wryly, "for a jarhead…"

"I'll take that as a compliment, doc. You still need my help?"

"I'm sure she does," Ria replied, waving at Alicia. Then, with the _swish _of a door opening and closing, she was gone, taking Sarah with her.

Victor paced over to Irving's bedside, standing at Alicia's heel as the young medic read her friend's chart.

"What do we need to do about your brother?" he asked, as she read.

"Nothing right now. He's stable and sedated. We just need to deal with Irving."

"Alright, what do you need me to do?"

"I… give me a moment…" she read the last of Irving's file, found what she was looking for, and then set it down, springing into action and taking the lead: "Check the freezer, far wall. We need a blood pack, type A."

"Blood transfusion?" he guessed, dashing across the room.

"Right. If he loses any more blood, he could go into cardiac arrest – we need to get more into his circulation, ASAP."

As Cross tore the freezer open and began to search inside, Alicia set about her preparations – she searched through crash cart – half of whose contents had been scattered over the floor when the ship was hit – grabbing a canula and a transparent drip tube.

She turned around just as Victor came bounding back over to her – the marine had a square, crimson package in his right hand, and as he crossed the room he stooped down, sweeping up a fallen drip stand with his left. The two of them moved in silence, setting the drip down at the side of Irving's bed, hooking the blood pack up to it… Rather nervously, Alicia slid the guiding needle of the canula into the crook of Wolfe's arm. His veins were bulging helpfully from his cool, slightly pallid skin, but that made Alicia more worried than grateful – pallor and cold were both early symptoms of shock…

The canula slid in easily, however, and after guiding the needle back out – leaving the tube itself still embedded in Wolfe's arm – Alicia moved to the other side of the bed, closely watching the heart rate monitor and blood pressure cuff Irving was already hooked up to. Behind her, Victor slid the drip tube into the canula with a distinct lack of delicacy, attached the other end to the blood pack, breaking the seal as he did, and finally released the clamp at the top of the drip. Slowly but steadily, a little stream of crimson began to issue down the tube, before disappearing into the stricken marine's arm.

"How's he looking?" Victor muttered, uncertainly.

"Blood pressure dangerously low, might be a while before the transfusion kicks in…" Alicia reported, before rambling: "Temperature falling, early signs of shock, ECG rapid… shit, I don't like this."

Cross looked up at her with a questioning expression, and she replied, by way of an explanation:

"Should have given him a central line – a canula's too small, too slow, delays delivery… I think he's about to go into cardiac arrest…"

And then, sure enough, as if to prove sod's law, a bevy of alarms began to sound out around the room – one over Irving's bed, one on the console on the doctor's desk, one on the far side of the room _just in case _you couldn't hear the first two. The ECG was _bleep_ing away far more rapidly than could possibly be healthy, and Alicia practically leapt out of her skin in panic.

"Heart rate's accelerating," she murmured, as the monitor began to _bleep _more and more emphatically. "Going into VT… he's crashing!"

"_Fuck_," Victor cursed, and in his haste he somehow managed to contract 'What do you need me to do?' into: "What now?"

"Get a defibrillator," Alicia replied, pointing to the crash cart. As her newfound assistant dove towards it, she looked back at Irving, and rather anxiously reported: "No breathing…" – she paused to check his wrist – "no pulse either…"

That set off a countdown in the back of Alicia's mind. No pulse meant no circulation, and no circulation meant Irving's heart had stopped. That meant asystole, which meant full cardiac arrest, which meant clinical death… In which case, as Alicia's former teacher had told her, they had three minutes to resuscitate Irving before he suffered brain damage, and six before his brain was completely dead. Scientific studies produced figures of four and seven minutes, hence a good medic – as her teacher had said – should aim for a minute less…

"You know how to use that?" she asked, running more calculations in her head. Paddle defibrillators required about twenty-five pounds of force to effectively deliver a shock – Victor, a big strong marine, was more likely to be able to produce that force than the slender biotic.

"Yeah," he nodded.

"On my mark," Alicia muttered, stepping up to the bed herself.

The two of them went completely silent, drowning out the alarms that were screaming all around them, as Alicia began compressions, pounding her flattened palms against Wolfe's chest – his sodden shirt had been removed on arrival to reduce the chances of hypothermia – while Victor stood by.

"…thirteen, fourteen, fifteen," the young medic mumbled under her breath. Then, she leant in, locked her mouth over Irving's, and exhaled, forcing as much oxygen as possible into his lungs. A few moments later, darting back and making sure to keep her hands well out of the way, she yelled: "Clear!"

Victor darted in, _slammed _the paddles down onto Irving's chest with a slight cracking noise, and a visceral jolt passed through the marine's torso to the distinctive sound of current discharging.

There was a deathly pause.

"No change," Alicia observed, trying her damnedest to suppress the rising panic in her gut as she dove in again. "Blood pressure and heart rate zero."

…_thirteen, fourteen, fifteen. _She took a deep breath, filling her lungs, and went in again, _willing _Irving's damned heart to start beating again. Only when her lungs were _bursting_, desperate for air, did she pull away again.

"Clear!"

Another _jolt_ from the defibrillator, another tense pause…

"Still nothing. Ninety seconds. One, two, three…"

"C'mon, you stubborn bastard," Cross growled under his breath, striking the paddles together again.

"…fourteen, fifteen…"

She dove in yet again, pouring every ounce of air in her lungs into her patient's while keeping one ear on the erratic _bleep _of the ECG, which was still spiralling into ever-faster, ever-more chaotic patterns. When her brain began to scream for air of its own she pulled away.

"Clear!" she shrieked, almost _desperately _this time. Victor stepped forward, pressed the paddles down with a hefty _thump_, and _jolt! _Irving's chest convulsed yet again-

And the ECG died.

"Asystole," Alicia observed, instantly. Sure enough, the little trace on the monitor had levelled out into a silent, steady string across the screen.

"Flatline…" Cross muttered, dejectedly. "That's not good…"

"Actually, it is," she replied, talking _very _quickly and more than a little breathlessly. Her burning lungs were telling her to stop speaking and get some damned oxygen, but her brainwas trying to distract her by getting her to say something smart and intuitive… "Defibrillation _aims _for a flatline. This isn't the movies, it doesn't restart the heart – it corrects erratic electrical impulses in the cardiac muscle. Asystole – the flatline – is a neutral state, like a 'zero' setting. Defibrillation 'resets' the heart to a blank slate, and the heart's pacemaker naturally-"

"Aargh!"

"_Christ!_" Victor bellowed in surprise, rather interrupting Alicia's medical babble.

Irving Wolfe had just _lurched _upright with a noise that was part-_gasp_, part-_roar_. He slipped back a moment later, eyes rolling upwards as his head hit the pillow, but his breath was still tearing out of his lungs in harsh, ragged bursts…

Alicia dove back to the bedside, grabbing an oxygen mask from the wall and hurriedly – not to mention rather clumsily – fixing it over Irving's face. Her right hand came away covered in the blood from Irving's wounds, but she barely noticed it, flying high on a wave of adrenaline as she was. Switching on the oxygen supply, she swivelled around to check the monitors, and found that Victor had paced around to join her.

"Heart rate seventy-nine per minute. Bit elevated for someone in his state of fitness, but we can attribute that to… well, _stress_, to put it lightly. Body temperature rising, blood pressure rising, ECG regular… Thank God."

"Thank God…" Victor echoed.

With that, Alicia staggered over to the far wall, and proceeding to slide down it, finally coming to rest at the foot of the wall feeling distinctly _exhausted_. The adrenaline was subsiding, and her lungs were taking in deep _gulps _of air to make up for her efforts at CPR. Everything had gone a bit blurry, truth be told, and the familiar rhythm of the ECG was a monotone in the back of her mind. A few moments later, and quite to her surprise, she found Cross slumping down next to her, his own chest heaving beneath his armour, as if, like Alicia, he had forgotten to breathe for the last few minutes.

"Nice job, 'jarhead'," she chuckled, weakly.

"You too, doc…" he laughed.

"You know, I'm not _actually _a doctor…" Alicia admitted. "Just a medical volunteer. Truth be told, that's the first time I've ever had to resuscitate someone myself…"

"See, why didn't you tell me that _before _we started?"


	267. Downtime 21

_**SSV Cambrai, Hades Nexus**_

_**Day 1, 1520**_

"Lights?" Rilum murmured, over the radio.

"Working on it now," Andersen replied, slicing into one of the wall-mounted consoles.

The two of them – along with Klara – had just clambered down into the engineering corridor through a rather sizeable _hole _in the hull, the lone scar left by the Cerberus cruiser's guns.

"Mag boots still working?" the salarian checked.

"Aye," the human engineer nodded.

"Yes," the quarian agreed. Unlike her two fellows, who had had to put on helmets to survive in the depressurised section – Andersen had donned his Alliance breather helmet, while Rilum borrowed an oddly-shaped salarian article from Arrete – Klara was wearing her regular exosuit, which was already rated for such a situation. Of course, it had been rather tricky to fit mag boots _over _her suit – and, for that matter, to find a size of the human-designed boots small enough to fit Rilum's salarian legs – but they were here now, and nobody had fallen out into space _yet_…

"Got it," Andersen muttered – sure enough, the corridor they were in was flooded with light a couple of seconds later, as those lights that were still working burst into life.

The scene they illuminated was a rather desolate one. The slug had punched through the ship's hull, penetrating into the empty cargo hold. From there, it had torn through the connecting door into the access corridor, carved a path through to the engineering section – narrowly missing the elevator shaft, luckily enough – and made it all the way into the engine room before stopping. As a result, every room along the slug's trajectory had been depressurised, its contents flung out into space…

"Training room still pressurised," Rilum pointed out. "Sealing the door to prevent further damage..."

"What do we do about the breach?" Klara piped up.

"Seal it," the salarian replied, simply. "Has to be sealed. Might survive FTL without further damage, but atmospheric re-entry? Would burn this entire deck, create stress fractures, _tear _ship apart… Will stay here and restore barriers. You two deal with the core."

The two of them nodded briefly, and then stepped through what had once been a doorway to the engineering section, but was now a smoking, jagged puncture wound. Beyond it, the eezo core was still _thrumming _gently, spinning and whirling in a blue maelstrom.

"No crew," Klara observed, hesitantly, as if she didn't quite want to voice the logical conclusion…

"Whole area depressurised," Andersen sighed, voicing it for her. "The engineering crew got spaced. Even if they survived the initial breach, they sure as hell didn't survive the FTL jump."

"How many dead?"

"Four, I think, plus anyone who happened to be on the cargo corridor…"

"Keelah, the poor things…"

"Come on," he muttered, tearing both of their attentions away from that particular dark thought. "Let's check the core…"

They strode forwards, taking rather deliberate steps – the only kind of steps you _could _take in clunky mag boots – and moving through to the engine room – there was a narrow doorway between the engineering consoles, and a small metal walkway that took you right up to the ship's pulsating heart. The circular walls were lined with glowing blue attenuators, and the noise inside the chamber was _deafening._

"Radiation levels?" he called, rather grateful that his suit's radio could cut through the reactor's throbbing.

"Elevated, but well below the danger level," Klara reported, glancing at her omni-tool. "No eezo leaks, either. I don't think the actual _core's_ damaged at all…"

"Then why is the power spiking off the charts?" Andersen frowned.

"I don't know… the spikes are definitely _there_… Peaks of activity, rather than a prolonged elevation. Repetitive, not random… almost _asymmetrical_… ah!"

"What?"

"Damaged attenuator, on the far wall," she answered, pointing across the room. Sure enough, two of the glowing blue edifices on the engine room wall were very obviously damaged – the upper one was dim, and every so often gave out a few pathetic sparks or a wisp of smoke; the lower one had been obliterated completely, and the remnants of the Cerberus cruiser's slug were buried in the wall.

"Does that explain the readings?"

"Yeah… Those things are like a ring of magnets. They keep the core in check – if one's damaged, that would explain the spike in each rotation…"

"Can you fix it?"

"Not without some damn good equipment… _but_, I think we can make a temporary fix, balance it out."

"How?"

"Simple. The field's circular, symmetrical… disable the opposite attenuator, and the core spikes should even out, at least for the time being…"

"Do it," he nodded. They paced back out of the engineering room, and Klara went to work on the engineering consoles – she rejected the first one, cursing in quarian as it sparked and fizzled obstinately – while Andersen moved back towards the breach.

"Lynus!" he called. "Have you-"

"Fixed the breach?" the salarian muttered, sweeping into the room. "Yes. Restored peripheral heat sinks and kinetic barriers. Should hold for re-entry, but would advise we vacate the deck… just in case."

"_Should?_"

"Ninety-nine point… nine percent certainty."

"What about FTL travel?"

"Hundred percent certain. Will hold."

"Maybe we can find a ship or a station to dock with, instead of risking re-entry…" Andersen murmured aloud. He was about to continue his musings when a new voice interjected over the radio:

"Bridge to engineering," Akito Yurai called. "We're at the relay. What's the status on those repairs?"

"The breach is sealed," the engineer replied, nodding despite the fact that the co-pilot couldn't see him. "Give us thirty seconds to patch the reactor, and we'll be good to go on the FTL jump. Might take a little longer to rate her for atmospheric re-entry, though…"

"Aye aye. Setting course for the Horse Head Nebula. Thirty seconds to jump…"

"Will the core be ready in thirty seconds?" Andersen asked Klara.

"It's ready now," she replied, with a smirk beneath her visor.

"Alright then. Hold on tight, everybody, we're about to jump…"


	268. Downtime 22

_**SSV Cambrai, Horse Head Nebula**_

_**Day 2, 0400**_

"What do you mean _refused?_" Murphy growled.

"That's all they said," Akito replied, defensively. "Landing clearance refused…"

"_Why?_" the captain persisted. "We're here for repairs, not a bloody invasion..."

They had arrived in the nebula just half an hour before, to the _intense _relief of everyone on board – the breach had held, and they _hadn't _fallen apart in transit. It was always good when the ship didn't shake itself apart… Murphy, for his part, had woken up in the co-pilot's chair to find Akito swearing in frustration at his console.

"Mind if I think aloud, captain?" the co-pilot asked.

"Be my guest."

"If I had to guess, I'd say they don't want the Alliance – or any other military force – landing on Noveria, whatever their purpose. Quite apart from the large human supremacist movement which could well be fostering Cerberus interests, the Noveria Development Corporation has a lot of patrons who pay to keep the Alliance _out _of their business – Binary Helix, Synthetic Insights... just look at what happened up on Peak 15. Point is, it took the Council years of wrangling for them to let _Spectres _onto Noveria, so one Alliance team? No chance…"

"Useless, no-good, shadow-skulking-"

"Quite. In a way, it's good – if we went down there, I reckon we'd have to arrest about half the planet… Besides, I don't trust _anyone_ on Noveria to fix this ship. She's an advanced prototype – I doubt they'd know what to do with her, and they'd probably take every chance they could to copy the design…"

"If you don't trust them to repair the ship, why did you _bring _us here?" Murphy frowned.

"It was the closest place," he shrugged. "Now that we've got an excuse, we can find somewhere better equipped for the job."

"Anywhere in mind?"

"Well, ideally I'd go to Vancouver. They ran the original SR2 retrofit, I dare say they could handle this one. Arcturus built the SR1, so they'd be the next best candidate."

"Vancouver and Arcturus," the captain scowled. "_Great._ Anywhere else? Preferably somewhere that _hasn't _been reduced to rubble?"

"Honestly, captain, all we need is an Alliance engineering team. As far as I know, every tech who worked on the Tantalus drive core died on Earth or Arcturus – all we can do now is find a safe berth, some engineers, and let them go to work on the ship with Rilum and the others. The issue isn't finding someone who _can _fix the ship, it's finding someone we _trust _to…"

"Noted. Any Alliance presence in this system?"

"If there is, sir, it's _strictly _off the record…"

"I notice you didn't say _no_."

"Well…"

"Spit it out, Akito."

"I've been scanning since we hit the system. Looking for Cerberus or Reaper ships, at first… But there's something big near the edge of the system. Dreadnought-size, judging by the emissions."

"How do you know that _isn't _Cerberus or the Reapers?"

"Well, if Cerberus _does _have the capacity to build dreadnoughts, life's really not worth living. And the signals I intercepted _definitely _aren't of Reaper origin… Whoever it is, they're organic, and they're trying to hide. They _nearly _succeeded – heat emissions are masked, they're using the fringe of the Horse Head Nebula to block ladar… almost a shame that they slipped up on comms…"

"You picked up a message?"

"Yes. Cross-system, mid-level security, compact file. I haven't tried to get through the encryption yet, but if I had to guess, I'd say they were sending orders to a patrol of outriders."

"Can we engage the stealth systems?" Murphy asked.

"Should be able to… Rilum's fix on the barriers held, so as long as we don't spend _too _long cloaked, I figure the heat won't do too much damage."

"Alright. Can you take us into FTL? Drop us near that ship with the stealth systems engaged?"

"Already making the course calculations…" Akito laughed. "Take a seat, captain. Shouldn't take more than a minute."

Murphy dropped down into the empty co-pilot's chair and watched on, impressed, as Akito did about a thousand things at once. He spun the ship ninety degrees on a dime, fired up the engines, spooled up the drive core, plugged in the co-ordinates, and all seemingly with one hand… Then, with a subtle _thrum _from the reactor and a _whoosh_ of movement, the Cambrai raced forwards through space. The world outside became a dizzying blur, and Murphy gave up trying to trace their path – instead, he stared at the co-pilot-come-pilot, who was staring intently at his instruments.

"Stealth systems engaged," he announced, tapping another panel, to his left. "Heat levels high, but holding. Wouldn't keep it up for more than five minutes, though."

"Five minutes? When do we come out of FTL?"

"Approximately… now."

With a slight shudder, the Cambrai dropped back out of FTL, slowing to a crawl and emerging amidst a dense, pink-red haze.

Murphy made a mental note to commend Akito on his accuracy. Usually, the nebula would have left them searching for their mystery ship for hours. As it was, however, the bloody thing was right in front of them, a _huge_ steel leviathan looming out of the cloud…

"Silhouette's Alliance," Murphy observed.

"Aye," Akito nodded. "Hopefully they haven't spotted us yet. Moving left to check the prow…"

The ship swept to port, strafing past the frankly _huge _main gun to examine the wingtips that ran parallel to it. As they did, a string of storey-tall white letter were revealed, along with a Systems Alliance logo that had been torn in half by a scorch mark.

"SSV Logan…" the captain read aloud. "Singh, you sneaky bastard…"

"What do you want to do, sir? We've still got a couple of minutes before the heat levels reach critical – if you want, we can jump back out."

"No," he replied. "They probably got a visual already. Besides, I want to see what the _hell _the admiral thinks he's doing out here. Drop the cloak, send them an olive branch, and move to dock. I'll meet them on the boarding ramp…"


	269. Downtime 23

_**SSV Cambrai, Horse Head Nebula**_

_**Day 1, 0420**_

"So, Nitesh Singh?" Andersen muttered, over the radio.

"That's _Admiral _Nitesh Singh," Murphy corrected. "You should already know that, seeing as I'm _guessing _you've already pulled his file?"

"Didn't need to, captain. His story's common knowledge. Not quite as fabled as Hackett's rise out of the orphanage, or Anderson's graduation of the N7 program, but still inspirational enough to drum into a cadet's head as something to aspire to. Born in the Bengal region of India to a working class family, later emigrated to the lower districts of London. Enlisted in the marines just in time for the First Contact War – earned commendations in the liberation of Shanxi, made corporal by war's end. After that, a pretty meteoric rise – he was an NCO within a year of enlisting, an officer within two, and within ten he was out of the marine corps and at the helm of the cruiser Hyderabad. Finally reached admiral four years ago, and took command of the Third Fleet and the SSV Logan… which you're about to board."

"Thanks for that…" the captain scowled. "All you need to know about Singh is, everybody's got a different opinion."

"Oh?"

"Yeah… Like you said, he never had any privilege. He wasn't an officer cadet, he didn't get picked out for a fast-track program. He literally _fought _his way up the ranks. That produces a certain kind of man… If you've never fought under Nitesh Singh, he's pragmatic, arrogant, and often callous. If you're one of his men, he's a tough, fierce soldier who'd die for his men."

"You know, the way you say that makes it sound like you're of the latter opinion, captain…"

"Aye. My N6 class was based off the Logan. We ate, slept and trained with the crew, ran operations with the marines, learned tactics from the officers… I don't always see eye to eye with Singh – he's a bloodthirsty bastard at times – but his crew are loyal to the core, and I'll admit, I can see why."

"Do you think he'll help us?"

"He's Alliance, he's hardly going to refuse… Now get up here, I'm waiting."

"Understood. Just stepping into the CiC now."

Sure enough, footsteps were audible from the main deck, and some ten seconds later, the young engineer joined Murphy at the airlock.

"Just the two of us, captain?"

"Afraid so," he nodded. "I'd bring a couple more N7s, to… you know…"

"Show off?"

"Yeah, that… but three of them are in the med bay, and Vanyali's a little torn up right now."

"Might be a good thing," Andersen mused. "From what you've told me, it sounds like a show of force would piss Singh off rather than intimidate him."

"You've probably got a point…" Murphy chuckled, then added, with a nod: "C'mon..."

It took them sixty seconds to pass through the rather tedious decontamination protocols and the scanner, and as the synthetic voice announced that 'the commanding officer is ashore', the airlock opened with a _hiss_. The two of them stepped through it, marched along the narrow boarding tube, waited again – because somehow, they might have been contaminated in the _two feet _between their airlock and the dreadnought's – and then passed through into the Logan itself, to find a rather… _impressive_ welcome party waiting for them.

There were no less than six marines waiting on the other side of the airlock, three to left and three to right – and every one of them had an Avenger rifle pointed at the two new arrivals. In the middle, between the two rows of soldiers, were two distinct figures. The one on the right also had a rifle pointed at them, a polished Vindicator, but his armour certainly wasn't standard issue – it had been painted the standard-issue black, but the insignia of the Blue Suns was unmistakeable on his shoulder, and his chest sported an N7 seven badge with the seven _carved _out by a knife, to leave the solitary 'N'. To this man's left was a far more familiar figure, in the uniform of an Alliance officer, golden admirals' bars running out along his shoulders…

"Are they going to stand down any time soon, admiral?" Murphy quipped, nodding to the marines and letting his hand stray to his own pistol.

"You know how it is, Murphy," the admiral muttered. "Can't be too careful with unexpected boarders… stand down, you lot, they're ours!"

The marines dropped their rifles with no small amount of relief, slouching into a resting position as the captain and the admiral eyed each other, warily. The Blue Sun-armoured man, whoever the hell he was, hesitated slightly, and only slid his rifle away when Admiral Singh shot him a warning glare.

"What are you doing here?" he continued.

"I could ask you the same thing."

"And _I _could pull rank, captain…"

"Touché… We had a little… _run-in _with Cerberus. The Cambrai's beat up pretty bad, and we needed to find the closest berth we could for repairs."

"So you decided you'd come calling? I'm touched…"

"In fairness, we didn't _know _it was you. We didn't even know you were Alliance – what the hell is the _Logan _doing a minute's flight from Noveria?"

"Fighting a war," Singh replied, laconically. "These… repairs. What kind of damage are we talking about?"

"Hull breach, a few busted heat sinks, and some damage to the core attenuators," Andersen answered. "Plus fire damage on pretty much every deck…"

"Captain?" the admiral murmured, eyebrow rising.

"Operative Andersen," Murphy explained. "One of our engineers."

"Right… well, I'm no gearhead, but I daresay our own engineers can fix a hull breach, that's bread and butter. The core, though… that's a Tantalus, isn't it?"

"Mark two," Andersen nodded.

"That… might take some magic."

"We'll be on hand to assist your team, sir," the engineer assured him. "The Tantalus is actually quite simple, you just have to adjust calculations for the increased power output, the great magnetic forces-"

"Maybe… save the explanation for the engineers?" Murphy suggested, tactfully – as was so often the case, he got the impression that Andersen was the only person present who knew what he was talking about…

The young engineer nodded, abashed, as Singh interjected, business-like as ever:

"I take it your crew will be needing quarters?"

"If possible," Murphy agreed. "I'd rather have as few people on board as possible when they're mucking around with the reactor…"

"We're on a skeleton crew," the admiral affirmed. "Should be enough bunks available. How many on your crew?"

"Fourty, but three of them are going to need beds in the med bay…"

"Noted. Any other special requirements?"

"Dry rooms if possible for the drell, and _something_ that'll sleep a krogan… times two."

"Right… Black, you got all that?"

"Yeah," the thus-far silent man at his side nodded.

"Then get to it, captain."

Singh's captain – Murphy's mind was still reeling at the revelation that he was a _captain_ – paced off down the corridor to the right, and with a wave of his hand the admiral dismissed his marines, who traipsed off along with 'Captain Black'.

"He works fast," Singh noted. "We should have bunks for your men within the hour."

"Much appreciated," Murphy muttered. "I must admit, I wasn't sure you'd be so keen to help us…"

"No time for grudges in this war," the admiral sighed, wearily. "Right now, I'm just glad to see someone else in uniform."

"You still haven't told us what you're _doing_ out here, admiral. Noveria's a weird posting as it is, but for a _dreadnought?_"

"It's… quite a long story, captain. You get your men sorted, I'll see to mine, and then I'll brief you. Deal?"

"Deal... admiral."


	270. Shore Leave SSV Logan 1

**SSV Logan, Horse Head Nebula**

**Day 1, 0500**

As he walked into Singh's quarters, Murphy couldn't help but feel he was right in describing the admiral as 'spartan'. Most officers' quarters had a degree of luxury – even Murphy's had a wardrobe, a bookshelf, and a ludicrously big fish tank that had lain empty as long as he could remember – but Singh's looked more like those of a fighting NCO than an admiral. There were three square grey walls – the fourth, opposite the elevator, was transparent, and looked out over the Logan's spine-like main gun – containing a desk, a small table, and a bed – single, Murphy noticed, not the standard officer's double. It really did look like marine quarters, with a pistol disassembled on the desk and the only _hint _of luxury being a bottle of what appeared to be wine alongside it.

"You couldn't have picked a better time to visit, could you?" Singh grumbled, as he entered. "It's five in the bloody morning…"

"I thought marines were meant to be used to an early start," Murphy smiled back, sardonically. "But I take your point. Next time, I'll tell Cerberus to come back and shoot at us in the _afternoon_…"

The admiral scowled at him, but said nothing, merely moving over to his desk. Snatching up the bottle and producing a couple of glasses from a desk drawer, he turned to Murphy, and asked:

"Drink?"

"Why not?" the younger man shrugged, then added: "What is it?"

"_Tari_," Singh replied, Indian accent suddenly bursting through his usual pseudo-British as he slipped into what Murphy's translator told him was Earth Bengali. "Palm wine."

He handed Murphy a glass, and the captain examined the stuff. It was a golden brown out of the bottle, ever so slightly thicker than regular wine, and it had a spiced aroma to it… With a shrug, Murphy tipped it down his neck – it was definitely spiced, but also more than a little bitter, vaguely like _vinegar_.

"It's good enough," he muttered, handing the glass back to Singh.

"Huh," the admiral grunted. "Most Americans think it's too bitter – if it's not sweet enough to cause diabetes, it's no good to them."

"Did you just call me American?" Murphy frowned.

"Not causing offence, I hope?"

"No. Family's Boston Irish. It's just been a long while since anyone called me that. It's mostly 'human' these days…"

"True enough," Singh nodded. "I swear, aliens can't tell the difference between us. But then, could you tell the difference between a Taetrian and a Palaveni?"

"Easy. Tattoos."

"Shit, bad example…"

Singh slapped his brow, and fell into silence for a moment, before Murphy decided to change the topic:

"Admiral, mind if I ask a question?"

"Depends what it is…"

"Why are you being so friendly to us? I mean, friendlyby _your_ standards. Last I heard of you, you were trying to get us decommissioned and sent back to our own armies…"

"Yeah, I was," Singh admitted. "But Hackett tried pretty damn hard to get me on side. He declassified a bunch of documents, for a start. Back when you first started, I didn't think you were up to much. As far as I'd been told, all you'd done was steal a data packet from Noveria, _retreat _from Benning, and raid an abandoned base on Asteria. Tuchanka was classified. So was Aephus."

"So, Admiral Hackett showed you the reports?"

"He did, and he kept me up to date with a few of your more recent operations. Illium, Cyone, Menae. Once I knew what you were actually capable of… well, you saved _Palaven_, that alone makes you more effective than the whole turian fleet."

"Glad you approve," Murphy muttered.

"I could hardly _disapprove_," the admiral pointed out. "Any more questions?"

"Just the million-dollar one," the captain frowned. "What the _hell _are you doing out here?"

"Protecting Alliance territory," Singh said, almost non-committal in his reply.

"Since when was _Noveria_ Alliance territory?" Murphy persisted. "There haven't been Alliance capital ships here for years."

"On the contrary," he chuckled, dryly, "there were three here just recently. SSV Shasta plus a strike escort – two cruisers, frigate wolf pack… They were assigned to clean up the pirate problem in this system, and watch out for Reapers returning – they bypassed this system on the way to Earth, but they damn sure won't leave it alone forever."

"_Shasta? _Are you telling me there's _another_ dreadnought floating around in this system?"

"No, I'm telling you there _was _another dreadnought. Shasta was destroyed by the Reapers three weeks ago, along with her entire escort. Hackett dispatched us to find out what happened to them, and take over their post monitoring the cluster. Right now, the Horse Head Nebula is one of the most important battlegrounds in the galaxy…"

Murphy shot him a silent but rather questioning stare, and the admiral continued:

"The nebula lies at a fork in the mass relay network. For a start, it runs right into the Exodus Cluster. There are three _damned _important colonies there – Eden Prime, Terra Nova and Tyr, as well as a deuterium fuel station on Nirvana… If we lose the Exodus Cluster, then all the Alliance has left is her fleets."

"Granted…" the captain nodded. "Where do the other branches of this 'fork' lead?"

"The Citadel, and salarian space. I hardly need to tell you why the former's important, and seeing as the salarians are the only Council race who _haven't _been hit on their own turf yet, I'll be damned if I give the Reapers a back door to Sur'Kesh…"

"I see… and your problem's doubled because we can't garrison a larger force in this cluster – we have to skirt around Noveria as it is…"

"Right. The other admirals vetoed my suggestion to take Noveria by storm, which leaves us tippy-toeing around the wretched Executive Board in Port Hanshan. I got a message to the salarians, told them to reinforce their side of the relay, but that's the limit of what we can do right now."

"I take it you've got a plan?"

"Naturally… we crush the pirates."

"What? Compared to the _Reapers_, aren't they a little… insignificant?"

"In size, maybe, but the bastards harangue everything in this system – if you ask me, the Shasta went down because she exhausted half her escort protecting the trade lanes. Plus, ridding the system of pirates would earn us more than a few favours on Noveria – those pirates have been crippling corporate ships on their way out of the system."

"Double-edged assault," Murphy replied, finally understanding. "We remove a threat to our own forces, and at the same time persuade Noveria to let us bring in a proper fleet by solving their pirate problem."

"Exactly. The moment they give us access, I've got half of the Third Fleet ready to jump in, along with salarian reinforcements from the Annos Basin. We'll hold this line against the Reapers, and buy some time for the salarian First Fleet and our own Sixth and Seventh to build up their forces."

"Sounds like a plan," the captain nodded.

"You're in, then?" Singh muttered, a slight grin breaking through his spartan façade.

"Of course I'm in, sir… You couldn't do it without us."

"Bold words, captain," the admiral replied, grin widening. "But I must admit, I was hoping for the use of the Cambrai. You're far better equipped than we are for… _hunting_."

"Indeed… now, where do we start?"

"Take a couple of days' rest," his superior grunted, much to Murphy's surprise. "Your crew, your ship… by the looks of them, they've both taken a hell of a beating. I'll liaise with the salarians and a couple of my contacts on the planet, see what I can find out, and we'll take it from there."

"Aye aye, sir. Sounds like a plan."


	271. Shore Leave SSV Logan 2

_**SSV Logan, Horse Head Nebula**_

_**Day 1, 0520**_

"So, let me get this straight…" Cross whispered. "We're spending shore leave… _on a ship? _Doesn't that sort of defeat the point?"

"Oh, lighten up," Andersen scowled.

"Easy for you to say," the rogue replied, "but I've spent the last two years on the _run _from the Alliance. The only way I ever planned on sleeping aboard a dreadnought was as a cold, hard corpse…"

The engineer rolled his eyes, but Cross could see Malcolm Thorne nodding in agreement beyond Andersen's shoulder.

"You didn't have a problem with the Cambrai…"

"The Cambrai was small," Thorne interjected. "We knew we could blow it up without much effort."

"I wouldn't go saying that around the captain," Kan'Sura laughed, from behind the three of them.

They were currently part of a column of people marching through the crew quarters, led by a rather pretty young private of marines. The Cambrai's crew were carrying an assortment of rifles, footlockers, helmets… for most of them, 'bring the bare essentials' meant taking weapons and armour, not food and water. Apparently, the Logan was operating on a skeleton crew – yet somehow it still _buzzed _with activity – which left most of the ship's bunks empty for them. Stepping off the Cambrai, the crew had found a few enlisted ranks waiting to escort them to quarters, and off they had gone.

"Operative Cross?" the private called, reading off a datapad and opening one of the bunk room doors.

"That's me," Victor grunted, shuffling out of the crowd and making for the open door.

"Bed, washroom and comm terminal inside," she recited, sounding bored. "Showers on the corner of the block, men's and women's, training room and canteen are two decks down."

"Got it."

With that, he shut the door behind himself, and – if the trudging footsteps were anything to judge by – the rest of the group moved off. The first thing he did was indulge his paranoia: he powered up the comms terminal and set a basic security scan on his omni-tool running, checking for spyware and input loggers; then, while the program was working, he worked his way around the room, pressing his fingers into the corners where wall met ceiling and checking for bugs. There were no obvious lenses or devices, and the security scan came up clean, so he set about the last stage of his 'preparations', slinging his footlocker into an empty corner and unlocking it with a swipe of his omni-tool.

Looking over the array of weapons inside, Cross first picked out his old faithful, the customised Argus rifle he had carried since his Alliance days. He cleaned off the salt that had been clinging to the barrel since Trident, disassembled the weapon, and_ re_-assembled it – fitting a new lens to the cracked scope and a fresh set of kinetic coils as he did – before finally removing the clip and laying it back down inside his locker. Next, he took out not one but two Phalanx pistols, his backup weapons, and gave them the same treatment, taking them to pieces on the floor, cleaning the inner workings and putting them back together. As he did, however, he took a couple of extra steps. For a start, he fitted a case of disruptor rounds to one pistol, and slipped it under his pillow. Then, he took the second, fitted a case of blanks, and laid it out next to the comms terminal. It was a fairly basic bit of psychology, born of life in the Terminus. If an intruder broke into the room, they would take up the first weapon they saw, to use against him. When they took the shot, however, they would find themselves firing blanks – the rounds would do little harm, if any, but would wake Cross, allowing him to retaliate with the gun beneath his pillow.

Ridiculous, really. He was _working _for the Alliance, so, sat on one of their dreadnoughts, he most likely had nothing to fear. The last two years of habit were hard to erase, though. He had spent most of those two years evading both the Alliance and the worst of the Terminus' criminal cartels – that he had survived at all was a testament to the benefits of _extreme _caution.

The last weapon he pulled out of his case was more an item of curiosity than caution. It was a Kishock harpoon gun, a batarian article which he had taken from the armoury as they left – Urdnot Dax had pretty much been _giving _weapons away, stating that they were safer in the hands of the crew than on the crumbling ship. This particular gun was pretty damn interesting – it fired custom-built projectiles, not the standard metal slugs, and it was clear that the batarians had designed those barbed spikes with bloody intent… Upgrading the gun, he guessed, would be difficult, if not impossible, because batarian weapons – like those made by the krogan – weren't built to Council specifications, meaning the 'universal' mods usually didn't fit. Some time in a workshop would suffice to rig an extended barrel and mag to it, he supposed…

_Knock knock._

"It's not locked," Cross called out, simultaneously noting the irony that, given all his preparations, he hadn't actually _locked _the door.

The door opened with a _swish_, and Andersen strode in – the engineer had shed his armour for regular Alliance uniform, and had a rather carefree expression on his face.

"We're heading to the mess hall," he announced. "Fancy a drink?"

"I…" the rogue hesitated. "Not this time. Gonna get some sleep."

"Suit yourself," Andersen shrugged. "You know where to find us…"

The engineer departed, shutting behind himself, and Victor shuffled wearily over to his bed. Tiredness was beginning to set in – his bones hadn't quite _thawed _yet, and the exertion of the day was as much mental as physical. Exhaustedly, he slumped down on the bed, shut his eyes, and drifted off to the gentle hum of the Logan's generators…


	272. Shore Leave SSV Logan 3

**A/N: Firstly, I'm sorry for the lack of updates the last few days. Secondly, I'm sorry in advance for the lack of updates the *next* few days. It started off rather innocuously - I spent the weekend recovering the old chapters of The Return and writing new ones, thus no updates Saturday or Sunday. On Monday, however, when I was planning to get back to work on Galaxy at War, I received an email inviting me to interview at Cambridge next Monday. It's been constant preparation since then, and I'm afraid that takes priority over everything else. I managed to write up a quick update for tonight, but that's it until next Tuesday. Sorry, folks. In the meantime, though, enjoy!**

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><p><em><strong>SSV Logan, Horse Head Nebula<strong>_

_**Day 1, 0540**_

"God, what is this stuff?" Vimes scowled, glancing from his glass to the bottle it had come from, and reading aloud: "Recyc wine? Where the hell's Recyc?"

"Err, Sam?" Andersen murmured, trying his damnedest to supress laughter. "It stands for 'recycled'. They made it with recycled water."

"Recycled water? Where the hell d'you get- oh…"

"Yeah…" the engineer nodded, a grin breaking over his features. Then, the dam broke, and he _fell _against the bar in fits of laughter. To his side, Kan'Sura was chuckling too, thick burbles of mirth coming through his helmet's filter.

"I hate you spacers…" Sam moaned, shoving the rest of the bottle disdainfully to one side.

The former C-Sec officer leant back, surveying the mess hall as he did. It was a good deal larger than the Cambrai's own – in fact, it was larger than the Cambrai's _hangar bay_ – and held row after row of mess tables, served by a large canteen set into the far wall. The Cambrai's crew had gathered drinks from the canteen, and settled on the end of one of these long, narrow tables. Apart from a few of the Logan's crew staggering off the graveyard shift, they had the cavernous hall to themselves…

"Mind if I join you?" a new voice interjected. Sam wheeled around, and found his eyes bulging despite himself, as he saw Captain Murphy standing in front of them.

"Of course…" Andersen nodded, shuffling aside to let the captain sit down.

Murphy let out a rather noticeable groan as he sat down, and raised his own glass to his mouth, taking a swig. Almost instantly, his face twisted into a mask of distaste – if not outright disgust – and he spat the wine back out into his glass.

"Whoever invented recyc water was a sick, sick man," he sighed…

"No arguments there," Sam chuckled. "You alright, boss?"

"I… yeah," Murphy nodded, finally. "Just a rough spot. Haven't slept in three days, got four operatives wounded, just resolved a hostage situation… been propped up on adrenaline for seventy-odd hours, and now it's stopping..."

He paused, as if contemplating, before adding something that had apparently been on his mind for a while:

"Nothing's worse than a hostage situation. If you three ever make it as officers, remember that. If your men die, that's one thing – it's done, nothing more you can do… If you're bargaining for their lives, though, that's a whole different game…"

"We got them," Kan pointed out. "And we put a bullet through Creed's skull. Take it as a positive, captain."

"I never should have let them get captured in the first place," Murphy replied, "but thanks all the same…"

Another pause, and the three crewmen stared awkwardly at their captain, as _he_ stared blankly into space.

"Captain?" Andersen piped up, finally. "Do you want to… y'know, get some _sleep?_"

"You look like a bloody zombie," Sam added, bluntly. It was true, though… when the captain said he hadn't slept in three days, Sam _believed _him – his eyes were red, dramatically bloodshot, and his face had gone pale as the grave…

"Can't," Murphy muttered, after a pause. "Got to get the others together. Tell them what's going on…"

"We'll do that, sir," Andersen murmured, gently. "Just tell us three, and we'll pass the message on, okay?"

"I… okay. We've got a few days' leave on board ship. After that, we're going after pirates. Don't know anything more till Admiral Singh comes back with a proper brief…"

"Pirates?" the C-Sec officer frowned. "Reapers are tearing apart the galaxy, and we're going after _pirates? _Why?"

"Winning favours," the engineer interjected, shrewdly, before Murphy could reply. "Am I right?"

The captain nodded.

"We wipe out the pirates in this system, and get Noveria on side. They let us a move a fleet into the system to protect… the Exodus Cluster, I assume?"

"Right," Murphy confirmed.

"Terra Nova, Eden Prime, Tyr… I make that about eight million colonists. Factor in the other approaches through this sector – the Annos Basin, the Citadel… – and you're looking at a figure in the _billions_."

"Okay, okay, you've got a point…" Vimes murmured. "Besides, might make for a nice change from Cerberus and the Reapers."

"Think of it as target practice," Murphy muttered.

"Will do," the C-Sec officer replied, grimly. "Get some sleep, captain. Kan, Andersen, brief the crew."

"What are _you _gonna do?" Kan scowled.

"Sharpen my knife…" he growled.


	273. Shore Leave SSV Logan 4

**A/N: I'm ba-ack! And there might be a few more updates coming today - my way of apologising for a pretty sparse week. Enjoy!**

* * *

><p><em><strong>SSV Logan, Horse Head Nebula<strong>_

_**Day 1, 0620**_

_Bang. Bang. Bang._

"Zero hits," the attendant VI chimed. "Please check weapon calibration and re-run testing scenario."

"Damn it…" Araya muttered, popping open the cylinder of her Graal and reaching for a fresh clip.

"Having trouble?" a voice called out, from a few feet away. She turned to see Urdnot Dax approaching her across the empty training room, a critical expression on his face.

"S'fine," she mumbled.

"Really?" the krogan frowned. "Because I haven't seen you hit a target all morning. Hell, I've barely seen you hit a target in the last _month_."

"Well, this thing isn't the most _accurate_ gun," the biotic replied, frustratedly _shoving _a new thermal clip into the shotgun – it was a rather battered old article, and the slightly crumpled chamber took some _force _to load.

"May I?" Dax said, extending a hand.

Rather reluctantly, she snapped the breach shut, and handed the now-loaded shotgun over to the krogan. He turned it over in his hands with an appraising eye, absent-mindedly pressing the training room console as he did, causing a new target to pop up across the room. Then, without warning, he swung the Graal out in one hand, and:

_Bang! Bang! Bang!_

"Three hits," sang the computer. The targeting dummy had been _shredded _– one shot stripped the barriers, the second the synthesised armouring, and the third had taken the flimsy target apart completely.

"Muzzle's a bit crooked," Dax murmured, ponderously, "whoever extended the barrel did a sloppy job… still in working order, though, if a little rusty."

"How did you do that?" Araya scowled. "You were firing it one-handed and did _that_, but I can't land one hit?"

"This is a _krogan _shotgun," he replied. "It was built for someone like me, not a little human girl."

"I'm not a _little girl._"

"Araya, I'm seven feet tall, my hide is an inch thick, and I weigh _one ton_. From where I'm standing, all you humans look little…"

She didn't give him the satisfaction of saying 'point taken' – instead, she stood there with an ironically child-like expression of sullenness, as he continued to examine the gun, while explaining:

"Human bodies just aren't used to the recoil. Not just humans, either – even the batarian struggled with one of these. You need to compensate – tuck it into your shoulder, reinforce your armour to stop it _breaking _your shoulder, maybe time your shots a little slower to let the barrel fall…"

"Yeah, well… nobody ever told me to shoot properly," she muttered, still slightly sulky.

"Really? Then how the hell did you manage mercenary work?"

She looked up, sharply, to see him staring back meaningfully, reptilian eyes searching her face.

"How did you know I did…?"

"You don't _buy _a gun like this," Dax replied, holding up her shotgun. "This thing… it's an old model, you can tell by the lack of tech. Fifty years old, I'd guess, which makes it almost thirty years older than _you_. Do-it-yourself upgrades attempted on the barrel and the choke – servos are almost worn out, by the way – and more scars than Yui… this was someone's personal trophy, and I'm _guessing _they didn't give it up easily."

"I… got it while I was working for Aria's gang," Araya admitted, looking at the floor. "I was good with my biotics, even if I couldn't shoot, and I was even better at pretending to be harmless until the last moment. She sent me to take down some krogan battlemaster on Omega, name of-"

"Nakmor Tartarus?"

"How the _hell _did you-?"

"Design's got Nakmor all over it," Dax shrugged. "And best I know, Tartarus was the only Nakmor battlemaster operating outside Tuchanka. You took this from him?"

She nodded.

"I'm impressed… I mean, you can't use the bloody thing, but still… impressed."

"Can I have it back?" Araya asked, rather uneasily.

"No…"

"_What?_" she replied, angrily.

"Bit of a waste, don't you agree?" Dax murmured. "You could pass this on to someone who can actually _use _it…"

"But it's mine!" Araya protested, petulantly.

"You can't even _shoot straight_."

"Just give it back!"

The krogan's eyes hardened, and he stared her down, before muttering:

"Make me."

_Wham! _Fury bubbled over into biotics, and before the rational part of Araya's brain had a chance to think, the _other _part was lashing out with a vicious high kick. She caught Dax right under the chin, the krogan's head snapped back, and he tottered, before crashing to the ground with a _crunch_.

"_What the hell did you just do?" _the rational voice cried.

"_He wouldn't give me my gun back!" _the other one replied.

"_Yeah, but… I think you killed him!"_

"Ha!"

"_Okay, maybe you didn't kill him…"_

The krogan was sitting up shakily, hoarse laughter tearing out of his lungs. He was grinning broadly, and for the first time, Araya realised he had been _deliberately _baiting her. Made sense – he hadn't _seemed _like such a bastard when she'd talked to him before...

"You did that on purpose, didn't you?" she scowled.

"Nothing gets past you," the krogan chuckled. "Now, take _this_ back."

He tossed the Graal through the air towards her, and she caught it roughly in both hands, with a confused expression. Dax picked himself up off the floor, and by way of explanation, he rumbled:

"Use a krogan gun, you gotta fight like a krogan. Get angry."

"Angry?"

"_Angry_. Press the stock into your shoulder, use your biotics to kill the recoil, and time your shots. Go on…"

Araya swivelled around, hammering the target console, and pressed the Graal into the crook of her arm. A round, hovering target had appeared on the firing range, shields glimmering, bobbing up and down like a human head. The vanguard was well aware of her chest rising and falling in angry breaths, and she failed to see how that could help her aim, but nonetheless she stepped up, flared her biotics, and:

_Bang._ Three little flechettes smashed into the floating target, causing its shields to flicker and die.

_Bang. Bang. _Excitedly, she let rip with another two shots – the spot where the target had been turned into a maelstrom of scrap metal and shrapnel, and when the air finally cleared, there was nothing left.

"Three hits," the VI reported. Was it just her imagination, or did it sound _surprised?_

"I… wow!" she almost _squealed_.

"I do _occasionally _know what I'm talking about," Dax grinned. "Now, mind if I make another recommendation?"

"What?"

"Try _this_," the krogan muttered, reaching for a weapon stock on his hip. He passed it over, and Araya found a polished submachine gun unfolding in her hands…

"An SMG?"

"Yeah," he nodded. "Kassa Locust, modified – VI recoil system, expanded magazine, high-calibre barrel. Recoil's as close to zero as you can _get_, so I figure it's right up your alley."

"I… thanks," she murmured, testing the weight of the Locust. It was a fraction of what her shotgun weighed…

"There's a box of incendiaries loaded," Dax prompted. "Give her a whirl."

"You sure?" Araya frowned.

"I needed her testing anyway," he shrugged. "Computer, new scenario! SMG, thirty round capacity."

"Programming… Complete. Range: Short-medium. Targets: Three. Rounds: Thirty. Begin."

Three little drones popped up across the range, and after a moment of hesitation, Araya found herself being waved towards the firing line by Dax. She braced the SMG in her arms, set her eyes squarely on the targets… and pulled the trigger.

Ten seconds later, she found herself standing at the foot of the firing range, staring at three destroyed drones, with the Locust smoking gently in her hand.

"Twenty-five out of thirty," the VI reported. "Satisfactory."

"Damn right it's satisfactory," Dax rumbled, approvingly. "You're getting better… I'll leave you to your practice."

"Don't you want your gun back?" she called, as he turned to walk away.

"Nah…" he replied, waving a dismissive hand. "Got plenty of guns already. Consider that one a gift…"


	274. Shore Leave SSV Logan 5

_**SSV Logan, Horse Head Nebula**_

_**Day 1, 1500**_

"Arriving at destination. Deck fifteen – Armoury Access."

The elevator ground to a halt, doors swinging open, and Vanyali stepped out wordlessly. Behind her, the doors shut once more, and the two crewmen she had been sharing the journey with were sent hurtling off to their destination, on the lower decks…

It had been a little under half a day since the Cambrai's crew arrived on the Logan, and Vanyali had been summoned down to the dreadnought's armoury by Captain Murphy, the purpose of her visit left unknown. As she stepped through the armoury doors – waved through by two young servicemen who practically _fell _aside at the sight of her N7 badge – the captain was waiting for her, still a little bleary-eyed as if he had only just awoken.

"Morning," he nodded.

"It's three in the afternoon," she pointed out, bluntly.

"Whatever…"

There was an awkward silence, before Vanyali asked:

"Why did you want to see me, captain?"

"Got some gear for you," Murphy explained, before nodding off to one side. "Come on…"

She followed him obediently, and the two of them crossed the floor of the armoury's entrance, heading for another, smaller door set into the wall to the left. They passed through – once again, the marines on the door didn't even challenge them, probably on account of their N7 badges – and began to march along a non-descript corridor. There were various posters and signs on the wall, but Murphy was proceeding at a brisk pace, and Vanyali didn't get chance to read them. Her eye was drawn, momentarily, to a sign on the wall, an official-looking document headed with the N7 insignia…

They passed through the doors at the end of the corridor, turned right, stepped through _another _set of doors, turned left, and finally emerged into a comparatively small, apparently unimportant square room. The only furnishings were a door, which apparently led to the 'back room', and in front of it, a curved steel desk. Sat behind the desk was a bald, moustachioed gunnery chief, and stood on the desk in front of him was a small holographic display which read 'Special Requisitions'.

"Special Requisitions?" Vanyali murmured, questioningly.

"The toy box," Murphy replied, gleefully, rubbing his hands together as he did. "This is where they keep the fun stuff."

"Can I help you, captain?" the duty officer grunted, from behind the desk.

"As it happens, yes… I'm collecting on a requisition."

"What's the order?"

"This," the captain muttered, plucking out a small datapad and tossing it to the officer. He let out a low whistle of surprise, and Vanyali couldn't help but feel that that _wasn't _good. Murphy looked undeterred, however…

"Authorisation?" the gunnery chief frowned.

"Check the bottom of the file."

"Admiral Steven Hackett… yeah, _that'll _do," he chuckled, raising an eyebrow in surprise. "I'll go grab the gear for you, captain."

"Much obliged."

The duty officer stood up, datapad in hand, and disappeared through the door at the back of the room. As he did, Vanyali and Murphy merely stood there, the latter tapping his foot impatiently, the former wondering what the _hell _was going on.

"What the _hell _is going on?" she blurted aloud.

"I placed a requisition order with Admiral Hackett about a week ago," Murphy explained. "Before all that shit with Menae, and Project Phoenix. I was going to pick it up when we reached the Citadel, but that didn't quite pan out, and Admiral Singh told me the Logan's armoury could provide the gear instead."

"So… why am I here?"

"Because the requisition's for you."

"What?"

"You'll see…"

The duty officer was returning, and as he stepped through the door, he had a long steel case in his hand. He slammed it down on the desk, punched in four digits on the code lock, and then sat back down in his seat as Murphy and Vanyali stepped forward.

"Full complement of arms and armour," Murphy explaining, popping open the lid of the case, "courtesy of the N7 Shadow program."

"The _what?_" Vanyali frowned.

"It's part of a wider initiative," the captain continued. "Training N7s specifically for ops in Reaper-occupied territory. They're given state-of-the-art equipment, specialist training, and then sent out to the front – they spearhead counterattacks, train alien forces, assist resistance groups…"

"And this 'Shadow' program is part of it?"

"One of six programs, each assigned to a marine specialisation," he nodded. "Destroyer, Demolisher, Fury, Slayer, Paladin… and Shadow, for infiltrators like you."

"How come I've never heard of this?" Vanyali scowled. "I'm an N7 too…"

"And when was the last time you touched base with command?" Murphy replied, simply. "This initiative is _weeks _old. It was set to be rolled out at Rio Villa, in preparation for the Reaper invasion, but… well, they arrived first. I only found out a fortnight ago, and I signed up every N7 on the crew."

"_Every _N7?"

"Aye. Three got approved, two denied. Just so happens you're the only one who got approved and _isn't _in the med bay."

"Wait, so who else was cleared?" she asked, curiously.

"Irving and Alec both passed for the Destroyer program. Problem is, that program's built around the T5-V battlesuit, and that's a _serious _piece of hardware. The Logan doesn't exactly have spares, so they'll have to wait."

"What about Sarah? And _you, _for that matter…"

"I removed Sarah from the Fury program once I found out what it entailed. Becoming a Fury requires a very dangerous bit of implant surgery, and I didn't want to risk it – not to mention the fact that we need her here, as opposed to in a surgical theatre. As for me… Shadow wasn't a great fit for my aptitude scores."

"Oh?"

"I'm a sniper," he explained. "My best asset is my aim. The Shadow specialisation's not built around that – the program puts emphasis on stealth, agility, and more close-combat than I'm comfortable with."

"I see… so because I ran the fourty-yard dash quicker than you, I get all this new gear?"

"Pretty much," the captain laughed.

"Well, let's see it, then. What do I get?"

"Best to start with the armour. It's a specialised piece of kit – one-piece, rather than modular, to improve flexibility. Full-face visor for a greater field of vision, cloaking systems built into the suit as hardware rather than letting your omni-tool software do all the work… the setup also comes with a pair of sub-dermal implants which increase adrenaline and myoglobin production. If you want them, Dr O'Leiph can perform the surgery with a fourty-eight hour recovery time, but they're not essential."

"Nice…" Vanyali murmured, examining the armour. It was light, but there was a rigidity to the material which hinted at some fairly sophisticated reinforcement. "Any colour you want, so long as it's black?"

"Quite. Now, the weapons… firearms are standard gear for N7s, no real updates there. Your main weapon is the Valiant sniper rifle."

"What's wrong with my Widow?" she scowled. "It cost a fortune…"

"It's a bloody good gun," Murphy admitted, "for an assassin, or a distance sniper. But it's built for long-range, and short-term – taking down a VIP or a heavily-armoured target. The Valiant's made for mid-range fighting on a chaotic battlefield – still a three-round clip, and a bit less of a _punch_, but a much quicker fire rate and a hell of a lot less recoil. It's also light and stable enough to be fired on the move."

"Fair enough – what about the sidearm?" Vanyali asked, pointing to the pistol stock she could see tucked into the corner of the case.

"N7 Eagle. Updated model of the Phalanx – eighteen rounds of fully-automatic stopping power. Unless you're being charged by krogan, though, it's best to fire in bursts – that thing burns through a whole mag in about five seconds."

"Noted. Is that everything?"

"Nope… one last present."

He reached into the very bottom of the case, and drew out… _bloody hell_.

It was a katana, of all things, about the length of the captain's arm, with a black hilt and a steel-coloured blade that gleamed evilly in the dim light. Murphy waved it through the air a couple of times – drawing a worried gaze from the duty officer – before flipping it around and offering the hilt to Vanyali.

"A _sword?_" she muttered sceptically, taking it nonetheless and testing its weight.

"Works for Cerberus," he shrugged. "Their Phantoms use monomolecular blades just like this, and they're some of the deadliest units we've ever encountered…"

"Yeah, but Phantoms know how to _use_ a sword," Vanyali pointed out. "I don't."

"That _had _crossed my mind," Murphy scowled, sardonically. "The other Shadow recruits are being recalled to the fleet for specialist training – and the implant surgery – but that seems pointless when we've got our own expert on board."

"Mac'Tir?"

"Precisely. He's agreed to train you in swordsmanship, as well as some rudimentary martial arts. I think he's down in the training room right now…"

"Right. I'll go talk to him. I… thank you, sir. I'll put this lot to good use."

"I'm sure you will," Murphy nodded, locking the case once more and handing it over. "Have fun, lieutenant."


	275. Shore Leave SSV Logan 6

**A/N: So, Triple Tuesday... don't expect me to make a habit of this.**

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><p><em><strong>SSV Logan, Horse Head Nebula<strong>_

_**Day 1, 1530**_

"This is crazy."

"So?"

"You know, most people would have accepted that as its own reason…"

"You have _met_ us before, haven't you?"

As she entered the training room on deck ten, Vanyali found a rather strange scene unfolding in front of her. Several of her colleagues were gathered on the near side of the central sparring ring, while on the far side stood about twenty of the Logan's crewmen, clad in Alliance casual dress. The voices drifting towards her were those of Aeryn T'Rel and Kamur Destra. The asari was protesting loudly at whatever was going on – Vanyali had her suspicions already – while the turian looked very much ready for battle. He had unclipped his modular armour, retaining the greaves and the torso section, but leaving his arms bare and free.

"This would be perfectly normal for a turian crew," Zel Manado pointed out. "It's how we blow off steam…"

"But this isn't a turian _ship_," Aeryn retorted.

"Turian, human..." Kamur shrugged. "We're all the same underneath."

The asari looked like she wanted to explain how they really _weren't _the same underneath, but instead, she relented, sighing and waving Kamur towards the ring, as if to say _'go on then'_.

"What's going on?" Vanyali asked, as she reached the little group.

"These idiots are passing the time by beating their allies up," Aeryn chuckled, wryly.

"It's a little harmless competition," Manado interjected. "Practice fights with the Logan's crew."

"Is that safe?" the sniper – or was it _Shadow _now? – frowned.

"They wouldn't have a training ring if it wasn't," the turian replied, simply.

Looking towards the ring, Vanyali saw Kamur marching out into the centre, along with Ethan Cash and the drell, Ekris, who had made a rather speedy recovery from his injuries in the last operation. Moving to stand opposite them, however, were:

"_Eleven _marines?"

"Twelve," Zel corrected.

"And we've only three of ours up against them?"

"Well, it _was _five, but they made Yui leave after he broke a guy's hand, and none of them really fancied fighting Lisk here."

She nodded to the vorcha, who had been blending in amongst the crowd – somehow – and he imitated, mockingly:

"No fangs, no claws!"

"So it's four to one?" she concluded.

"It's enough," a new voice murmured – without warning, Raziel Mac'Tir drew up alongside her, craning his neck to look over the others and viewing proceeding with a hint of curiosity.

Vanyali was about to reply, when a loud roar from the other side filled the air. The fighters were coming together, and quite suddenly, the training session became a spectator sport – Vanyali found herself pressed between Mac'Tir on her right and Aeryn T'Rel on her left, as the Cambrai's crew encircled one half of the ring, and the Logan's encircled the other.

At odds of four to one, the fight was certainly one-sided – but not in _quite _the way Vanyali had expected. As the two sides came together, the Logan's men had broken into three squads of four, each making a beeline for one of the three Cambrai operatives. The plan, it seemed, was to apply overwhelming momentum and hope for the best. Kamur's group reached him first, and the front runner lunged at the turian-

Only to be flipped over in the air and _thrown _to the floor. A moment later, Kamur wheeled around, keeping up his own momentum as he slammed his fist right between the next marine's eyes, clotheslining him.

To the right, Ekris had just ducked nimbly beneath the first punch thrown at him – as that particular marine went stumbling past, the drell sprinted forward, landing a vicious kick to the next man's midriff before dropping and rolling beneath the final two. He emerged behind his three remaining targets, and threw himself back into the fray.

Finally, on the far right, Cash was exhibiting yet another fighting style. While Kamur fought as a grappler, grabbing and throwing his opponents, and Ekris used long, sinuous drell limbs to lash out, the human had adopted the form of a stout little boxer, keeping his head back, his hands up, and counterattacking with a formidable series of punches. One of his opponents was already on the floor, black-eyed, and as she watched on, Vanyali saw him block a right hook from a second marine, before striking back – he hit the man in the stomach, doubling him over, and finished him off with a square blow to the side of the head that sent him flying to the ground.

In a matter of moments, the Cambrai's representatives had almost halved the opposition… no, _exactly _halved – Ekris had just floored another marine, sweeping his legs from beneath him and levered him _hard _into the floor.

The marines were somewhat more… _hesitant_, as the fight wore on. They were down to six now, and they had just watched the trio from the Cambrai make short work of another six of their comrades. One of the marines lunged at Cash, but quickly found his knee inverted by a stamp of the sentinel's foot. Cash lunged at him, grabbed him around the midriff from behind, and forced him face-first into the floor.

That, however, left the sentinel exposed – kneeling over the man he had just dropped, his flank was left open to a vicious kick from his one remaining opponent. He was knocked to the side, rolling onto his back, and the marine responsible closed him down, aiming another kick…

Quite to everyone's surprise, however, we was stopped half-way to the fallen Cash, as Ekris bounded up behind him and jumped onto his shoulders. Locking his legs around the marine's neck, the drell twisted, somersaulting backwards and dragging the unfortunate man with him – he swung him off his feet in a whiplash-inducing motion, before slamming him into the floor with a heavy _crunch_.

Like a chain reaction, however, that exposed Ekris to his own two pursuers. One of them darted forwards, catching the drell under the jaw with a quick jab, but before he could follow it up with another blow-

_Whump. _A navy-clad form came flying in from the left, colliding with Ekris' assailant and toppling him with ease. In the moments that followed, Vanyali's brain went into overdrive, finally coming to the realisation that Kamur had _thrown _one of his own attackers towards the drell's, knocking both the unfortunate projectile and his target out cold. The turian had his last opponent in a headlock, the marine struggling vainly against his firm grip, and that left just one man standing.

Ekris and Cash rounded on the man together. The human made a beautiful feint of a right hook, drawing the marine's attention, and as he ducked out of the way of the retaliatory strike, his drell companion swung out a long, powerful leg-

It connected with a _crack _across the bridge of the marine's nose, and he fainted in perfect, slapstick fashion, straight as a board. To the left, Kamur finally released his stranglehold on his own adversary, giving the man a moment's respite before tossing him aside, finishing the fight in somewhat emphatic style.

A great groan went up from the Logan's assembled crew. They had been standing in disbelieving silence before that, but now the disappointment came out, and as the Cambrai's representatives began to whoop and cheer, the Logan's were left to console the marines limping back out of the ring – two or three of them, unconscious, had to be _carried _out.

"Impressive…" Mac'Tir murmured, quietly. "Prefer an armed battle myself, but… yes, impressive."

"Actually, I wanted to talk to you about that," Vanyali piped up. "The captain said that you'd-"

"Teach you? Yes, he already asked. I would be glad to."

"Alright. When do you want to-"

"Good show!"

The shout – which had rather drowned out Vanyali's question – had come from the middle of the ring. Standing on tip-toe to see over Aeryn – who had moved in front of her, fussing over the winded Cash – Vanyali saw a rather intimidating figure standing on the training room floor. It was the Logan's marine captain – Black, was it? His eyes, odd cybernetic articles, were glinting in anticipation, and he had a glittering blade in his hand.

"So," he continued. "Who's gonna give me a proper fight? Any of you?"

"I believe that's my cue," Mac'Tir murmured coolly, hand straying towards the sword in his belt. "Consider this your first lesson…"


	276. Shore Leave SSV Logan 7

**A/N: So, beat-down part _two_.**

* * *

><p><em><strong>SSV Logan, Horse Head Nebula<strong>_

_**Day 1, 1540**_

There was a hint of… trepidation in the air as Raziel stepped up to join Black in the ring. The fistfight had been harmless enough, but now there were _weapons_ involved – the drell's sword glinted in his hand, and the marine captain opposite him was toying expertly with a dagger, twirling it between his knuckles.

"Amonkira, guide my blade…" Mac'Tir muttered, under his breath.

"Hmph," Black grunted. "Quaint…"

And with that, they launched themselves into the fray, coming together in a blur of striking steel, as the crowd watched on in tense silence, far removed from the baying and cheering that had accompanied the earlier brawl.

Black's form was rough, but undeniably effective. He kept up the offensive, attempting to overwhelm his opponent with quick stabs, thrusts, and the occasional swing of a fist to catch Raziel off-guard. The drell, for his part, was left on the back foot, exactly the _opposite _of his intention – his longer blade gave him an advantage when attacking, but he was struggling to keep up with the captain's short, swift movements.

A moment later, as if to remind him not to spend _quite _so long analysing the situation, Black's dagger swept past his guard and came inches from his flank – only a quick dart to one side saved him from a bloodletting, and the short blade still managed to cut a straight gash through his black coat. As one, a sharp intake of breath sounded out from the crowd, but the two fighters continued in stoic silence.

The captain came in again, stabbing furiously – the moment's respite, however, had given Raziel a chance to alter his form. Folding his elbow – and thus keeping the blade close to his chest – allowed him to parry the knife much more effectively. He knocked it away to the right, to the left, then upwards, and, seizing his chance, he lashed out, landing a square kick to Black's gut and knocking him back a few feet.

That was all the chance he needed. With the captain dazed for a moment, he _lunged _in, swinging broadly, and connected with a loud _chink _of metal on metal. Black's knife went sailing out of his hand, clattering down somewhere to their left.

Stepping back, Mac'Tir whirled around, slashing high with his sword and _clipping _Black's fringe – he had intended to make the blow fall short, but to all intents and purposes, it looked like a lethal swipe, and the marine captain swung his head back to dodge it, truly daunted for the first time in the fight… With his opponent off-balance and staggering back, the rest was child's play – a quick hop-step brought Raziel in close, and before Black could respond he hooked his leg behind the captain's knee, then-

_Crunch_. Slamming the hilt of his sword into Black's chest he _levered_ the marine captain into the floor. He landed hard on his back, and was left staring up at his drell opponent, as Raziel levelled the tip of his sword between the human's eyes.

"Yield," he murmured, more out of formality than anything else. The fight was over. All that remained was-

"No!"

Without warning, Black lashed out with an open palm, and Mac'Tir was dismayed to see his sword clatter away across the floor. Moments later, the captain rose up, landing a sharp jab to the drell's chin as he did and causing him to stumble back.

It was a fistfight now, and Black came in swinging, aggressive as ever. Raziel had to block a vicious right hook, then a left, then brought his arms together to stop a jab at his face. With his hands high, Black capitalised – he darted in, grabbed the drell's shoulder, and _slammed _a knee into his midriff. Mac'Tir staggered back, winded, and then-

_Crack_. Black _headbutted _him in the nose, knocking him down. He rolled away to one side, however – noting that Black hadn't even _bothered _to ask him to yield – and quickly re-entered the fight, shaking off the slight blurring of his vision and the little trickle of blood issuing from his nose.

As they prepared to come together again, Raziel was aware of jeering starting up from the crowd – not the Logan's crew taunting _him_, but the Cambrai's crew excising their frustration at Black:

"Fight's over, Black!" Kamur was roaring. "He already won, now get out of the bloody ring!"

"If he won't fight fair, neither should you," Ekris yelled, directing his comments at Mac'Tir. "Gut him!"

He drowned the shouting out as he plunged in again, focusing solely on the fight. Fists were flying again – he smacked away Black's right hook with an open palm, then _caught _his left fist as it shot in, and held it in a vice-like grip. The marine captain attempted to break the hold by swinging out his right leg in a sloppy kick, but the drell caught that too, and now completely controlling his opponent, he used leg and arm to _flip _Black through the air – he dangled precariously in midair for one moment, before Mac'Tir brought him crashing down, hitting the floor with a loud _crunch_.

"KO!" someone – maybe Zel Manado? – cheered, but Raziel knew better.

"Yield," he said, more for propriety's sake than anything else. Black was already rolling back onto his feet, and the drell was already closing him down.

This time, it was Mac'Tir who took the offensive, not Black. The marine captain had barely gotten to his feet before the drell launched a knee into his stomach, a reprisal for his earlier attack. He doubled over, and Raziel side-stepped, before bringing his leg straight up-

_Crunch_. His boot connected with Black's jaw, and the captain crumpled to the floor almost instantly. Even as Mac'Tir went to stand over him, though, he was trying to get back on his feet…

"Why won't you yield?" Mac'Tir almost _growled_.

"If I don't give in, I can't lose," Black smirked, in reply. He shot out a hand, trying to grab the scruff of the drell's collar, but Raziel _kicked _the hand away and darted back, a desperate idea forming in his mind.

He turned, set his eyes on the glinting object near the side of the ring, and began to run – he crossed the ring in a matter of moments, ducked and slid the last few feet, grabbed his sword, turned around-

And found a heavy form falling on top of him. Black had chased him across the ring and _lunged _at him when he dropped to grab his sword. They tumbled backwards, rolling to the very edge of the ring and swiping at each other with knees and elbows as they tangled. Black landed another headbutt to the side of Raziel's head, but at the same time, the drell managed to elbow him in the stomach and roll away. He stood up, brandished his sword towards the human's head, but as he looked down, Black had produced _something _from inside his coat, and-

"Argh!"

Having a knife embedded in your thigh was something you sort of_ adjusted_ to, after this many years as an assassin. As Black stumbled to his feet, leaving the blade embedded in Raziel's leg, he shrugged it off – more worrying, as far as he was concerned, were the cries coming from the crowd, the furious roars that seemed to preclude reprisals.

"That's it! It's _fuckin' _over!" Kamur was yelling – the turian had broken out of the crowd, into the ring, and was storming towards Black with a _pistol _in his hand and an angry glint in his eye. Raziel, however, held up a warning hand…

The turian stopped. _Black _stopped. Then, with what felt like the whole world watching him, Mac'Tir wrenched the knife out of his leg, dropped it to the floor, leant back-

And span around, delivering a _brutal_ roundhouse kick to Black's jaw. The captain still had a look of shock on his face as he toppled to the floor. This time, there didn't seem to be much chance of his getting up – he was out cold.

Wiping the blood from beneath his nose – and inspecting the stab wound in his leg with no small amount of distaste – Raziel slipped his sword away, and began to pace back towards the edge of the ring. As he did, he murmured, more to himself than to anyone else:

"Class dismissed."


	277. Shore Leave SSV Logan 8

_**SSV Logan, Horse Head Nebula**_

_**Day 2, 0920**_

"_Hey, vitals are rising!"_

"_Are you sure?"_

"_Of course I'm sure! Heart rate rising, brain function increasing exponentially…"_

"_Goddess, I think he's waking up…"_

The world came back into existence with a _flash _of bright white light, and Alec lurched upright. The first thing he did was check his surroundings – white walls, rows of beds, machinery… a med bay, then. Too big to be the Cambrai's, though – that said, two familiar figures _were _hovering over him. Dr O'Leiph was checking the machine that appeared to be attached to his chest, and at his bedside was-

"Alicia?"

"Welcome back, big brother. I'd hug you, but it might just finish you off, so…yeah."

"C'mon…" he frowned. "As if you'd ever hug me."

She laughed at that, and he was acutely aware of the bags beneath her eyes, the slight tired glint that was so common in medics, who usually spent their nights sleepless in the med bay.

"What happened?" he muttered, finally. "How long was I out?"

"Two days," Dr O'Leiph interjected. "As for what happened… skull fracture, mild concussion, three broken ribs… you got pretty roughed up back at Talon Cell – do you remember?"

Alec tried very hard to remember, and as he did, certain flashes came shooting back through his mind. A figure in black, slamming his head against the wall. A vivid flash of biotic blue. Two other figures, falling beneath the haze…

"Sarah and Irving," Alec snapped, urgently. "Where are they?"

"Over there," Ria replied, pointing past the young marine to the two adjacent beds. The lieutenant was visible in the one adjacent to him, her midriff bandaged and bloody, chest rising and falling tremulously. Beyond her, he could see Wolfe's hulking form – the left side of his head was covered in blood-soaked gauze, but he, like Sarah, was definitely _alive_…

"Are they alright?"

"Considering," the asari sighed. "They were captured, shortly after you were knocked out. Creed… took them."

"But we got them back?" Alec guessed.

"Yeah…" Alicia nodded. "And we shot Creed, good riddance..."

She looked down slightly, gulping, and Alec realised that her haggard expression probably wasn't _solely _down to exhaustion. It occurred to him that her brother and her two best friends were all laid out in the med bay around her…

"Irving should wake up the moment we stop dosing him with sedative," Dr O'Leiph assured him. "His injuries were superficial."

"Superficial?" Alicia frowned. "He _died _on us!"

"Granted, but I wasn't going to _tell _Alec that!" the asari scowled. "You resuscitated him, and he's stable now. He'll have a few more scars to contend with, but that's all."

"What about Sarah?" Alec asked, rather suspecting that the asari had started with the _good _news.

"Sarah's condition was… a little worse," she murmured. "She was stabbed, lost a lot of blood from her renal artery. Her left kidney was already undergoing cell death by the time we got her to the med bay, so I had to remove it. It'll take her a while to recover. I might even recommend we send you both ashore for some R&R – better than recovering aboard a serving ship."

Immediately, she realised that she had let something slip, and Alicia rolled her eyes as Alec replied, angrily:

"_Both? _What d'you mean, _both?_"

"Alec, you suffered a pretty bad concussion…" his sister murmured, gently. "Recovery from a concussion in _normal _circumstances takes weeks – you're still very susceptible to another, the smallest blow could be a trigger. That means you can't spar, you _certainly _can't go on missions…"

"So you're just going to dump me shore side?" he growled, in frustration.

"It's the safest option," Dr O'Leiph frowned. "With shore leave and a little bit of R&R, your chances of coming back in the long term are much higher. You won't be alone, anyway – Sarah's going to be resting up, and Flight Lieutenant Solov's in the same boat as you. She won't be flying the ship for at least a fortnight…"

"I… fine," the sergeant replied, grumpily. "So, what, are you dumping me off the ship _now? _And for that matter, where the hell are we?"

"The SSV Logan," Alicia explained. "The Cambrai's being repaired, she took some damage evading Cerberus…"

"I'll need to keep you here for twenty-four hours," Ria added, matter-of-factly, "just to check the symptoms don't re-occur. After that, you'll have another twenty-four to fourty-eight hours under observation – you'll need to check in a few times a day, but you'll be free to go off around the ship. And, once we're done here, we'll transfer you to shore."

"Great… can I at least get something to drink?"

She stared back at him.

"Oh, you have _got _to be kidding me… no alcohol? _Really?_"


	278. Shore Leave SSV Logan 9

**A/N: Two short chapters tonight - this one, and the briefing for Operation Cutlass.**

* * *

><p><em><strong>SSV Logan, Horse Head Nebula<strong>_

_**Day 2, 1400**_

"Captain."

"Admiral."

As Murphy stepped into Admiral Singh's quarters for the second time, he noticed a number of conflicting emotions on the other man's face. Frustration, confusion, a small amount of _concern_… but mostly, excitement – a dangerous, glinting kind of excitement known only to men who enjoyed the rush of adrenaline, the thrill of the chase…

"We found 'em, Murphy. Got the bastards' base and all."

"What?" the captain replied, genuinely rather shocked. "How?"

"Thank the salarians," Singh laughed, wryly. "I don't know how, and to be honest I'm not sure I want to find out, but their people managed to locate the hub of all the pirate raids."

"Where?" Murphy asked.

"Veles."

"That's… in this system. They were hiding right under our noses?"

"Right under everyone's noses. Veles is a glacial world. Uninhabited, and we _thought _uninhabitable. Turns out we were wrong – they've been using a base in the planet's northern hemisphere to strike throughout the system…"

"I'm assuming you've got a plan?"

"Nothing too special, just shock and awe. We send in the marines, a few of your guys too, and we kill every pirate in that place…"

"Subtle," Murphy scowled. "Mind if I make a recommendation?"

"I know you will _anyway_," Singh frowned back. "Go on…"

"Send in a scout team first. We've got a Kodiak capable of stealth flight, and at least half a dozen good infiltrators. Send a small team in – let them map out the base, mark dangerous fortifications, and if they can, neutralise enemy sharpshooters. Then, when we send in the marines to clear the place out, they're not rushing in blind."

"Much as I hate to admit it, you've got a point," the admiral sighed. "But I can't field any snipers, so your men'll be on their own."

"As usual," the captain shrugged. "I'll put a squad together. What about the strong-arm team – what kind of support are your marines going to need?"

"They don't _need _any support," Singh frowned. "But more firepower wouldn't go amiss. Just straight-up shooters, no specialists. They could also… _maybe _use some leadership. I would have sent Black, but your drell associate put him in the med bay with a broken jaw."

"He had it coming," Murphy replied, simply. "Besides, Raziel's an assassin – if he'd really wanted to teach Black a lesson, he could have done _much _worse than break his jaw."

The admiral didn't reply – he just shrugged, and ploughed on with the conversation as before.

"How quickly can you assemble your team?"

"Inside of an hour."

"That… won't be necessary. We'll be moving on the pirate base tomorrow, oh-eight-hundred hours."

"Understood, sir. I'll make sure they're up bright and early…"

He saluted briefly – the admiral replied in kind – then swept around on his heel and departed, drawing up his omni-tool's comms panel as he did. As he reached the elevator – just across the hall from the admiral's quarters – he stepped inside, punched in the deck on which his crew was quartered as his destination , and dialled four channel addresses into his omni-tool.

"Copy when you receive," he muttered, then sat back and waited. After a moment:

"Copy, captain," Kamur's voice answered – the turian was down in the training room, as evidenced by the hint of perspiration on his plated face, and the two marines sparring in the background…

"Copy," Yui rumbled. His surroundings were dark – his room, maybe?

"Copy," Rilum interjected. The salarian was still on the Cambrai – behind his back, two engineers were welding replacement panels to a charred corridor wall.

"Copy," Andersen answered, rounding out the quartet. The engineer was also on the ship – over his shoulder, Murphy could see the drive core, quiet, and oddly still…

"We're moving on the pirates tomorrow morning," Murphy informed them. "Singh tracked down a base on Veles, and we're raiding it."

"What kind of team are we fielding?" Lynus asked, matter-of-factly.

"Two teams," he replied. "Sending in a squad of three, maybe four infiltrators to scout the base first. Then a heavy team, to help Singh's marines clear it out."

"Any ideas, captain?"

"A few… having trouble thinking of a scout party, though. We've got plenty of infiltrators and stealth specialists, but most of them are out of action one way or another – Mac'Tir and Ekris are both recovering from minor injuries, and we need everyone in peak condition to pull this off. Besides which, I'm not sure how well their cloaking compares to a real sniper's. Tyco's a solid operator, but he's not stealthy enough for a scouting role, and the same goes for me… Anyone know if Vanyali's ready to go?"

"She went to the med bay," Andersen interjected. "Said something about implants?"

"Crap, she'll be out for fourty-eight hours, then… Now, who does that leave… I'm thinking Sam and Kan'Sura?"

"Send Arrete too," Rilum suggested. "Very capable. Vouch personally for his abilities."

"Alright, that's our three, then. Can you get the word out to them?"

"Easily. What about the heavy team?"

"_That's _easy. Yui, I want you and Dax front and centre. Bring your biggest guns."

"Will do," the krogan grinned.

"Send Lisk and Victor, too, they're both good riflemen. That just leaves one – Kamur, you're in charge of the fire team, and you'll have overall control of the operation from the field."

"I… understood, captain. Why?"

"Veles is an ice planet. Near-constant blizzards, so we might have trouble getting comms in and out. Best to have a chain of command establish on the ground, just in case…"

The turian nodded understandingly, as Murphy continued:

"Comfortable with the plan?"

They all replied in the affirmative.

"Very good… now, tell everyone involved to get their weapons prepped, and pick up some extra thermal shields from the armoury. Shuttles are boarding at oh-seven-thirty."


	279. Operation Cutlass Briefing

_**Anchorage Approach, Veles**_

_**Day 1, 0800**_

"Everybody checked their gear?" Kamur asked over the radio.

"For the millionth time, _yes!_" Sam snapped, frustratedly. "I know you're in charge, but there's no need to get paranoid!"

"Sam, the surface temperature on Veles is _minus two hundred_," the turian replied, and Vimes could _tell _he was scowling as he did. "If your thermal shields fail while you're in the open, you'll snap freeze inside of seven seconds."

"Understood…" the C-Sec officer sighed.

"Say…" Kan piped up. "If it's that cold out there… I'm assuming the pirates'll have thermal shields too?"

"Presumably. Can't see how they'd operate here without them."

"Then… how _exactly _would you go about making a thermal shield 'fail'?"

There was a pause.

"That's actually… _genius_," Kamur chuckled, lightening up a little. "I mean, it's the evil, mwahaha kind of genius, but still…"

"So, any idea how we actually do it?" the quarian persisted.

"Not a clue…"

"Great."

There was a pause, and then:

"Should be simple, actually."

It was the salarian, Arrete, and he was fiddling with his omni-tool as he continued:

"Just need to give them a big enough jolt. Like taking down regular shields."

"Overload tech, then?" Kan frowned.

"Yes, but you'd need to hit the target twice. Once to void the regular shields, and again to knock out the thermals… _although…_"

"That sounds like an idea forming," Vimes muttered.

"Doesn't it just? Give me a minute…"

They lapsed into silence, Sam and Kan watching on as the salarian continued to tap away at his omni-tool, tweaking programs and lines of unintelligible code. Finally, he straightened up, and declared:

"Done. Sending a copy of the program to both of your omni-tools."

"What _is_ it?" the marksman inquired, opening up his own omni-tool to find, sure enough, a new program downloading to it.

"I modified an overload program to work at short-range and fire twice. Kind of… kind of a _double tap_. First shot takes out the kinetic barriers, second fries the thermal shields. Just prime it, and use it like a medi-gel dispenser – slap it down."

"It only works at close range, then?" Sam frowned.

"Afraid so," Arrete nodded. "Omni-tools have a finite amount of power to give. Decreasing the travel distance is the only way to get the voltage up to the necessary level. Besides, overload tech's not exactly _subtle _at range, is it?"

"Suppose not," he agreed, envisioning the violent _jolt _of lightning that usually accompanied such tech. "And you're sure it'll work? Cleanly, quietly?"

"Pretty much certain," the salarian murmured. "Direct contact means there shouldn't be a visible flash between the contact surfaces. And if Kamur's right on that seven seconds figure, they'll be freezing up before they can scream…"

"How pleasant... if it's all the same to you, though, I'll keep a knife handy the first time I try it. Y'know, just in case."

"Fair enough."

"Thirty seconds to drop zone," the shuttle pilot reported, suddenly. "Blizzard's kicking up, and I don't fancy getting smashed against the cliffs, so-"

"Cliffs?" Sam interrupted. "What cliffs?"

"See for yourself. Patching visual through to your screen."

Sure enough, the rectangular display on the wall lit up, displaying the pilot's view of the landscape below. He wasn't wrong about the blizzard – lashes of snow and ice were cutting across the camera lens, and the shuttle, which had now paused, awaiting direction, was bobbing and swaying in the gale, barely held in check by the pilot's grip on the controls.

"The whole base was hewn out of the cliffs at the edge of this ice shelf," the pilot surmised, as Sam examined the cliffs himself. "There are two inlets, both looking out over the cliff edge, both surrounded on three sides by shallow walls – maybe ten feet tall? Looks like there used to be a third inlet, but it's long gone."

Sure enough, there was a third 'bay' carved out of the ice, to the left of the other two, but a large fissure cut through where the platform had once been, and it had apparently fallen into the mass of glacial ice at the base of the cliffs – a shifting, fracturing sea of white which looked positively lethal, and gave Sam a strong sense of vertigo as the shuttle dangled above it…

"They're massive," he observed, simultaneously noting the sprawling network of prefabs that had been littered across the upper level of the base. "Who the hell carved them out?"

"Krogan," a new voice answered. It was Dax, speaking over the other shuttle's radio. "This anchorage was built by the warlord Moro, as a base to strike from during the Rebellions. It was uncovered by a corporation a number of years ago – a… Binary Helix? – and the relics of the dead were sold to auction."

He spoke that last sentence rather angrily – sore point, perhaps?

"We've not got a visual," Kamur reported, taking over the radio from Dax. "What do you see?"

"Two shallows bays carved out of the ice, used for ships – lone freighter resting in the left-hand one," Sam observed. "Ramps leading up to the plateau above – there's a whole complex of prefabs up there, I'm guessing the pirates flew it in piece by piece…"

"What's your recommendation?"

"Main strike's got to start at the landing pads, capture that ship – I don't know about you, but I fancy a look inside it."

"Right…" the turian replied. "Black box, cargo manifests… should make for interesting reading."

"Quite. As for us… well, we can't land on the pads – stealth systems or no, they'd still _see _us. I say we swoop low, use the cliffs for visual cover, then pop up on the plateau behind the main base and work our way from back to front. We'll mark their commanders, their snipers, and any entrenched positions, and do what we can to sabotage them before the main assault."

"Sounds like a plan," Kamur muttered. "Execute when you're ready."


	280. Operation Cutlass Part 1

_**Moro Anchorage, Veles**_

_**Day 1, 0815**_

"Cresting over the cliffs in three, two, one…"

"Jump!" Sam yelled, leading the way himself as he sprung from the shuttle's open door. The landing was rather… slippery, as falling snow had compacted to ice on the rocks, but they were far enough in that it was safe, at least. As Arrete and Kan sprang down behind him, he murmured: "Activate cloaking, and check your weapons. Check your thermals, too…"

"Thermal shields holding," Arrete reported. "Let's get moving, the other team's waiting on us."

The former C-Sec officer nodded, and turned on his heel, leading the other two towards the sprawling pirate base. They half-marched, half-jogged through the freezing cold – even with thermal shields, it still _bit _at their very bones – until they reached the edge of the encampment. A small path wound between two prefabs on the perimeter, and, rather more cautiously now, invisible to everything but each other's sensors, they slipped inside.

"Sam, do you copy?" Kamur muttered, his voice sounding out from the C-Sec officer's omni-tool.

"Yes, but keep your voice down!" Sam hissed. "This is playing out loud…"

"Alright, I'll keep it brief then. I've got one more thing I need to ask you – can you give us some idea of who these pirates _are _before we attack?"

"How d'you mean?"

"I need you to get an idea of their weapons, their numbers, and their species – look for krogan in particular, we need some warning if they're around."

"Got it. I'll let you know when _we _know."

The radio fell silent once more, and Sam advanced, motioning for the other two to follow. They turned right, then left, then right again, still encountering no-one – either the base was _very_ sparsely populated, or everyone was inside, getting out of the cold. As they approached the next corner, however, some signs of life _finally _came forth:

"You hear? Garth's team just got wiped out."

"You're shittin' me!"

"Nope… salarians boarded the ship on its way to the relay. Nobody left standing, way I hear it..."

"Ah, Garth always was a dumb bastard. Kinda worrying, though…"

"Why?"

"Well, if the salarians got his ship… maybe they found out where he was headed?"

"Maybe they did," Sam smirked, to his squadmates. "Guess we know how Singh found this place… Wait here."

He shuffled forwards, peering around the corner to get a look at the conversing pirates.

"You see 'em?" Arrete asked.

"Yeah. Two humans stood by the wall. Assault rifles, medium armour. I'll take the one nearest. Arrete, can you get the other guy?"

"Sure. Ten seconds?"

"Ten seconds," he nodded.

Sam swept around the corner, plucking his Mantis rifle from his back, and held it lengthways as a plan of execution came to mind. Thanks to his sensors, he could see Arrete – outlined in blue by his HUD – advance past him, until they were each stood behind one of the pirates. The salarian's outline fiddled with its omni-tool, then looked up, and nodded.

Wordlessly, Sam _lunged_ forwards, rising up and quickly pulling his rifle over the pirate's throat, throttling him with the length of the barrel. As his own target choked, the other man barely had time to _think _before Arrete slapped him around the head with his improvised shock program. The pirate _jerked _painfully, and fell against the prefab wall – the salarian gave him a straight punch to the visor, keeping him distracted for a few precious seconds-

And with terrifying speed, the ice claimed him. In a matter of moments he was frozen, stiff as a board, and Arrete tipped him over, completely rigid, into the snow. The pirate Sam was attacking had just breathed his last too – with a quick wrench, he broke the man's neck for good measure, and dropped him into the snow next to Arrete's victim.

"Take down his thermal shields, too," Sam instructed. "That way, it looks like they both froze. Might stop our cover being blown for a little longer."

The salarian nodded, and leant over the man Sam had just killed, pressing his omni-tool to the man's midriff. He twitched rather grotesquely as the electricity passed through his dead nerves, but seconds later, he was frozen just like his fellow, ice crystals exploding jaggedly from the soft joints in his armour. Sam was _about _to breathe a sigh of relief at their success, when:

"Watch your six!"

The cry had come from Kan, and as he wheeled around, Sam realised damn near instantly what he was so worried about – a third pirate, a turian, was marching towards them through the snow. He had a rifle in his hands, aiming it suspiciously ahead as he approached his colleagues' fallen forms. The only thing which saved their cover, in fact, was the turian's distinct lack of brain cells.

"Guys?" he was murmuring, unable even at this distance to work out that his friends were dead. "Guys?"

"I'll knock him back, you put him down," Sam growled to Arrete. The salarian, still silhouetted in his HUD, gave a brief nod, and the two of them swept forward.

They crossed the gap between themselves and the turian in a matter of moments – Sam reached him first, grabbed the pirate's rifle, and _wrenched _it out of his amazed hands. He flipped it round, gripped it like a club, and smashed it across the turian's visor, knocking him back a few steps. Still dazed, not to mention dumbfounded by his invisible assailants, the turian was none the wiser as Arrete ducked under Sam's arm, darted in, and slammed his omni-tool into the pirate's gut. There was a small white _flash_, the turian crumpled backwards, and he was freezing solid before he hit the ground.

"That was _too _close," the C-Sec officer scowled, slipping the turian's rifle – a battered M-55 Argus – onto his shoulder. "Kan, can you set something up to give us some warning? A scanner, maybe?"

"Already done," the quarian replied. "I sent a drone up – they shouldn't be able to spot it through the blizzard, and it's scanning for electromagnetic activity. Should track anything electrical – omni-tools, kinetic barriers, comlinks, thermal shields… it's not flawless, but thermal scans are useless in this kind of cold – at the very least, we know everyone on the planet has to use a thermal shield, so it _should_ track those."

"Good enough," Sam shrugged. "Now… grab one of these guys. I'll get the turian. Bury them in a snow drift, and then we can move on…"


	281. Operation Cutlass Part 2

_**Moro Anchorage, Veles**_

_**Day 1, 0830**_

"Sam, come in," Kamur muttered, over the radio. It had been fifteen minutes since the snipers entered the base, and they were just approaching the threshold of one of the prefabs. They had thus far managed to avoid any more patrols, but after a few close calls, that was becoming less and less of an option…

"I copy," he replied. What is it?"

"How much longer is your recon going to take?" the turian asked. "Because our pilot says the shuttle's freezing up. If we're not on the ground in the next fifteen minutes, we'll have to go ex-atmosphere to warm her up."

"Call it fifteen minutes, then," Sam murmured, wordlessly catching his two squadmates' eyes and giving them each a meaningful look. "We'll wrap up here."

"Understood. Remember, mark targets, and neutralise any snipers or commanders you come across. We'll mop up the rest…"

"Got it."

The radio fell silent, and Sam looked to his two companions, still framed as blue silhouettes on his HUD. Kan was stacked on the other side of the doorway – like Sam, however, he was taking care not to lean _too _heavily against the freezing cold metal – while Arrete stood back, Indra rifle focused ahead.

"Can you see what's inside?" Sam asked, rather impatiently. Kan had marked this particular prefab out as containing, quote 'a lot of signals', but that was the limit of his information…

"Still a bit of a mess," Kan frowned. "Lots of individual signals… I've tried to put together a three-dimensional image – it looks like… three, maybe four hostiles, and a larger power source at the edge of the room."

"Console?"

"Probably. When you're ready, Sam…"

"Is that thing silenced?" he muttered, this time directing his comments at Arrete.

"Suppressed…" the salarian mused. "But I wouldn't count on it being _silent_."

"Alright then, it's a last resort. Kan, we do this the old-fashioned way. On three?"

"On three," the quarian nodded, as Sam slipped his dagger from his belt, readying it in his left hand while priming his omni-tool in his right.

"Temperature inside the building?" he checked.

"Dunno…" Arrete murmured. "Probably won't freeze them, though, if that's what you're thinking…"

"Incineration tech it is, then. Three, two… one!"

Arrete swiped his omni-tool over the little green roundel in the middle of the door, and his two squadmates rolled around the doorposts in perfect harmony, making a beeline for the middle of the room.

The pirates inside never knew what hit them. There were four, all in all, and as one they turned to stare, confused, at the open yet _empty _doorway. The barest shimmer of movement gave away the two infiltrators' cloaks, but it seemed the pirates were too snow-blind to see it, because none of them reacted until-

"Argh!"

A human male, who had been leaning against the prefab wall, now found his neck _pinned _to that wall by an omni-blade. Kan wrenched the blade back out, and he toppled into the female stood next to him – a moment later, however, she too was crumpling to the floor, as the quarian's second swing found her chest.

That left Vimes with the two pirates on the right – one human, one salarian. He went for the salarian first, striking high and driving his knife through the unfortunate pirate's visor. It stuck fast, and he staggered back, as Sam swung behind the final human, pulling him into a stranglehold.

The salarian, however, was still alive. That _wasn't _part of the plan. As he staggered and tried to cry out, Sam aimed a vicious, backwards kick at the pirate, catching him in the stomach and winding him sufficiently to keep him quiet for a moment or two. Still holding the other man beneath his arm, he choked the last of the air from him, threw his corpse to the ground, and rounded on the salarian.

He figured the incineration program on his omni-tool would just _make _his opponent cry out, so instead, he dove in, reaching for knife. He yanked it out of the pirate's visor, inverted the grip, and stabbed in again with a back-handed swipe, burying the tip of the knife into the other man's throat. Then he pulled it out, stabbed in again, and again, and again… after driving the blade in four or five times he stepped back, and the salarian _slumped _down the wall, quite definitely dead.

"All down," he muttered, as his squadmates stepped up to either side of him. "Arrete, help me burn the bodies. Kan, get that terminal."

The quarian made for the holographic panel, which sat atop a desk on the far side of the room, while Sam swung around, unloading a fiery red projectile from his omni-tool which slammed into the fallen salarian, quickly consuming him and spreading to the strangled human at his side. A few feet away, Arrete was setting light to the other two, watching on with a distasteful expression as they were reduced to ash. The speed with which they were consumed was… shocking. In less than thirty seconds, only black ash and char remained, and the two of them went over to join Kan at the desk.

"Any luck?" he muttered.

"Plenty," Kan smiled, beneath his visor. "It's a communications console."

"Can you get into their systems?"

"_Please_. A three-year-old could hack this thing…"

"What are you actually _looking _for?" Arrete frowned. "Interesting as their diaries may be, I don't think they really help us."

"No, but their _external_ comms do," Kan replied. "If we can break the security, we can track down the rest of their ships, their supply lines, and- hold on…"

"What?" Sam interjected, as the quarian bent lower over the desk, studying the logs with frantic interest.

"Recent messages. I've got several references to… captives."

"_Captives?_"

"Yeah… no specifics, I'm afraid, just a guard rota."

"Captives could be useful," their salarian colleague pointed out. "Good source of information…"

"I think the correct response was 'Captives? We should save them at once!'," Sam chuckled. "But information sounds good to me. Have you got a location, Kan?"

"Far side of the base," he replied. "Marking it now. You two bust them out, I'll stay here and try to dig up what I can."

"You gonna be alright on your own?" the C-Sec officer frowned.

"I'll be fine," his friend muttered, waving a dismissive hand. "They're not going to find me while you two are breaking out their prisoners, and in… _twelve_ minutes' time, Kamur and the krogan are going to be shooting anything that moves. That'll distract them."

"Alright… keep an eye on your six, and if anyone comes in here, cloak and run, don't try to fight. Arrete… let's get moving."


	282. Operation Cutlass Part 3

**A/N: Second chapter coming later tonight, as per Double Monday - just wanted to give you a heads up, there'll be a fairly important author's note attached, so make sure you read it.**

**...**

**Of course, the thought occurs that if you're the sort of person who skips author's notes, you'll also skip _this _author's note, and thus won't get the message telling you to read the one later on... and so you won't.**

**Crap.**

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><p><em><strong>Moro Anchorage, Veles<strong>_

_**Day 1, 0840**_

"Ten minutes until the strike team has to land," Kan reported. "What's your status, Sam?"

"Just approaching the target building now," he replied. "Can you give us some idea what we're up against?"

"Not with… _complete _certainty, but my drone's scanning the building now. I can't see any large energy signatures – the prisoners are probably held in by bars, not a kinetic barrier. Other than that, a couple of small signals, I'd say one hostile."

"Got it," Sam nodded. "Moving in now…"

Arrete followed him, wordlessly, as he approached the door to the prison block. Silently, they rolled to either side of the door, drawing up their guns. To the left, Arrete was clutching his Indra, while on the right-hand side of the door frame, Sam was holding his knife in one hand, his machine pistol in the other.

A brief nod was all it took to signal Arrete, and the salarian swung out his omni-tool, making short work of the door's lock and causing it to _hiss _open. As it did, a very different kind of hiss was emanating out from the room beyond...

"Hrr!" a fierce voice was growling - swinging into the doorway, Sam was presented with a vorcha's back, a little way across the room. He was a caustic yellow in colour, with a patchwork of black armour covering his shoulders and midriff, and a Carnifex on each hip.

Remarkably, he hadn't even _noticed _the door opening behind him. He was more concerned with the six-inch blade in his hand, and the metal bars which ran across the middle of the room, dividing prisoners and guard. Behind the bars, he could see a huddle of vaguely human figures, but to be blunt, his attention was _much _more focused on the knife-wielding vorcha. As he watched on, the lone guard – a quick check of the room confirmed he _was _alone – began to strike his blade against the metal bars, scattering sparks through the air as he cackled like some absurd pantomime villain.

Without waiting for confirmation from Arrete, Sam darted forwards, raising his pistol and flipping his knife into a reverse grip. A moment later, he squeezed the trigger, and:

_Bang bang bang. _A quick burst of fire leapt through the air, stinging the vorcha's blade arm and causing him to yowl in pained surprise. His knife clattered to the floor as his hand was torn through by an SMG round, and as he turned to face Sam – whose cloak had just broken as he opened fire – another _bang bang bang _heralded a second burst, which battered his armoured chest and knocked him back.

Vimes had closed the gap before he had to fire a third burst. He lunged in, slashed high – his inverted dagger cut messily through the vorcha's collar bone, but missed his throat – then ducked under a swing of his opponent's claws, and stabbed viciously backwards, burying the blade in the back of the guard's knee.

The vorcha crumpled to one side, knee crippled, but he was very much alive, as evidenced by the claws now _slicing _against Sam's shoulder and neck. He swivelled, trying to get a shot with his pistol as he tangled with his opponent, but before he could-

_Crack crack crack crack crack. _No fewer than _five _sniper rounds whistled through the air, each striking the vorcha in the head – by the time the fire stopped, his skull vaguely resembled a pincushion, and he slumped to the floor, quite dead.

"Thanks," Sam grunted, shoving the vorcha's corpse off his chest as the de-cloaked Arrete joined him, rifle still smoking. "But they probably heard the shots. We'll have company soon…"

"I'll handle them," the salarian muttered. "You want some warning when they get here?"

"Surprise me."

Arrete smirked, turned on his heel, and swept back out into the snow, cloaking as he did. Vimes, for his part, turned his attentions to the prisoners. There were at least half a dozen clustered inside the cell, all human, but amazingly, none of them seemed to have anything to say about the fact that their jailor had just been brutally killed a foot in front of their faces. They were all staying rather silent on the matter, staring awkwardly, even _disgustedly _away from the corpse on the prefab floor…

"Sooner or later, _one _of you is going to have to start talking," Sam smirked. "Can we just get it over with?"

"Fine," a voice snapped, from the cell, as a ginger-haired human woman pulled herself to her feet. "Who the _hell _are you?"

"Sam Vimes…" – he hesitated – "Alliance."

"Alliance?" the woman replied, somewhat tensely. "How do I know you're telling the truth?"

"Well, I just _killed _the pirate who was trying to make mincemeat out of you," Sam muttered, nodding to the dead vorcha. "That good enough?"

She scowled.

"I'll take that as a yes… now who the heck are you?"

"Name's Eilyd Donovan," she replied. "I'm a pilot…"

"Corporate?"

"Contract. Been flying a transport for Binary Helix the last few months. You can see how _that _worked out…"

"And that lot?" he asked, nodding to the five other humans behind her.

"That's what's left of the crew," she grimaced. "Pirates slaughtered the rest…"

"What can you tell me about the pirates?" Sam prompted, all too aware of the metaphorical clock ticking down…

"They're vicious bastards," 'Eilyd' laughed, harshly. "Took us down half way between Noveria and the relay. Aft section was blown away before we even knew they were there. Then they boarded, went through deck by deck… killed everyone they could find…"

"But they took you alive?"

"Yeah… guess they wanted to save some _fun _for later. That vorcha already butchered a couple of us. Just took 'em outside and…"

She drew a slender finger across her throat, and sighed.

"Christ…" he murmured, sadly. Then, he straightened up, and continued, urgently: "Look, I'm going be brief. In ten… no, _five_ minutes, an Alliance team's going to land and kill every pirate in this base. We'll get you out of here, but if the strike's going to succeed, we need some information."

"Like what? I haven't exactly seen much from inside _my cell_…" she scowled.

"Point taken, but you've been here… a week?"

"Two, I think. Time gets a little screwed up in here."

"Right, so you must know _something_. We're looking for anything that the strike team can target – entrenched positions, snipers, leaders…"

"Well… I can tell you what I know, but that's not much. If there are any entrenched positions, they'll be over the landing pads – all the defence is focused there. From the conversations I overheard, they've got two snipers, a couple of ex-military turians, but that's all."

"What about the leadership?"

"Can't give you their leader – I never met him – but his second was the one who captured us. Mean bitch of an asari. She dragged me out to her cabin for a beating, once – it's that way," – she pointed, and Sam's HUD identified it as north – "you'll… you'll know it when you see it."

"Arrete, you catch all that?" Sam called, over the radio.

"Loud and clear," the salarian replied.

"Then get going – we need that asari _dead_."

"Hang on, what are _you_ going to be doing?" Arrete muttered.

"I'm going to dig in here. Pirates'll be on their way, and these guys don't stand a chance without a little backup."

"Understood. Good luck."

"You too…"

The radio faded to silence, and Arrete sprinted off through the snow outside. Sam, for his part, turned to Eilyd, and murmured:

"Can you handle a gun?"

"Prob'ly not as well as you," she shrugged. "But I can try."

"Good," he nodded. "Stand back."

She stepped away from the bars, and Sam swung out, cutting high along three of the bars with a fresh-forged omni-blade, before slicing a parallel line near the floor. With the orange sear marks still livid on the steel, he leant back, and launched a powerful _kick_ to the bars, sending them flying inwards. It was pitifully easy – there was a reason C-Sec didn't use primitive things like _bars _any more…

"Much appreciated," Eilyd smirked, stepping out through the still-smouldering hole. "Now what?"

"Take this," Sam instructed, handing his machine pistol to her. As he she took it, he was reaching for the assault rifle he had stolen from the turian earlier. "The vorcha had a couple of pistols too – give 'em to your men, and find some cover. Backup's going to be here soon, but I think the pirates'll be here sooner…"


	283. Operation Cutlass Part 4

**A/N: Reading this? Good reviewer... have a treat.**

**We're racing towards Chapter 300 right now, and I can tell you in advance there isn't a big set piece planned like 200 - most likely, it'll coincide with the middle of the next operation, so no fireworks, no nukes, no Reaper-killing... That said, I've decided to do something a little different in the run-up, because I'm in a good mood (I have time off after next week, we're approaching another milestone in the story, and, hell, it's nearly Christmas). In the five chapters leading up to 300 (so that's 295, 296, 297, 298 and 299), I'm going to be running a little Q&A in these author's notes. Which means I need questions. Duh.** **And where else could they come from but from you guys, the faithful (maybe) audience? Throughout the writing of Galaxy at War, it's always impressed me how bloody inquisitive you all are, and how enthusiastically you get involved with the story, from the original character submissions to the spin-offs. So, I want you to PM me your questions over the next couple of weeks, and I'll pick three or four of the best to begin each chapter with. I only have two rules on the questions themselves:**

**1. No spoilers. Kinda goes without saying. Feel free to ask about what'll happen in future, but don't expect anything more than a cryptic answer.**

**2. ****_You can't ask about your own character. _Thought this might make things a little more interesting - if your character is a really popular one, and other people ask about them, that's great, but I don't want every question to be "What happens to _my _character?". You guys are better than that, and I'm sure you can think of way more interesting questions...  
><strong>

**So, that's it. Outside of those two little caveats, ask whatever the hell you want. It could be a generic "Who's your favourite...?", it could be about the Mass Effect games, about Bioware, about gaming in general, about myself (no guarantees I'll answer, though), about anything you like, so long as it's _slightly_ related to this story/Mass Effect (or hell, even if it's not, I might include it if it makes me laugh).**

**Now, time for the second half of Double Monday. Enjoy!**

* * *

><p><em><strong>Moro<strong>** Anchorage, Veles**_

_**Day 1, 0850**_

"Kamur, this is Vimes," the radio was chattering, as Arrete ran. "I'm dug in with a group of captives, marking the location now. I'd appreciate it if you sent some backup once you're on the ground."

"Copy that," the turian replied. "I'll send someone to your co-ordinates."

"Much – argh! – much appreciated…"

"I'm getting jittery here, Sam. Sixty seconds till we have to be down or gone."

"Come on down, then," Sam growled – the growl, if Arrete was right, had _something _to do with the chatter of gunfire in the background of his transmission, which sounded very much as if a rifle was blaring from Vimes' own arms.

"Got any information for us?"

"A little. Leader's an unknown, but Arrete's moving to take down the second-in-command as we speak. The prisoners also gave us an ID on two turian sharpshooters – they're the only snipers, 'far as we know. The rest of the pirates are a mixed bag – humans, salarians, turians and vorcha confirmed."

"Right… what about defensive positions?"

"Kan's marked clusters of activity that his drone spotted, but we don't have any positive IDs. If there _are _entrenchments, they'll be focused on the landing pad, so watch yourselves."

"Understood. We'll get moving – the freezing problem doesn't matter once the thrusters are working, ETA's about… two minutes."

"Got it. Better bloody hurry up, we need a distraction down here!"

The conversation ended, and Arrete was left to his own thoughts as he stalked towards his target's apparent residence. It sat within a little cluster of prefabs that seemed, to all intents and purposes, to be empty. The pirates had flocked to the prison block to try and crush Sam's little squad, which left Arrete virtually unopposed. One vorcha had almost bumped into him as he rushed down to the prison, but Arrete had blown out his kneecap and frozen him solid before he had time to think.

Sam's new friend in the lockup wasn't wrong – it was _very _easy to tell which cabin belonged to the 'mean bitch' asari. The severed head on a pole outside the door was a rather obvious clue…

As he approached, Arrete eyed the head with distaste. It was still helmeted, and the tall, broad visor – designed to accommodate four eyes, not two – suggested it was batarian. He was rather glad that the head was covered by a helmet, but still felt a little green as he noticed a bloody stump of neck jutting out from the bottom. The whole thing was mounted on a steel spike, looking out over the base as… a trophy, maybe? Or a warning?

He kicked the pole, toppling it into the snow to stop the damned thing _staring _at him, and then turned his attention to the cabin door. It slid open easily with a touch of his omni-tool, and he stepped into the room, rifle braced in his arms.

The cabin itself was an L-shape, and as he walked through the door, a gruff voice was echoing around the corner…

"Severin, what the hell's going on?" it rumbled.

"We're under attack, boss," a clipped female voice replied – the asari, he presumed. "Commandoes, I think… we've got them pinned down in the cell block with the captives, but I don't like it. I don't think they'd have come without backup."

"Then roll out the welcome mat," the 'boss' chuckled, darkly – judging by the bass note in his voice, he was… batarian, maybe turian?

Aware that every moment he persisted brought him a moment closer to discovery, Arrete took his chance, and swung out around the corner, rifle raised. 'Severin' had her back to him, leaning over a holoterminal, and he focused the crosshairs on her back-

"Behind you!" the unseen voice on the terminal yelled, spotting him beneath her arm.

_Crack crack crack crack crack. _Arrete squeezed the trigger hard, emptying half a clip towards the asari's back, but she was already diving to the left, out of the way. His shots fell across the desk she had been standing over, causing the holoterminal to crackle and die and punching round, black bullet holes into the steel wall. The very first shot had punched into his target's shields, but she hardly seemed _deterred _– as Arrete shifted to the side, expecting retaliation, she scrambled to her feet, braced a biotic arm in front of her…

And dashed straight into the window that sat next to her desk. The glass had been heavily reinforced for the inhospitable conditions, but it shattered with pitiful ease as the asari slammed through it. On instinct, the salarian emptied what remained of his clip towards the window, but her barriers held, and a wave of her arm, an _afterthought, _almost, sent the dangling shards of broken glass racing back at Arrete's head – he ducked low, avoiding the worst of the stinging fragments, and then darted to the window.

Snow was already starting to pour through the precipice as he stuck his head out into the open air. Much to his surprise, there was a rickety staircase up the side of the prefab, a scrapheap article that appeared to have welded on by hand. Around the corner of the window frame, he could see a slender heel just retreating over the top step…

Slipping his empty rifle onto his back, Arrete swung himself out through the window frame, clattering onto the staircase and scaling it just in time to watch the asari leap onto the next building. From up here, the base looked like a veritable labyrinth of small, square rooftops, slick with snow and blasted by the blizzard. It also looked something like an assassin's playground…

"The asari's running," he chattered into the radio, sprinting off across the roof himself. "I'm in pursuit!"

"Copy that," Sam grunted. "Getting hot down here… Kamur, where the hell are you?"

"ETA right now!" the turian replied, emphatically. "Hold on to your helmets, people!"


	284. Operation Cutlass Part 5

_**Moro Anchorage, Veles**_

_**Day 1, 0852**_

"Weapons ready!" Kamur was yelling, making final preparations as the shuttle lurched down onto the landing pad. "Yui, Dax, I want you front and centre. Me and Lisk will have your backs – we push up the landing pad, dig in, and shoot every pirate we see. You two" – he pointed to two of the six marines from the Logan – "follow us, _you _two seize that ship on the other pad, and you two, go with Victor."

"Where am I headed?" Cross frowned. He was still sitting down, rather more relaxed than the rest of the shuttle's occupants as he fiddled with the sights on his Argus. He felt tooled-up today. In his preparations, the night before, he had taken both Phalanx pistols along with his rifle, hanging one on each hip, and in a moment of impulse that morning, he had slung his new toy, the Kishock, onto his shoulder. Add in the upgraded omni-blades and the half-dozen grenades he had acquired from the Logan's armoury, and he felt like a real one-man army…

"Sam's pinned down with a group of prisoners, inside one of the buildings. I want you to punch through to their position and pull them out of the fire."

"Got it," he nodded.

"Coming in hot!" their pilot interrupted. The shuttle hit the pad with a _crunch _of metal on metal, and as Victor stood up, the krogan were already lining up in front of the door.

"Go, go, go!" Kamur bellowed, as the door slid open and shots began to race towards them, _ping_ing off the shuttle's sides. Dax and Yui were firing before they even stepped off the shuttle, sending a veritable wave of gunfire hurtling back towards the pirates. Kamur went next, rifle high, and he was followed by Lisk, who tossed off a grenade as he leapt out of the shuttle – it arced through the air and exploded between two pirates on the far side of the pad, engulfing them both in flames. The marines went next, ducking low and jump out in twos – four of them went ahead, while the last two stayed behind Cross, following his lead. Finally, as his turn came, Victor sprang through the door-

And out of the corner of his eye, he saw a bright orange flash from one of the rooftops. A screaming missile came hurtling down, Kamur yelled 'Grenade launcher!', and then it was smashing into the floor just a foot or so in front of Victor's face. The world became a rush of noise and fire, and he was hurled backwards through the air…

The next thing he knew, he was staring face down at the floor. Evidently, he had blacked out for a moment or two.

He rolled over, groaning, and realised the fight was still going on up ahead. At the foot of the ramp which led up into the main base, the rest of the squad were crouched in cover. Yui and Dax held the two corners of the ramp, while Kamur, Lisk and four of the Logan marines were kneeling behind scattered cargo crates and, in the vorcha's case, an abandoned chunk of a ship's fuel manifold which had _frozen _to the floor. Just two marines were unaccounted for – with a pang, Victor realised that they had been behind him as he stepped off the shuttle, and he rolled over, grimacing at the sight that presented itself to him:

The two marines had been torn off their feet, just like Victor, but were considerably worse for wear – Cross _had _taken the brunt of the explosion, but he had the Terminus to protect him, and they… well, didn't. One of the two had half his face missing, and had been dashed against the shuttle, slumping down to the floor with his back at an oddly twisted angle. The other had been knocked back through the open door, into the shuttle, and a crimson pool had developed beneath him – judging by the lack of movement, and the lack of heartbeat that his HUD reported, he had already bled out…

Grabbing his rifle, which had fallen by his side, Victor scrambled to his feet, shrugging off a couple of shots which tested shields and sprinting towards his squadmates. A few moments later, and with the firefight still churning on around him, he slid down behind a cargo crate, alongside a very _surprised _Kamur.

"You're bloody alive!" the turian laughed, incredulously.

"Can't say the same for the other two…" Victor pointed out, sadly. "Now, what's the plan?"

"The _plan _is to try not to die," Kamur scowled, ducking low as a high-calibre round bit into the steel top of the crate, just inches from both of their heads. "These guys are better prepared than we thought…"

"So, what, we just sit here?"

"That's about all we _can _do right now. Whittle 'em down until they run out of men. Let's face it, the krogan can keep going for hours if need be."

"What about Sam's team? And the civvies?"

"Got to hope we distract the pirates, pull them from _that _fight to this one," he grunted, raising his rifle above his head as he did, and firing off a few blind rounds, the distinctive _chatter _of Phaeston fire filling the air.

"Screw that," Victor snapped. "Can you clear me a path?"

"I was hoping you might say that," Kamur grinned. "How big a window do you need?"

"Call it twenty seconds to get up the ramp and round the corner."

"I think we can manage that… Yui, Dax!"

"What?" Hei Yui roared back. His eyes were just a _touch _cloudy, enough to suggest he was on the brink of raging.

"Victor needs an opening! Keep 'em pinned, on three!"

The krogan nodded – he primed the 'Carnage' function on his Claymore, and Dax slid a new clip into his Revenant, as Kamur called out:

"One… two… three!"

The two krogan swung out into the open, Kamur rose up with his Phaeston, and even Lisk and the marines began to pump out shots in a deadly, chaotic harmony. The line of buildings up ahead, which was functioning as the pirates' defensive holdout, was raked by a _storm _of shrapnel and bullets, dark-armoured figures across the façade dropping dead, or at least dropping into cover…

Victor lunged around the corner of the crate and set off running, slipping his Argus onto his back in favour of the more manoeuvrable Phalanx pistols. He dashed past Lisk, who was screaming and hissing as he rattled off bursts from a Vindicator, and scrambled up the ramp from the landing to the main base. As he did, a few stray rounds bit at the air around him, and reaching the top of the ramp, he saw a turian pop up in the window directly ahead, bracing a sniper rifle. Cross raised one of his pistols, aiming for the turian's head, but before he could pull the trigger, Dax did his job for him – the krogan strafed the window with a burst of machinegun fire, and the turian dropped away, chest exploding with blue blood.

Vimes' holdout was still displayed on his HUD as Victor turned left, ducked beneath a burst of shrapnel from a Scimitar-wielding vorcha in the building to the right, and made a beeline for the corner, beyond which the path between the prefabs twisted to the right, into the base proper. A salarian appeared on the corner, but barely managed to raise his gun before Cross put a pistol round through his skull, and kept on running…


	285. Operation Cutlass Part 6

_**Moro Anchorage, Veles**_

_**Day 1, 0900**_

"Kamur, where the _fuck's _our backup?" Sam cried, into the radio, as he ducked back behind the cover of the doorway once more.

"Victor's on his way!" Kamur yelled back – in the background, shots were crashing down, even more emphatically than they were at the lockup. "Just hold tight!"

As the turian went silent again, Sam found himself regretting the decision to split up from Kan and Arrete. The quarian was _somewhere _in the base, presumably staying stealthy as per Vimes' orders, the salarian was on some crazy rooftop chase, and meanwhile the human… was a little worse for wear. His barriers had failed long ago – although mercifully, his thermal shield was still working – his visor was cracked, and he had been shot twice in the gut. A steady trickle of blood was _drip-dripping_ to the floor between his feet, and it was amazing how vividly that quiet sound rang out amidst the much louder gunfire – priorities and all…

"For Christ's sake, man, let me help!" Eilyd shouted, from behind him. She and her fellow captives had upended a desk to act as cover, and were providing what fire support they could, but Sam had forbidden them from moving up into the firing line, much to the pilot's annoyance.

"Not a chance!" he yelled back, struggling to summon up a mirthless laugh. "If you idiots get yourselves killed, then I got bloody _shot _for nothing!"

He reached for a syrette of medi-gel – he was down to two, he noted, with mild concern – and pulled off the little white cap, before driving it into his flank – none of the 'Unity' omni-tool programs the medics messed about with, just a straight shot between the ribs… As he was preoccupied with the medi-gel, however:

"Look out!"

Two figures came darting into the doorway – catching sight of their helmets for a mere moment, Sam guessed they were batarians – with their weapons drawn. Vimes was caught unawares, rifle still pointing to the floor, but as they closed him down-

_Crack crack crack. _Eilyd sent a burst of machine pistol fire whistling across the room, punching into the frontrunner's head and killing him instantly. His friend stumbled, but ploughed on nonetheless, swinging an enforcement gauntlet in a high right hook.

Sam parried it away at the last moment, using the heft of his stolen Argus to smash the batarian's fist against the doorpost. He followed it up by smashing the butt of the rifle against the pirate's visor, cracking it from top to bottom, before physically _kicking _his opponent back out of the door. The batarian sprawled to the floor, and a quick burst of rifle fire finished him off.

That burst, however, exhausted the last of his magazine. His thermal clip hissed and gave off a puff of steam – he ejected it quickly, and slotted a new one into place before running a mental inventory.

"Last mag!" he called out, to no-one in particular.

"Got plenty of ammo right here!" the pilot behind him replied, sarcastically. "Just let me use it!"

"Nope!"

"_God _you're stubborn!"

Peering out around the doorpost for a moment earned him a shot to the head – the round bounced off the curvature of his helmet, and his heart rate went up a few beats as his brain worked out just how close he had come to dying, but he did get a good look at the mob outside. There were half a dozen shooters – two on the rooftop opposite, and another four on the open ground outside the door, standing awkwardly in a state of hesitation. They had Vimes pinned down, but they were loath to charge in and meet the same fate as their batarian colleagues…

Sam decided the only suitable approach was to take them out one at a time. Scanning his image, he picked out the nearest target – a burly human sentinel, who was approaching with tech armour and biotic barriers braced – and readied his rifle.

He span out, found the target – he was a few yards closer than he had been before – and squeezed the trigger.

_Bang bang bang. _The sentinel's tech armour glimmering and faded, scattering red wisps of energy as it did.

_Bang bang bang. _His biotic barriers faded too.

_Bang bang bang. _The pirate's shields failed next, flickering and dying with an electronic moan. As they did, a rifle round buried itself in Vimes' thigh, but he stayed in the open nonetheless, determined to at least kill _one _of the bastards. He pulled the trigger again:

_Bang bang bang_. With a satisfying lurch, his target crumpled to the ground, chest bloodied by three well-placed shots. Finally, Sam fell back into cover, as pain began to flare in his leg – he desperately wanted to reach for his last medi-gel syrette to stem the burning sensation, but _willed _himself to save it for a true emergency instead.

There were only nine rounds left in his rifle, and a distractionary burst around the door frame, designed to buy them some time, took that down to six. He spun out again, picking out the next-closest target, a salarian, but the two remaining bursts barely managed to get through the pirate's shields. He rolled back into the safety of the doorpost, threw the rifle to the floor, and began to weigh up his options. There were dozen rounds in his Mantis, but they were damn near useless at this close range, with this much pressure. Likewise, Arrete's shock program and his omni-blade were impotent until the pirates decided to charge. That just left his pistol… which he had given to Eilyd. He cursed inwardly, and went for the lesser of two evils, his sniper rifle. He leant out of cover speculatively, and broke into a wide grin… a rather familiar, armoured figure had just darted in from the right, weapons bristling.

Terminus armour glinting midnight black, Cross _launched_ himself into the fray, going for the trio on the ground first. The nearest was another human, a burly gunner with a shotgun – Victor emptied a dozen pistol rounds into him from both hands, as if making _quite _sure he was dead, and the man dropped to the floor, blood pouring out into the snow. Cross took the chance to sweep forwards, this time going for the salarian Sam had tried and failed to kill. He pistol-whipped him to the floor, and emptied his last three pistols rounds into the grounded pirate's chest.

Two down, three to go… Vimes watched on, still somewhat _mesmerised_, as Victor spun around gracefully, sliding his pistols back onto his hips, and dashed forwards, this time unfurling an omni-blade on each wrist. The third pirate only managed to fire off two rounds before the armoured soldier fell upon him, shoulder-butting him back a few steps and driving the left blade home, straight through the man's chest.

That just left the shooters on the roof. Still using his latest victim as a human shield, Victor pulled a rifle from his shoulder into his free hand, levelled it at the right-hand figure on the rooftop, and-

_Bang. _Sam realised it was a batarian Kishock at the _exact _moment a harpoon buried itself between the right-hand pirate's ribs. He fell with a dull gurgle, coughing blood, and his colleague paused for a moment, dismayed. That gave Victor all the time he needed to shed his meat shield, reload, take aim once more and- _bang! _The last rifleman tumbled backwards, and for the first time, Sam found his surroundings completely _free _of gunfire. Victor made a beeline towards the prison building, reaching for his pistols and reloading them as he stepped through the door to join them.

"You're late, you bastard," Sam coughed, chuckling darkly.

"Better late than never," Victor muttered, rolling into cover on the opposite side of the doorway. As an afterthought, he added: "You alright?"

"Still alive, ain't I? Now give me a bloody gun, there's more of those bastards out there."

"Not for long…"


	286. Operation Cutlass Part 7

_**Moro Anchorage, Veles**_

_**Day 1, 0905**_

"Sniper!" Lisk cried out, from up ahead. "Up right!"

"I got him," Kamur called back, spotting the turian sharpshooter – he was crouched up high on the corner of one of the two-storey prefabs they were besieging, bracing what _appeared_ to be a Krysae. Made sense, really – Sam had said the turian snipers were ex-military, and the Krysae was a distinctly _military _weapon.

He raised his Phaeston, fixed the sights, and sent a quick five-round chatter racing up at his target. The sniper recoiled, shots biting at his chest and helmet, and a moment later he toppled forward, dropping over the precipice and thudding down into the snow, quite definitely _broken_…

"They're breaking!" Yui yelled, from up front. "You wanna push up, it's now or never, turian!"

"Push up, then! Take the buildings and dig in! Charge!"

He had to hand it to the krogan – when someone yelled 'charge', they _really _went for it… Yui ploughed forward with the momentum of a small _tank_, and as he went, Dax was at his heel, taking the slightly more intelligent approach and drowning every pirate he could see with Revenant fire.

The two of them were already storming the large complex in front of them as Kamur and Lisk bolted out of cover to follow them, flanked by the human marines. Yui sprang through the nearest window, bayonetting an unfortunate vorcha as he did, and Dax followed suit a moment later, punching back a beleaguered human pirate and then gunning him down, before clambering through into the prefab.

"Take the ship!" Kamur shouted, this time to the humans. "We'll cover!"

As he and Lisk paused to fire, drowning the top floor of the building in rifle rounds, the four marines shot off up ahead, turned to the left, and-

_Bang. _Another sniper rifle went off, and one of the humans _exploded _as the round hit home. The other three pushed on, leaving his corpse behind and sending up suppressing fire, but there was a definite feeling of _fear _in the air.

"Top left!" Lisk barked, much to Kamur's surprise – his own hawk-like eyes had failed to locate the sniper, but sure enough, as he followed the vorcha's outstretched arm, he spotted another turian leaning out of a top-storey window, Krysae in hand. He half-raised his Phaeston, intending to gun the sniper down, but before he could, Lisk had reached for one of the incendiaries on his belt and hurled it upwards, with astonishing precision. It smashed down on the sill of the very window the sniper was sitting in, and crimson flames engulfed the aperture, along with the turian himself… he yelled in shock and pain, and toppled out of the window to the ground, still burning even as he hit the snow.

That left the humans with a clear route, and the three marines quickly descended onto the second landing pad, disappearing from view behind the adjoining wall. Kamur and Lisk, for their part, moved onwards once again. Up ahead, the krogan were already making short work of the building's last defenders – Yui was holding a skinny salarian aloft, _choking _the life out of him while wielding his Claymore in his free hand.

Scrambling through the precipice and into the building, Kamur found a scene of devastation playing out around him. Pirate corpses were littered across floor, along with dozens of spent thermal clips and abandoned weapons. Even as Yui threw his salarian opponent to the ground, dead, Dax had sprinted over to the building's staircase – three pirates were trying to rush down it to reach them, but the krogan mowed them down with his Revenant before they got to the bottom step.

"I'll clear the top floor," Dax growled, dashing off up the stairs before anyone could say otherwise. The krogan really were in their element right now – a vorcha came exploding into the room, shotgun at the ready, but before Kamur could even raise his gun, Yui had blown the pirate's head off with his Claymore.

"Victor, what's your status?" the turian called, going for his radio almost for the sake of doing _something_. "Have you got Sam and the prisoners?"

"Affirmative!" Cross replied. "Dug in now. Still got a couple of stubborn bastards gunning for us, but the firefight's dying down and everyone's alive…"

"Can anybody hear this?" a new voice interrupted, urgently.

"Arrete, is that you?" Kamur frowned. "What's your status?"

"Still pursuing the asari!" the salarian muttered, with no small amount of annoyance in his voice. "She's running rings around me – can't get a clear shot, can't catch up to her... managed to get her running towards the landing pads, though. If you'd be so kind as to knock her down?"

"Copy that," he nodded, dashing over to the window. Looking over his shoulder, he called out, "Lisk, cover my back!" and then leapt through the empty edifice – the glass had already been shot out in the crossfire.

Two straggling pirates had been advancing over the open ground Kamur now found himself in, and they stopped dead at the sight of the turian approaching. A moment later, both were diving for their weapons, but too late – one of them _exploded _in a bloody haze as Lisk riddled him with shots from the window, and Kamur took down the second with a quick double tap from his Phaeston, right between the man's eyes. With them down, he set about scanning the rooftops, eyes poring over them for the salarian and the asari. The blizzard was scouring the horizon, making it rather difficult to see anything above roof level, and… ah!

He spotted them – two thin, dark figures dashing across a rooftop some fifty feet ahead of him. They were moving far too quickly for him to take a rifle shot, he noted, with some displeasure, but maybe…

"I see you!" he called, over the radio. "I can land a grenade up in front of her, but… it's not exactly a clean shot!"

"Just _take it!_" Arrete snapped in reply.

Despite his misgivings, Kamur reached for one of the frag grenades on his bandolier, weighed it for a moment, then pulled back his arm and _hurled _it with all the force he could muster. It sailed through the air, buffeted ever so slightly by the blizzard, then clattered against the corner of the rooftop the asari and salarian were sprinting across. It bounced straight up, rising about a foot in the air, and then-

_Boom. _A fiery blast swept across the roof, and the two figures plummeted out of view.


	287. Operation Cutlass Part 8

_**Moro Anchorage, Veles**_

_**Day 1, 0915**_

_Technically_, it wasn't Kamur's fault. It was the fault of whatever idiot had said 'Just take it!'. But as he came to, seconds after the fall, and found himself face-down in the snow, Arrete was cursing the turian in every language he knew, as well as a few he didn't.

He staggered to his feet, checking his systems. Considering he had just been hit by a grenade and fallen two storeys, the damage wasn't _too _bad. His barriers were gone, but his thermal shield was still intact, his armour hadn't been breached, and nothing _felt _broken – then again, that might have been because his suit was pumping medi-gel into him at a rate of knots.

"Argh…"

The asari was about ten feet away, splayed out in the snow, but still alive. Arrete advanced towards her, but he had barely gotten half way before she rolled over and spotted him. Her eyes bulged, then hardened into a glare, and she sent a fistful of biotics flying towards him – the furious blue cannonball slammed into his chest and threw him back to the ground, winded. The asari, however, didn't really seem able to _capitalise _on her advantage. Arrete was back on his feet by the time she had managed to stumble upright, and she was definitely the worse for wear – her flank appeared to have been burned quite badly, and her cheek was bloody.

"Boss!" she called, plaintively, pulling up her omni-tool. "Voll, I need some… argh… need some help here."

"Stand down," Arrete muttered, advancing a few steps.

"Screw you," the asari spat back.

Without further ado, they came together. Arrete was in better shape – he ran rings around the wounded asari, striking her with a quick jab to the chin before ducking around to hit her side – but she had biotics, and when she finally managed to connect with a glowing blue fist, it damn well _hurt_. He stumbled back, dazed, and went for his own radio.

"Got the asari!" he cried, as she took a weary yet somehow threatening step forward. "She won't back down- argh!"

If Kamur and his men replied, Arrete didn't hear them – another biotic _cannonball _had just missed his head by inches, slamming into the wall behind and leaving a sizeable dent in the metal. Severin came swinging forward with a second shot, and this time, he dove well out of the way, causing it to miss by a couple of feet. Then, she was up close, and lunged in with a right hook. He stepped out of the way, dealt a quick snap of a punch to her stomach, and then bundled her over into the snow, face first.

"Don't make me kill you," the salarian murmured, firmly.

She just snorted in derision, rolling onto her back and trying, rather shakily, to get to her feet. Arrete took a step forward, but as he did, he saw her eyes shoot past him, glinting maliciously as she saw something behind his back.

"Took you long enough," she smirked. The salarian wheeled around to follow her gaze, and-

_Wham! _With a bright blue flash, he was hurled off his feet, sailing through the air for a few yards before crashing down in the snow with what _felt _like a dozen broken bones.

All things considered, 'Voll' being a krogan was a _bit _of a surprise. What was more surprising, however, as the pirate leader marched through the snow towards him, was the biotic fire wrapped around his forearms. A battlemaster, then… _brilliant._

Rather quickly, the salarian's brain began to dissect the situation tactically. To be honest, it wasn't _great_. His calculations began with himself – he was, by his own admission, a little dazed and more than a little winded. Furthermore, his Indra was empty, and reloading it would take too much time – that just left the white STG pistol on his hip, the grenade-slinging 'Scorpion' that was given to operatives for breach and clear missions… The gun was powerful, but the delayed explosive could end up killing him too in a close quarters fight, and he could only fire three shots before he'd need to reload. Quite apart from their two-to-one advantage, his opponents had the upper hand: the asari was crippled, but she was a biotic, as was the krogan – furthermore, he was swinging around a grey rifle which looked suspiciously like a Tuchankan Striker. If true, that meant explosive rounds, which weren't particularly conducive to your health…

Voll came lumbering forward, and sure enough, as he opened fire his rifle spat out a flurry of hissing, popping rounds which, as the salarian dove aside, hit the wall behind him like a series of firecrackers. He stumbled to his feet and kept running, as the krogan, having burnt through the last of his clip, quickly went to reload. Arrete was on his feet, and he had regained his breath, but the situation still looked dire – darting out of the way of another biotic shot from the asari, he realised that, all things considered and predicted, he couldn't actually beat them, not without the input of another, random variable. And then, quite suddenly:

"Raargh!"

The 'random variable' had arrived. With a bloodcurdling war cry, Hei Yui charged through the blizzard, let off a deafening blast from his shotgun, and then tackled Voll around the waist as he wheeled around in surprise – the two krogan ploughed into the snow, weapons flying out of their hands, and the centre of the impromptu battleground began a jumble of fists and feet, all permeated by grunts of exertion and roars of anger.

Severin and Arrete had both been watching on, stunned, but as the krogan broke apart – Yui dealt a savage _crack _to Voll's jaw, before being knocked back by a biotic flurry – the two of them snapped back into the real world, and before Arrete's brain had quite told him what was going on, his _body _was charging the asari down. He skirted around the two krogan, narrowly avoiding a flash of biotics from Voll that just missed Yui by inches, then rushed in, ducking low beneath yet _another _warp attack from Severin and lunging at her.

His shoulder connected with the asari's midriff, forcing her back but leaving him bent low at her feet – before she had chance to capitalise, however, he reared up, practically _snatching _his biotic opponent up and throwing her down in the snow, before going in for a series of ground-pounding punches. She took the first two squarely to her helmeted head, before retaliating with a swing of her arm and a blaze of blue fire – his barriers were down, but his armour bore the brunt of the assault, and he shrugged off the warning messages filling his HUD as he went in again, charging the asari down mere moments after she got back onto her feet.

He took a more clinical approach this time, relying on technique rather than surprise – the weary glint in her eyes made it all too clear that biotic fatigue was setting in, and sure enough, the tussle became a simple fistfight. Here, the salarian had the advantage – sure, he'd been knocked around, but his opponent's injuries were far worse, and his methodical approach made full use of that. Letting her take the first swing, he ducked low beneath the frankly _sloppy _attempt to strike his head, shifted around to her left side, and delivered a punishing one-two to her scorched ribs. She yowled and fell away, making a pathetic attempt at a jab to keep him at distance, but he closed her down again within moments, launching a low, feinting left hook then striking high with the right – his armoured knuckles smashed again the full-face visor of her helmet, knocking her back again, and his confidence was building.

As Arrete tried to close her down yet again, their fight was rather ignominiously interrupted – the two krogan ploughed through the middle of the pair, forcing them apart, and he was rather perturbed to see that it was Voll driving Yui into the ground, not the other way around… A moment later, however, as the battle master attempted to finish his opponent off with a biotic fist, the grounded Yui rolled heels over head – his steel foot caught beneath Voll's chest plate, and the biotic krogan was _hurled _through the air over Yui's head, landing face down in the snow a couple of yards away.

Then, the asari and the salarian were back to their own fight, ignoring their comrades once more. Severin tried to take him by surprise, jabbing at his head with a quick right hand, but he saw the attack coming out of the corner of his eye, and caught her hand inches from his face. Wrenching her towards him to upset her balance, Arrete simultaneously dropped his shoulder, and the asari _slammed _into it, crumpling to the floor as she did.

He stepped away, taking a deep breath and regaining his focus, but even as he did, he cursed his own lapse of judgement – rule one of CQB: never turn your back on the opponent. Wheeling around, he-

_Bang! _Severin had produced a battered old Predator from her hip, and as the salarian turned, a first shot from the asari missed his head by a fraction of an inch. He dove aside as she fired twice more – _Bang! Bang! _– and went for his own pistol, praying he hadn't been too slow.

As Severin clambered to her feet and advanced, pistol in hand, Arrete plucked the Scorpion from his waist, drew it up with the practiced speed and precision of a gunslinger, and levelled it at his opponent's chest.

_Thunk_. A quick squeeze of the trigger sent a humming blue projectile shooting through the air – it flew straight, slammed into Severin's gut… and nothing happened. The asari smirked victoriously, tightened her trigger finger, and-

_Boom! _Arrete barely blinked as the delayed fuse went off – with a vivid flash of blue, the grenade _exploded_, propelling Severin into the air and tossing her back several feet. Her pistol clattered off into the distance somewhere, and she hit the wall of the nearest prefab with a _crunch_ before sliding to its base, quite lifeless.

"No!" a furious voice cried, from behind the salarian's back. "Severin!"

He span on his heel, bringing up the grenade-pistol once more, but as he did, the sight before him made his heart skip a beat.

One ton of krogan muscle, wrapped in biotic fire, was thundering towards him at an ungodly speed. Voll's eyes were cloudy, consumed by the blood rage, and his gauntleted hands were wrapped into tight little fists, burning blue. After a moment's hesitation, the salarian recovered his nerve, and pulled the trigger again.

_Thunk, thunk_. The little blue grenades shot out once, clinging to Voll's chest as he barrelled forward. Arrete took a rather panicked step back, wishing the delay on the fuses wasn't _quite _so long, and then:

_Boom! Boom!_ The air was torn asunder by two fresh explosions, filling the air with a mess of blue smoke and embers…

Which Voll promptly _erupted _out of. _Shit_. The krogan's barriers were down, but he was angrier than ever, and he ploughed forward even quicker than before. Arrete went for a thermal clip, but he already knew there wasn't enough time. The battle master was closing down on him, crimson-filled eyes staring right into his own, and-

_Bang!_

Arrete flinched slightly at the _deafening _report, and for a moment he thought Voll had recovered his gun. Then, he saw the battle master's corpse tumble down at his feet, orange blood spewing from his back…

Yui was stood behind, framed in the blizzard as he reloaded his Claymore with a _click_. The shotgun was still smoking, and beneath his great, domed helmet, Arrete got the sense the krogan was grinning dangerously.

"You alright, salarian?" he rumbled, rather nonchalantly.

"Fine," Arrete nodded.

"Then what the hell are we waitin' round here for? We got more of these bastards to kill..."


	288. Operation Cutlass Part 9

_**Moro Anchorage, Veles**_

_**Day 1, 0925**_

"What d'you mean there ain't more of them to kill?" Yui frowned.

"I mean we wiped out the whole base," Kamur smirked. "Which, in my book, is a job well done."

The base was certainly quiet, the turian noted. The prefabs were stricken, the few fires that had broken out were being quelled by the blizzard, and the crew were gathered around at the top of the landing pads. Everyone was present save for the Logan's marines – they were still searching through the cargo of the pirate ship. Huddled on the corner of the landing pad were the Synthetic Insights captives – luckily for them, the pirates had given them thermal shields to prolong their survival in captivity, although temperature aside, they definitely looked the worse for wear…

"First things first," the hastatim muttered. "Who needs medical attention? Vimes, I'm looking at you…"

"I'm fine," the C-Sec officer grunted, but he couldn't but notice the bloody wounds in Sam's midriff, and the beleaguered expression on his face.

"You're not _fine_," Victor scowled, next to him. "You're shot half to hell."

"I still managed to fight," Vimes retorted. "That means I'm fine."

"No, that means you're _stubborn_. It's not the same thing."

"He's right, Sam. At the very least, I want Dr O'Leiph to seal those wounds up properly. Get on that shuttle and get back to the Logan."

Sam looked like he wanted to protest, but decided against it. With a slight grunt, he left the circle, and marched – actually, more like _limped _or _staggered_ – down onto the landing pad towards the shuttle, hopping inside next to the dead marines, who had been covered in sheets and laid out along the floor. The engines fired, the craft rose, hovering a few feet over the pad, and then it pitched upwards, racing off into the sky.

"The rest of you," Kamur continued, "we need to find out everything we can from this base. Admiral Singh sent us here to crack the whole operation, not just one fortress."

"Too bad you just sent our _detective _back to the ship, then," Yui smirked, good-naturedly. The turian scowled back, only half-seriously, and continued:

"I want a full sweep of the complex. Kan, find every terminal you can and sweep them all for data. I want the names, orders and flight logs of their ships, and any off-world communications that might indicate a wider ring of operation."

The quarian nodded, tapped a set of scan parameters into his omni-tool, and paused for a moment, before a series of results began to pop up on the scanner screen. He dashed off after that, with a business-like expression beneath his visor.

"Arrete, I want you on the weapons," the turian continued – to his mind, the salarian was perfect for the job due to his photographic memory, not to mention his STG service, which would have made pretty much every weapon in the galaxy available to him. "Collect every one you can find, check the models, the serial numbers, and see if you can find out where they came from. It might be that they stole them from victims – check what weapons the Noveria corporations' guards use, if you can – but if there's one model or company in particular that they're using, it might hint at a supply chain."

"All right," Arrete replied. "I'll start cataloguing, but it might take a while…"

"We've got time. Lisk, give him a hand with collecting the guns, alright?"

"Lisk collect guns," the vorcha grinned. "Yes, will do."

The salarian and the vorcha trudged off through the snow – Lisk was rather more energetic than Arrete as he did, the latter having exhausted himself pretty thoroughly over the course of the mission.

"Yui, Dax, Victor, gather up the bodies," he ordered, finally. "Lay them out up here, but keep the landing pad free for the shuttles. I want IDs on as many of them as possible – cross-reference them against penal databases, censuses, wanted lists, anything. Just find out who they are, where they came from... and if we can get a bounty for their heads."

"Turning bounty hunter, turian?" Yui frowned.

"Turning pragmatist," Kamur corrected. "Cambrai needs money for repairs, for supplies, for equipment… The Alliance and the Citadel are pretty stretched right now, so if we can get a little extra income to help outfit our troops better, I'm fine with taking a few bounties. Might be distasteful, but if it saves lives, it's worth it."

"Fair enough," the krogan grunted. "What are you going to be doing?"

"Checking the ship. We need to know where the cargo was stolen from, where they were planning to offload it-"

"Captain Destra!"

The interrupting cry had come from the ship, ironically enough, and as he wheeled around, one of the human marines was at the top of the cargo ramp, watching on nervously.

"What is it?" the turian called back.

"We found something in the ship. It's… well, just come and look."

He turned to his three remaining companions, shrugged, and as they paced off to begin their own grim task, Kamur bounded down to the ship with no small amount of curiosity.

"This way, captain," the marine beckoned, as he reached him. The human led him through the ship's underbelly, into the rather spacious cargo hold – expanded for smuggling runs, he suspected – and past one of the other marines, who was scanning a non-descript cargo crate with his omni-tool.

The third marine was tucked away in the corner of the hold, standing watch over a tall, curved metal container with his rifle raised. There seemed to be a dull _hum _emanating from the container, and there was a little carpet of frosty vapour drifting around its base, as if it was somehow even colder than the planet outside.

His guide didn't feel the need to say anything as they approached – Kamur had just caught sight of the pod's contents, and his plated jaw had dropped. Quite slowly, he reached for his omni-tool, brought up the radio, and muttered:

"Captain Murphy, can you hear me?"

"I copy," the captain replied. "What is it, Kamur?"

"Need you on the ground, sir. You have _got _to see this…"


	289. Operation Cutlass Part 10

_**Moro Anchorage, Veles**_

_**Day 1, 0950**_

"Touchdown," the shuttle pilot reported, as they _crunched _down on the landing pad. Murphy checked his armour one last time, confirmed his thermal shield was working, and then slipped his N7-issue breather helmet over his head, before stepping out of the door.

He had ridden down in the same shuttle Sam had just ridden _up _in, and thus had been delayed as the three dead marines were offloaded and the Admiral notified. By the time he reached the surface of Veles, the clean-up had apparently begun in earnest – at the top of the landing pad, Yui and Dax were poring over row after row of pirate corpses, several dozen in all, and next to them, Lisk was sorting through a heap of weapons, tossing them one by one to Arrete, who gave them a quick scan with his omni-tool and threw them into a second pile. At the corner of the landing pad, Victor Cross was talking to a group of people who _appeared _to be civilians, and was distributing some rations of food that he assumed had been stolen from the pirates' lodgings.

Kamur was waiting at the bottom of the steps up ahead, and threw a salute as the captain approached – he hadn't quite mastered the Alliance salute yet, and his three-fingered turian hands didn't exactly make it easy, but he insisted on trying nonetheless.

"Captain Murphy," he muttered, as the captain reached him.

"Mind telling me what I'm here for, Kamur?" Murphy replied, stretching his shoulders and shivering ever so slightly at the initial drop in temperature.

"Follow me," the turian said, simply, nodding over his shoulder.

The two of them turned, clambered up the steps, and made to turn left, but before they could, a huge form came lumbering over to accost them.

"Kamur!" Dax was calling, as he approached.

"Found something?" Kamur frowned.

"Yeah…" the krogan warrior nodded. "The krogan, the one who was leading these guys? Arrete said his name was Voll, but I didn't realise it was _Jurdon _Voll."

"Doesn't ring any bells," the turian muttered.

"It wouldn't. You're not krogan, and you're not a pirate. But in the right circles, Jurdon Voll is _infamous_."

"How so?"

"Well, Clan Jurdon are one of Urdnot's main enemies back on Tuchanka, and Voll was one of their most accomplished battlemasters. He was at his height about fifty years ago, but he was exiled for murdering three Urdnot representatives in the Hollows."

"The Hollows?" Murphy chipped in, confused.

"Ancestral burial grounds," Dax explained. "I think you'd call it a graveyard. It's a neutral ground for all krogan. Non-violence in the Hollows is one of the few sacred laws we have, and Voll broke it – he fled into exile shortly after, and the Urdnot clan leader put a pretty hefty bounty on his head."

"So we can collect on the bounty?" Kamur murmured.

"Yeah, but that's just the start. After leaving Tuchanka, Voll went to Omega. He stirred up a bloody _gang war _between Aria's people and the Blood Pack, and Aria herself put a hit order on him. Eventually he loses the gang war, runs away again, goes into the Traverse and takes up piracy. After a few years of operation, the salarian STG puts – guess what – _another_ bounty on his head. Best thing is, we can collect all three – Aria wants his body, or rather, his _head_, but Urdnot and the STG just want an ID on the kill. Combined bounty stands at almost three million credits, mostly from Aria."

"She doesn't do things by halves," the captain admitted. "Three million would buy a hell of a lot of equipment… any idea how we can set up the collections?"

"Should be easy enough," Dax mused. "I can get the bounty from Urdnot. Rilum and Arrete can get us a channel to STG. Yui knows Aria on a business level, so I daresay he can make the collection from her."

"Make it happen," Murphy nodded.

The krogan grunted in the affirmative and shuffled off, leaving Murphy and Kamur to continue on towards the opposite landing pad. The pirate ship sat on the corner of the pad, and Murphy noted the model – nothing he recognised, presumably of Terminus manufacture. Stepping up into the cargo hold, he found it to be largely empty. The dozens of cargo crates strapped down on the deck were abandoned, and the three marines were instead clustered around a tall _pod_ in the far corner.

When the two of them finally reached the pod, they stopped, staring up at its contents. Murphy gawped, as Kamur watched his expression with a mixture of pride and told-you-so smugness.

"What… how… is that what I think it is?" Murphy muttered, finally.

"Sure is," the turian replied. "I don't know how the _hell _it came to be here, but… yeah, it is."

The two of them continued to stare upwards, and the captain's brain was working at a mile a minute to try and make something of the situation.

There, suspended in stasis in the centre of the steel tube, was a single, solitary geth.


	290. Operation Cutlass Debrief

_**SSV Logan, Horse Head Nebula**_

_**Day 1, 1200**_

"A _geth?_" Admiral Singh scowled. "A bloody _geth?_"

"I wouldn't have believed it either," Murphy sighed. "But I've seen the damn thing, and there's no mistaking it."

It had been a few hours since the end of the operation on Veles. A twenty-man team from the Logan had arrived to recover the pirates' ship, cargo, bodies and equipment, as well as evacuating the Synthetic Insights crew that had been held captive. Now, Admiral Singh had gathered the Cambrai team in his war room – which was somewhat more spacious than their own, a dimly-lit oval room the size of the Cambrai's CIC – to discuss the mission's outcome. The admiral was at the head of the table, while clustered around it were Murphy and the ground team, save for two – Vimes was in the med bay, and Victor had made his excuses before returning to his bunk. The renegade was still a little edgy around Alliance personnel, Murphy had noticed...

"How did a bunch of pirates get hold of a _geth?_" the admiral persisted, still wearing the same incredulous expression.

"Logical conclusion is that it came from the Synthetic Insights ship," Arrete volunteered. "The pilot confirmed it, too – she said part of their shipment was an important container, heavily shielded, but she says she never knew what the contents were."

"Of course she says that," Singh scoffed, somewhat patronisingly. "She's hardly going to admit to carrying _geth_, is she?"

"Please," the salarian scowled, "I'm not so naïve as to believe her off-hand. But we recovered her omni-tool from the pirates' stash, and she agreed to let us scan her neural lace. The documents on both corroborate her story _and_ each other – her ship was assigned to carry a cargo of fifty experimental implants, one critical-importance package, and six scientists and technicians _accompanying _that package. She asked what it was, and they told her it was classified above her pay grade."

"All right, fair enough. But that still doesn't explain how Synthetic Insights got hold of the damn thing."

"With all due respect, admiral, I've got bigger concerns with this whole situation," Murphy chipped in. "We took an inventory of the pirate freighter's cargo. Thirty top-level Solaris amps, ten extensive gene mod packages, fifty units of Minagen X3, and our geth friend…"

"Minagen X3?" Singh interjected, eyebrows raised.

"Illegal narcotic," Kan explained. "Enhances biotic potency in natural biotics of all species. Fatal in large doses…"

"Amps, gene mods, _dubious _chemicals… apart from the geth, it all sounds like pretty standard fare for cargo ships in and out of Noveria."

"That's what I thought," the quarian persisted. "But I took a few _liberties_ with one Noveria's traffic buoys, hacked into the records of cargo shipments approaching and leaving the planet. No ship in the last _year _carried that combination of cargo. The only logical explanation is that they came from separate raids. That theory makes a lot more sense – Binary Helix deals extensively in gene mods and amp technology, and I certainly wouldn't be surprised if they were experimenting with Minagen, maybe even _producing _it…"

"So all of those items came from separate raids, but they ended up on one ship?"

"Which leads us to thinking," Murphy nodded, "that maybe the ship wasn't _returning _to Veles. Maybe it was _leaving_."

"You think that lot was a _delivery?_" Singh guessed, shrewdly.

"Exactly."

"And that begs the question… who was the delivery for?"

"I can think of a prime suspect," the captain laughed, mirthlessly. "Biotic amps, gene mods and a drug which enhances biotic power? Fits Project Phoenix down to a tee…"

"Cerberus acquires most of its goods through front companies, but front companies aren't quite so useful when you need illegal goods, or technology patented by another corporation," Arrete observed. "Makes sense that Cerberus would resort to using underworld elements."

"So the pirates steal equipment to order from the Noveria corporations, and pass it on to Cerberus?" Admiral Singh concluded.

"I'm afraid it's not quite as simple as that," Murphy sighed. "There a still a lot of unanswered questions, like _why _a pirate group led by an asari and a krogan would help human-centric Cerberus."

"Yeah!" Dax growled, suddenly. "And like how pirates got into a krogan base to begin with!"

Everyone turned to look at the usually calm krogan. He looked distinctly annoyed, as if this was an annoyance that had been building up for some time, and could only now be vented.

"It was bad enough when Binary Helix ransacked the place, but _pirates?_" the krogan continued, indignantly. Everyone around him remained silent, and then, very slowly, Murphy found his gaze drifting upwards, and meeting Arrete's in a meaningful exchange.

Whether he realised it or not, Dax had just given them their best clue.

"Binary Helix…" the salarian murmured. "Binary Helix owns the Moro site."

"And they must have known the pirates were squatting there," Murphy muttered. "If the pirates just stumbled across it by chance, Binary Helix would have sent security forces to drive them out, or ordered their transports to avoid the planet – they certainly wouldn't be sitting back and letting the Corporation lose this many ships. The only logical conclusion is that they invited the pirates in…"

"Not _quite_ the logical conclusion," Arrete mused. "If Binary Helix was supporting Cerberus wholesale, they'd just send the goods directly, like the other front corporations. True, the hijackings might be a deliberate ruse to conceal the connection, but then why would they allow so many of their crew to be killed in the raids, and why wouldn't they just rely on piracy of the _other _Noveria corporations?"

"Just cut to the chase, salarian," Yui rumbled.

"It's far more _likely_," he bristled, "that we're looking at an individual carrying out an inside job. They funnel cargo through to Cerberus for a bit on the side, and the execs are none the wiser."

"Clever bastard, whoever they are," Murphy observed. "Who's in charge of the Moro site?"

"Friedrich Holstein," Kan'Sura answered, instantly – the quarian was poring over the extranet on his omni-tool, and had evidently discovered the name after a quick search. "Human. 'Director of Exobiological Studies', whatever that means."

"Exobiology," Arrete murmured, and Murphy got the distinct impression he was calling on his photographic memory. "The study of the effects of extra-terrestrial environments on organic life. Part of the wider field of astrobiology. STG has a division dedicated to it – in essence they look at alien life, often microscopic, and study how it adapted to harsh environments, often to try and derive gene mods which replicate that adaptation. If I recall correctly, the Moro Anchorage was discovered by a team studying microscopic life that had adapted to Veles' cold climate."

"And Holstein was put in charge of the site after his team uncovered it," Kan nodded. "He was the one who auctioned off the relics found there."

Yui and Dax both growled slightly at that, but the conversation continued nonetheless, as Admiral Singh summed up:

"So Holstein has executive-level access to Binary Helix's systems. He uses it to locate cargo Cerberus wants, such as gene mods, implants and amps, and orders the pirates to hijack the shipments."

"That fits," the quarian murmured. "I found transmissions in the pirates' system that gave quite accurate details of Binary Helix convoys – flight plans, security details, cargo manifests… The comm ID doesn't match the one given for Holstein, but it's probably a proxy – I doubt he'd be _stupid _enough to send the pirates messages from his own address, not least because they'd be able to blackmail him with the data."

"And in exchange, he gives the pirates a safe base from which to prey on shipments from the other corporations," Kamur continued, speaking for the first time. "Compensation."

"Compensation… maybe even a smokescreen," Arrete thought aloud. "If the attacks were directed at Binary Helix, it might be suspicious, but if every corporation lost ships, it'd seem like a regular piracy ring."

"And the geth?" Singh wondered aloud.

"An usually valuable bit of cargo, taken from a random Synthetic Insights convoy," Kan shrugged. "The pirates wouldn't have any use for it, and they probably didn't realise they were working for Cerberus – I doubt they would have co-operated with Holstein otherwise – so they wouldn't have known _quite _how interested their buyer would be in obtaining it… but it doesn't take an idiot to work out how _valuable _an intact geth is, especially to any third party that's buying up top-end technology. They probably figured they could make some extra money by ransoming it off to their 'mysterious client', so they packed it in with the rest of the shipment."

"So what do _we_ do about it?" Kamur asked.

"I say we space it," the admiral muttered, darkly. "Geth are nothing but trouble."

"Admiral, I have to object," the quarian scowled, instantly. "As far as I know, _nobody _has had chance to study an intact geth since the Morning War. In the right hands, it could be invaluable. Besides, it's harmless. Whoever put it in stasis did a _very _thorough job – it's paralysed by a mass effect field, practically frozen _solid _by coolant, and the box is insulated to prevent any data exchange. To all intents and purposes, the geth is locked out of the world until we choose to open the box up."

"You want to _open it up?_" Singh gawped, incredulously.

"I think we'd be fools not to."

There was a moment's hesitation on the admiral's face, before finally, he sighed:

"Fine, but you can do it on the Cambrai. As long as that thing's on _my _ship, it stays locked up and under guard at all times, clear?"

"Crystal, admiral. We won't do _anything _until the Cambrai is rebuilt and away."

"Good."

"What about Holstein?" Murphy interjected, frowning. "We took out his pirates, but I doubt he'll just _give up_."

"Of course he won't…" Singh muttered. "But getting to him isn't going to be easy. He's on Noveria, and that means we have to go through the Executive Board to get to him."

"Will they let us go after him?"

"That really isn't the question you need to ask," the admiral replied, smirking. "The question is, can they _stop _us?"


	291. Downtime 24

**A/N: If I could draw, I'd give you all a Christmas-y image of one of the characters in a santa hat. As it is, you'll have to make do with this.**

**Merry Christmas, everybody...**

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><p><em><strong>SSV Logan, Horse Head Nebula<strong>_

_**Day 1, 1230**_

"They weren't kidding…" Klara murmured. "That… really _is _a geth."

"It's bigger than I imagined," Zel observed. "Are they all that big?"

"Some are bigger. That thing's only about seven feet tall. Primes are around... twelve?"

"Spirits…"

The three engineers – Andersen, Rilum and Klara – were stood, staring up at the frozen geth with no small amount of interest, accompanied by Zel Manado. The turian wasn't here on a curiosity call – she was on guard duty, and had her Viper in her hands even as they chattered. Behind them, six of the Logan's marines were also standing ready, rifles braced.

"Forgive me for my ignorance…" the turian frowned, slowly, "but why _are _we keeping this thing? Geth are hostile, surely the best thing to do is space it?"

"Normally, I'd agree," the quarian sighed. "But nobody has _ever _captured an intact geth before. Imagine what we could learn from it!"

"What _could_ we learn from it? It's hardly going to have a conversation with us, is it?"

"We weren't thinking of _talking _to it," Andersen muttered. "But we could learn any number of things from studying it. The geth are the most advanced piece of _software _in the galaxy – studying them, cracking their code… it could take years off our own A… _V_I research."

"Hundreds of practical applications for geth technology," Rilum added, neatly covering Andersen's slip-up. "Damaged geth parts self-replicate and reassemble. If perfected, would greatly improve capacity of our own mechs to withstand hazardous situations. Multiple applications: military use, industrial work, exploration…"

"And that's just the hardware," the human engineer nodded. "Geth software _adapts _to hacking attempts – they rewrite their own code to kick the hackers out. Reverse-engineer that, and our security algorithms become damn near impenetrable."

"Geth were isolated after Morning War," the salarian continued, trying to explain. "At creation, their technology was on par with today's standards – very little advance in organic-led development since then. But synthetic-led development, machines left to self-improve – geth have advanced exponentially in three centuries of isolation while organic technology remains stagnant. No laws, no _boundaries _for geth advancement, just pseudo-natural selection, self-improvement, search for perfect efficiency…"

"You sound almost _envious_," Manado frowned.

"As a scientist… yes, very," Rilum shrugged. "Advanced technology, lack of stigma, lack of boundaries. Perfect environment for research. As a soldier… not envious at all. Cohesion based on collective similarity, not individual loyalty. No repercussions to death, just create a new platform and download again. No spirit… no soul…"

There was a rather poignant pause, before the turian voiced something else that had been on her mind:

"Why are you so excited about this?" she asked, looking at Klara. "I never got the impression you were particularly _fond _of the geth… tell you the truth, I'm surprised you even want it on the ship."

"It's a hard opportunity to pass up," Klara murmured. "Besides, it has as many tactical opportunities as technological ones. This geth was part of the collective, and the collective has existed since the Morning War, throughout the geth's isolation. Crack open its head, and somewhere inside is the location of every geth battalion, installation and ship beyond the Veil, not to mention information on their weapons, their defensive technology. That kind of information would be invaluable to the Migrant Fleet. We could finally drive the geth off our homeworld…"

"So… impenetrable security, a three-hundred year advance in technology, and victory for the quarians?" Zel summed up.

"Pretty much."

"Sounds too good to be true if you ask me, but I guess this is more your department. All I care about is, is it _safe?_"

"Perfectly," Rilum nodded. "Must admit, rather ingenious work from Synthetic Insights – should study the container as well as the contents. Near-perfect method, containment through physics."

Zel just frowned in confusion, and Klara explained:

"It's a multi-layer system, all designed to increase the force needed for movement - tailor-made for a geth, too, I imagine. Very strong mass effect fields increase the weight of the subject by a factor of almost four hundred – a ten-kilo arm suddenly weighs four _thousand _kilograms, increasing the force needed to _lift _that arm by the same factor. Standard cryogenic cooling reduces the metabolism of organic tissues to almost zero – the geth's synthetic muscle barely functions. Finally, the casing contains lead and other materials – electromagnetic radiation in and out of the box is completely absorbed. True, that means we can't scan it while it's in there, but it also means the geth can't communicate with outside forces, or try to take control of the ship's systems. Until we open up the case, that thing is completely isolated from the outside world."

"Fine by me," Manado muttered. "Just make sure somebody's got a gun handy when you let it loose."


	292. Downtime 25

_**SSV Logan, Horse Head Nebula**_

_**Day 2, 1030**_

It was the morning after the Veles raid, and Murphy had gathered a rather motley assortment of his crew to the dreadnought's war room. As he stood at the head of the table, overseen by the stoic Admiral Singh, he took a quick headcount to make sure everyone was assembled: Andersen, Kan and Vimes were at one corner, and next to them was Arrete; Vanyali and Manado were talking at the other far corner; a solitary Tyco was leaning against the doorway; the two drell, Raziel and Ekris, were on the right; and finally, closest to him, was Aeryn T'Rel.

"Alright!" he shouted, silencing the chit-chat. "Time to listen, everybody…"

"This a briefing, chief?" Tyco called back.

"In a manner of speaking… As some of you already know, we have identified a Binary Helix executive as a Cerberus double agent. His name is Friedrich Holstein… and we're going to take him down."

That livened up the room a little. An excited chatter broke out amongst the crew, who sat a little taller and muttered to each other. Tyco straightened up, advancing from the doorway with an expression of interest.

"We're going down to Noveria?" the sniper frowned. "How?"

"One of two ways," Murphy replied, glancing at Singh for a moment – the admiral gave him an imperceptible nod of approval, and he continued: "Either they let us in, or we _force _our way in. The lot of you are going to fly down in two shuttles, with all the weapons and gear you'll need to run a prolonged operation in Port Hanshan. Aeryn is going to go ashore first, acting as our emissary."

"I am?" the asari murmured. "Why?"

"You're an asari commando of some fame, and you _made _that fame as a negotiator. The Executive Board are far more likely to listen to you than an Alliance officer. Say whatever the hell you have to, just get them to agree to let our troops into the port, and provide them with a safehouse."

"Aye aye," she nodded, biting her lip rather nervously.

"Once you're ashore, this thing works like a self-contained operation. Andersen and Kan run intelligence, Sam puts his C-Sec experience to use in command, and the rest of you form two hit teams – Raziel, Ekris and Vanyali for close-range infiltration; Tyco, Zel and Arrete for sniping duties."

"If this is a self-contained operation," Arrete piped up, from the far end of the table, "I assume the Cambrai's going to be absent?"

"Very astute," Murphy smiled. "The Cambrai's going on a shakedown run tomorrow, to test the repairs. After that, we're headed out of the system – according to the pirates' files, they've got a third ship returning from a supply run in the Eagle Nebula, so we're going hunting. If it all goes to hell down there, you can still contact the Logan, but to all intents and purposes you're running yourselves down there."

"Understood."

There was a pause, and Murphy got the impression _something _was on the tip of everyone's tongues. Finally, Tyco voiced their collective concern:

"What do we do if Aeryn can't talk the Executive Board round?"

"We fake a retreat. Hit squads cloak, spread out into the streets, and go after the target the old-fashioned way. The rest of the team flies the shuttles back to the Logan. With any luck, though, it won't come to that…"

Tyco nodded pensively, the doubt on his face seeming to reflect the mood of the entire group, as Murphy continued:

"In terms of equipment, you'll need your weapons, armour, and enough ammunition to last several operations – I'd recommend a dozen clips each, depending on how _thirsty _your weapons are. We'll also be transferring half a dozen crates of rations, and equipment for the stakeout – computers, servers, etcetera… Anything else you need, you can probably pick up on the Port Hanshan markets. Shuttles are boarding at oh-nine-hundred tomorrow morning. Dismissed."

The crew got to their feet and turned to leave, filtering out one by one with expressions ranging from excitement to trepidation. As they did, Murphy stepped back from the war room table, sweeping a hand through his brow and sighing.

"You really think your men can pull this off?" Admiral Singh frowned, stepping up to his side. "There are a lot of unknowns…"

"What's the alternative?" Murphy shrugged. "Send in the marines? Take on a whole _planet _to assassinate one man? Not exactly subtle."

"I never _claimed_ to be subtle," the admiral laughed, darkly. "But I notice you didn't answer. Do you think they can do it?"

Murphy paused.

"If anyone in the galaxy can pull a thing like this off, it's them," he replied, finally.

"My my… That sounded a little boastful, captain."

"Not a boast, admiral. Just… observation."


	293. Noveria Part 1

**A/N: Since 292 was *technically* a briefing, here's another update.**

**PS. Remember to keep the questions coming in, I'll start putting up Q&A answers on Friday.**

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><p><em><strong>Port Hanshan, Noveria<strong>_

_**Day 1, 0920**_

"Shuttle one, what's your ETA?" Admiral Singh's voice called, over the radio.

"Thirty seconds," Aeryn replied. "According to the pilot, there's a welcome committee waiting for us on the dockside…"

"Security's pretty jumpy on Noveria," the admiral admitted. "And I'll bet they're just as concerned with stopping the corporations attacking _you _as with the other way round. At any rate, I already cleared your landing with the Port Hanshan administrator – if they get uppity, tell them to run it by him."

"Will do, admiral."

"And, err… asari?"

"Yes, sir?"

"Don't breathe a word of this to Murphy, but if things do kick off down there, Captain Black's got a marine team ready to drop inside of thirty seconds. Sign is Papa November."

"I… understood. Any tips on the Executive Board, once I'm in?"

"Hmm, what to say about the Executive Board? Treat them like a bunch of corporate bastards, and you're half way to success – if all else fails, give them a business angle to help you, and don't be afraid to toss a few threats around. That's just how business is done on Noveria – offer one hand, arm the other."

"Noted - thank you, admiral. We'll be in touch."

Singh nodded, and then the comms screen faded to black, leaving Aeryn and her companions alone with the rumble of the shuttle's engines. She was sharing the passenger compartment with three crates of food rations, a large server bank, and four of her crewmates – Zel Manado, Andersen, and the two drell.

"Touching down," the shuttle pilot called – with a dull _whoosh_, the shuttle swept down to hover over the landing pad, then hit the ground with a little _crunch_ of metal. The doors swung open, she hopped out of the craft-

And found three rifles pointed at her chest. Just as the pilot had said, a welcoming committee consisting of three security officers was waiting on the dockside – a human in the middle, flanked by an asari and a turian, all three carrying Avengers.

Aeryn's hands drifted upwards with half a mind to placate them, but her squadmates were nowhere near as _diplomatic. _Before she could blink, Andersen and Manado were flanking her: the engineer put one protective hand on her shoulder, while levelling a Predator pistol at the security team with the other; Manado, to her left, was kneeling down, sniper rifle trained on the human in the centre. Judging by the rumble of biotics from the shuttle, Raziel and Ekris were readying their powers...

"Drop your weapons," the human murmured – she was rather short, with a black ponytail and a tense expression on her lined face. "Maeko Matsuo, Chief of Security."

"I don't give a damn who you are," Andersen growled, with a confidence and ferocity that only seemed to have developed in the last few weeks. "We're not dropping our guns for corporates."

"Corporates?" Matsuo replied, frowning, as curiosity took the upper hand for a moment.

"Elanus Risk Control – that's what your badge says. You're on someone's payroll, and that means you're on their agenda too. No better than bloody mercenaries."

"Just drop your weapons," she sighed. "I don't make the rules…"

"My point exactly."

There was a moment of silence, before she edged closer, shifting her aim to Andersen, and repeated:

"Drop your weapons. I'm not afraid of you, now drop them, or I _will _open fire."

"That won't be necessary, Maeko…"

A new voice rang out over the docks, and almost instantly, the human woman relented. She slipped her rifle into a surprisingly practised 'present arms' position – was she ex-military? – and waved at her men to do the same. They stood aside, and the new figure came into view.

He was a turian, tall and rather imposing, but in civilian clothes, not armour. As he advanced, he had his arms clasped behind his back, and paced rather ponderously up to the now-defused shootout.

"Administrator?" Aeryn called out, on a hunch.

"Lorik Qui'in," the turian smiled, before nodding to Aeryn's armed companions, and adding: "Err, Miss T'Rel?"

"Weapons down," she murmured, obligingly. To her left, Zel stood back up, slipping her rifle onto her back, and to the right, Andersen rather reluctantly let his pistol fall to his side.

"Much appreciated. Admiral Singh told me to expect you, but I never thought you'd make such a _dramatic _entrance. Shall we get this thing done?"

"Gladly."

"Follow me, then."

The turian turned and swept off along the dockside, hands still behind his back, his bearing placid, but a little… tense. Aeryn quickly turned to her companions, and muttered:

"Get back in the shuttle, wait for news. _Try _not to piss off security any more, okay? And call Admiral Singh. Tell him Papa November won't be necessary."

They nodded, and jumped back into the shuttle, as Aeryn went to follow Qui'in. She slipped her pistol from her waist, handed it to a pleasantly surprised Chief Matsuo, and dashed off up the promenade.

She caught up with Qui'in at the top of the docks, as they approached what _appeared _to be another security checkpoint. Matsuo had presumably advanced from it, leaving a lone turian to man the desk, and for a moment, he looked like he was about to speak – at a knowing nod from the administrator, however, he relented, and merely sat back. A scanner ran them up and down as they stepped through the doorway, but apart from that, they walked unchallenged into Port Hanshan.

Aeryn's first impression was that Port Hanshan looked very _cold_. Not in temperature – although the air _was _chilly, as befitting the blizzard-wracked mountains outside – but in spirit: it was a cavernous construction of glass and grey steel, and unlike the sprawling Citadel, there was no character to the towering heights, no buzz of life. A few plants had been dotted around the open plaza in the centre, but that seemed to be an almost _sarcastic _effort.

"I've set up a link to the Executive Board from my office," Qui'in informed her, as they descended a set of stairs. "But they weren't too… _excited _about the prospect of this meeting?"

"Neither am I…" Aeryn laughed, darkly. "I'm surprised the admiral even got _you _to co-operate."

"We've had… dealings in the past," the turian shrugged. "Not usually so cordial as this. He makes a request for dockings right every so often. I decline. He argues. But if he's willing to try diplomacy, that's fine by me. And, for what it's worth, I'm sorry about that little debacle at the docks. Maeko does an excellent job, and people with her honesty are a rare breed on this planet, but she does take things _seriously _sometimes..."

"I understand," the asari murmured. "These are paranoid times."

"It's not the times, girl – Maeko's _always _been like that. You know she once did the exact same thing to Commander Shepard?"


	294. Noveria Part 2

_**Port Hanshan, Noveria**_

_**Day 1, 0930**_

"The Executive Board is waiting inside my office," Lorik said, as the two of them drew up to the glass doors that Aeryn _presumed _led to the administrator's office. "Shall we?"

"One thing, first," Aeryn murmured. "What can you tell me about the board?"

"Any number of things… you'll have to be a little more specific."

"Okay… who are they? What's their agenda?"

"Their agenda is to protect the interests of Noveria's investors," the turian muttered. "Financially or otherwise… as for who they are, the _current _board represents the five largest of those investors: Elanus Risk Control, Binary Helix, Synthetic Insights, Guanghui Solutions, and Kore – formerly Sonax Industries, if you remember. You've got two humans, one asari, a turian and a salarian."

"Which one represents Binary Helix?" she asked, shrewdly – it was Helix they were going after, really…

"The asari. Sharp-tongued matron by the name of Tallis. She's also the unofficial chair of the board – Binary Helix is the dominant power on Noveria, if you ask me, although Elanus comes up a close second."

"How come? I thought having _Saren _as an investor would tarnish their reputation pretty well…"

"True, and their share prices _plummeted _after the Peak 15 incident. But they've had two years to rebuild in a rich sector of the economy, while the other big companies are hitting their own problems. Guanghui and Kore are damaged goods after that horrible business on Garvug, and that was _much _more recent, so they haven't quite bounced back yet. Elanus are doing pretty well for themselves – they run the entire planet's security, for spirits' sake – but they're in smaller industries than the rest. Security doesn't turn a good profit unless you run the wrong side of the law, like Eclipse, and the arms industry's gone state-backed now the war's on – turians buy from Armax, humans from Hahne-Kedar, and so on. Elanus are doing well in a poor industry, but that just won't cut it against the big tech companies."

"What about Synthetic Insights?" Aeryn piped up, more out of curiosity than a need to know. "They're a tech company, they've got exclusive rights to their field of research, they haven't suffered any _scandals, _as far as I know…"

"No scandals," Qui'in admitted, "but a hell of a lot of investor panic. Need I remind you it was geth, _AI_, which attacked the Citadel two years ago? After that, making AI of our own didn't seem like such a good idea anymore, so SI took the biggest fall of anyone."

She nodded, understandingly, and there was a slight pause.

"Speaking of Synthetic Insights…" he continued, suddenly. "I was the director of their Noveria branch before I became administrator. Word on the grapevine is, one of our crews just got rescued from pirates by a bunch of commandoes. If that was your team's work… give them my thanks."

"I… of course."

With that, they lapsed into silence – Lorik opened the door, and Aeryn swept through it, aware of the turian sticking to her heel as she wound her way towards the back of the room, and another door. Stepping through that one too, she found herself in a much smaller room, a square office with a desk in the centre. Five holograms were stood atop the desk, and as Aeryn took her place in front of them, Lorik drifting off to the right, she suddenly felt rather scrutinised…

"I had assumed we'd be meeting in person," the asari murmured, quietly.

"And we had assumed you'd be human," one of the board members retorted. "Why didn't the Alliance send one of their own?"

"They did," she scowled. "Aeryn T'Rel, N7 Special Operations."

"Well, _that's_ a new one…" the salarian board member chuckled.

"It doesn't matter," snapped the member in the centre – an asari, presumably 'Tallis'. "What did the Alliance need to speak to us about so _urgently?_"

"Two things," Aeryn replied, eyes narrowing as she stared at the asari executive. "Firstly, we took care of your pirate problem for you. They've been wiped out."

"I _highly _doubt that…"

"Oh yeah? Well, there are thirty pirate corpses laid out in _your _base on Veles" – that sent a buzz of chatter through the other directors, and caused Tallis to glare angrily at her – "and we uncovered their main backer, here on Noveria. We need the board's permission to set up here and wipe out what's left of the operation."

Silence fell over the room as the request hung in the air. Aeryn's brain was going into overdrive, working out every possible avenue of persuasion and argument, as-

"No."

The flat refusal knocked her for six. She had been expecting disbelief, dismay, disagreement, but not an out-of-hand rejection. In hindsight, it was probably _exactly _what she should have been expecting, especially as the refusal came from Tallis, who was still glaring at her as if personally offended.

"Is that what your colleagues think, too?" Aeryn murmured, appealing to the other board members to buy time. The two humans looked apathetic, but the salarian and the turian were looking at Tallis with a hint of reproach.

"It's what _Noveria _thinks," Tallis scowled. "The Executive Board exists to defend the interests of our investors, to keep the Alliance and the Council _out _of our business. Why would we ever sanction an occupation?"

"An occupation? We're talking about inserting a team for a _week _to bring down a piracy ring."

"They amount to the same thing. If the Alliance is allowed to get its claws in, it'll never leave Noveria."

"Now hang on," the turian board member interjected. "Shouldn't we at least listen to her proposal?"

"That _was _her proposal," Tallis pointed out. "Alliance forces here on Noveria. You think they'd listen to your men, a corporate security force? Of course they wouldn't, and that sets a precedent – how long before _no-one _listens to your forces anymore, and the Alliance is in control?"

The turian was the Elanus Risk Control rep, then…

"And you think having pirates running around down here is any better for business?" he retorted – in a manner that seemed typical of turians, he appeared to be arguing with his colleague purely for the sake of _winning _that argument, regardless of the fact that it was dividing the board. The humans and the salarian were watching on nervously as the two of them stared each other down…

"So, because she _claims _there are pirates down here – without evidence, I might add – you want to go running scared to the Alliance? If there _are _pirates, it's an internal matter. We'll deal with them ourselves."

"And what about the Reapers?" Aeryn piped up. "Are they an _internal matter? _How are you going to fight them off without the Alliance's help?"

"We haven't needed their help so far, and their presence just makes us a target," Tallis snapped.

"Firstly, half an Alliance fleet already _died _in this system to keep the Reapers off your doorstep. Without that help you haven't _needed_ so far, you'd be dust right now. And isolation won't do you any favours when you're the last ones standing."

There was a pause, and Aeryn felt the weight of an entire room staring between her and Tallis. Finally, and with no small amount of reluctance, she put her faith in one last throw of the dice:

"I can see you're not going to change your mind," she sighed, shaking her head and turning on her heel. "It's a shame you forced our hand."

With that, she began to stride off towards the door. _Alea iacta est, _an archaic, unhelpful part of her brain quoted, from a human history book. The die has been cast. She only made it three steps to the door before, inevitably:

"Wait."

She walked on a couple more steps, for effect, and then swivelled in the frame of the now-opening office door. It was the turian who had called out, and all five board members – not to mention Qui'in, on the sidelines – were staring expectantly towards her, as she readied her last verbal weapon.

"What do you mean… forced your hand?" he continued.

"You all know the value of this system," Aeryn murmured – quietly, but using that particularly honed talent of making every person in the room hang on your words, despite their lack of volume. "It's critical to trade and critical to war. That relay on your doorstep provides access to Sur'Kesh" – she looked at the salarian – "to Terra Nova, Eden Prime" – the two humans – "and..." – her gaze fell back to Tallis, and she met the matron's cold stare with an equally firm glare – "to the Citadel. The Alliance will _not _allow the Reapers to take this system. All that remains to be seen is whether Noveria stands with us and takes our help, or stands alone."

"Are you _threatening_ us?" Tallis hissed.

"Just stating the facts. We have proof" – she lied – "that Friedrich Holstein, of Binary Helix, is a Cerberus agent, and was co-ordinating the pirate raids on all of your _investors_. Now, two possibilities exist. Either Holstein is a rogue agent, acting alone, and Noveria is _eager _to assist our operation, or his actions are representative of the views and aims of Binary Helix, of the Noveria Development Corporation, and of this Executive Board. In the latter case, it is clear that Cerberus has Noveria under its sway… and the Reapers' allies cannot be allowed to establish a foothold, here of all places."

"And just what would the Alliance _do _about it, if this second case were true?" the other asari replied, mockingly. "Would they violate our independence, come storming into our system?"

"Oh, come on now. We both know they're already here – they sent me. And you know Nitesh Singh's reputation – if necessary, he is _quite _prepared to bomb Cerberus out."

"You'd kill civilians."

"No, the collateral damage would be on _your _head. After all, you did force our hand."

"Of course…"

There was a pause for a moment, before finally:

"Fine."

In Aeryn's mind, the die had just come up a six.

"I'm forwarding Holstein's file to the administrator's office," she said, in a reluctant, icy monotone. "Like you said, Miss T'Rel, you're in for a week. Seven days to bring down Holstein, and then you get the _hell _off our planet."

"Gladly," Aeryn glared back.

"Qui'in, you can sort out the details," Tallis muttered, dismissively. Then, with an electronic shimmer, her hologram faded from view. One of the humans followed suit, and then the other, who gave a perfunctory nod before he disappeared.

"Administrator," the salarian executive murmured. There was an expression of familiarity between them – was he Qui'in's successor at Synthetic Insights? The turian nodded back, and then the salarian's hologram fractured and dissipated.

"Administrator Qui'in," the Elanus director nodded, "Miss T'Rel."

Finally, he too shimmered and faded, turning away from the holo-projector as he did. Aeryn was left in silence with the administrator.

"Well, I can't say I appreciate you threatening to blow up my home," Qui'in laughed, wryly, "but you're got some fire in you, Miss T'Rel. First time I've ever seen that bitch put in her place."


	295. Noveria Part 3

**A/N: Two things. Firstly, I'm starting the Q&A in this chapter (see below). Secondly, as the more observant/awake will have noticed, this is a double update. This is mostly for timing reasons - with any luck, there'll be another double update (including Chapter 300) on New Year's Eve. It seemed appropriate.**

**Now, as promised, the first round of Q&A. Thanks to everyone who submitted questions, and to the rest of you, please keep them coming, there's still time for them to be included. For today, I'm going to start with a few questions about the long-term 'plan' (although it's news to me that there actually *is* a plan):**

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><p><em><strong>Q: "Since Galaxy at War is happening parallel to Shepard's story, what lore choices have you made in relation to this story? Was the Genophage cured, was peace achieved on Rannoch, who died on the suicide mission from ME2, etcetera?" -darren*<strong>_

**A: I think I recently described it to someone as a pretty much perfect Paragon run-through. I tried to keep Shepard as non-descript as possible, to fit everyone's experience, but in terms of the crew etc., a Paragon is necessary to make the plot *work*. If Shepard went Renegade (in ME3, at least), we either wouldn't have krogan (because the cure was sabotaged to win salarian support) or we'd have Wreav-led krogan, so none of them would be freed up for inter-species ops. We also wouldn't have geth in future, because Shepard would have sided with the quarians and killed them all (SPOILER: When Rannoch actually occurs in Galaxy at War, it will be the "truce" ending), and we wouldn't have batarians (because Shepard would have killed Balak). In my mind, I also kept all of Shepard's companions alive, because it's just easier - it opens up new avenues for references to the main story, and so on (examples: we've had references to Thane from Mac'Tir and Ekris, we've had a rather confused reference to Mordin from Tyco, and we've had multiple references to Wrex from the krogan and others). Likewise, preserving the Council was just a personal choice, because that scene where the Alliance swoops in and saves the Ascension is one of the most epic in the entire franchise, if you ask me. Also, the Collector base went kaboom, because... well, seriously, who _did _keep it?**

***Sorry for the shortened name, darren, but for some reason FanFiction doesn't want to let me write the second part of your username. You know who you are, anyway...**

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><p><strong><em>Q: "Did you intend for the story to go on as long as it has? If not, how long did you originally intend it to go on, and how long do you expectwant the story to last?" -IFR_**

**A: No, I didn't. None of my previous fics had this amount of success, most of them barely got a single reviews At most, I thought Galaxy at War would go on for a month or two before I ran out of steam because no-one was reading it. But, here we are about nine months later and going strong... If I could, I'd keep the story going indefinitely, a running project. But reality, as ever, makes that unlikely. I'm going off to university next year, and I predict my free time for stuff like this is going to get a LOT scarcer. So, ideally, this'll last until next Autumn (or Fall, if you're American). For the foreseeable future, though, the story's going to continue, and if next Autumn IS the end, that means we should at least get near to, if not break, 500 chapters. That'd be nice...**

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><p><strong><em>Q: "When you get to the end of the war, will you use a poll to determine the ending, or do you already know what you're going to do?" -Sailoramber<em>**

**A: I know exactly what I'm doing for the ending. Most of you already know that this ends at Earth, but that's all I'm saying, and I'm afraid the audience won't get a say in what happens there. Not for the finale - I want to wrap this thing up myself.**

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><p><em><strong>Port Hanshan, Noveria<strong>_

_**Day 1, 1130**_

"Easy, easy…"

_Crunch_.

"Oh, for _God's_ sake!"

Andersen was fuming, Arrete was looking apologetic, and the server they had been carrying had just hit the floor, producing a sizeable dent in the bottom corner.

"Why do you even need these things?" Vanyali frowned, from her perch on top of the other server bank, the one they had dragged in earlier. "This is Noveria, not the middle of the wilderness – they've got extranet coverage, y'know…"

"Of course they've got the extranet," Andersen snapped. "I'm not stupid… the problem is that the extranet has piss-poor security protocols. I'll bet good money that anything we do on the extranet goes straight to the Executive Board."

"Paranoid."

"_Cautious_. The point is, we're going to use these servers to set up a private network. The Executive Board won't be able to look over our shoulders – or lock us out, for that matter."

"Very ingenious…"

"Thank you."

"I mean, don't get me wrong, it's still _crazy_…"

"Ingenious but crazy? I can live with that."

They had arrived at the safehouse – a rather large, tenant-less apartment on the west side of Port Hanshan, courtesy of Lorik Qui'in – an hour ago, and had spent most of the time since carrying their equipment in from the shuttles, attracting a fair few suspicious looks as they did. A military team – two of whom were in Alliance uniform, and a third of whom was in turian uniform – _wasn't _something the people of Port Hanshan expected to see in the morning.

"How's the supply situation looking?" Vanyali called out, swivelling around to face Tyco and Kan'Sura, who were poring over three smaller crates on the far side of the room.

"Got a few rations," Tyco muttered. "Nothing too special, just nutrient packs… oh, and we've got enough ammo to take on a small army."

"To take out one man? Feels a little like overkill," she pointed out.

"Better safe than sorry."

The big bounty hunter went back to sorting through the crates, and Vanyali frowned to herself – Tyco had been of sorts recently, and had barely spoken to her in the last few days. It was… frustrating, given everything else that was going to shit at the moment – she had buried thoughts of Nick, but he in turn had got her thinking, reflecting on all the friends she had lost…

At that moment, the door to the apartment opened with a _swish_, and two returning figures stepped through it – Aeryn T'Rel, closely followed by Sam Vimes. Sam had gone to meet Aeryn and the administrator when the team disembarked, and they were only just returning.

"Alright, everybody gather round!" Vimes called, as he strode into the centre of the room. "We're officially a-go on this operation – one week, one target."

"Gives me two hours and a bullet," Tyco muttered, wryly. "Doesn't take a _week _to kill a man."

"It's not that simple," the C-Sec officer retorted. "Noveria has pretty lax controls, especially when you're an executive. As such, nobody seems to be _quite _sure where Holstein is…"

"Bollocks," Vanyali piped up. "They're probably covering for him."

"That's… a possibility," Aeryn T'Rel nodded, from Sam's side, "but this isn't Binary Helix we're talking about – ERCS and the administrator haven't found him yet either, and they've got nothing to gain from protecting him…"

"Either way," Sam persisted, "we might be waiting a while before we have a target to hit, and we're going to have to do a little digging of our own. Andersen, have you got everything you need?"

"Not quite. Servers won't take long to set up, but we'll need access to Noveria's internal network."

"Why?"

"Well… you know… if the Executive Board's going to be keeping an eye on _us_, we might as well return the favour."

"Hacking their communications?" Ekris muttered. "High risk…"

"Big prize, though."

"True…"

"This 'access' you need…?" Sam said, drawing the conversation back to the matter at hand.

"Direct spike into a comms node, if possible," Andersen replied.

"That's going to be tricky."

"I know. We'll do a quick recon now, I'll prepare some spikes, and we'll tag one of the nodes tomorrow morning. Early, so there aren't too many spectators around…"

"Get to work, then. The rest of you, I recommend you take a few hours to make of the most of this before we get down to business. Personally, I've heard there's a very good bar up on the mezzanine…"

"What about merchants?" Mac'Tir asked, from the back of the room.

"Qui'in gave me the name of a hanar merchant, name of Opold, operating out of a shop just near the docks entrance. He can get hold of goods that aren't… _widely _available on the Noveria markets."

"Noted."

"Back here by six this evening," Vimes called, as he made for the door himself. "We all need some rest for tomorrow."

"Remind me to get some bedrolls," Aeryn murmured to him, as they turned to leave. "Somehow, I doubt there are enough beds in this apartment for everyone."

Over the next minute or so, everyone filtered out of the door on their various errands, until only Vanyali and Tyco were left, and an awkward silence filled the room.

"I'm surprised," she called out, finally.

"What?" he frowned.

"You, passing up a chance to go drinking," Vanyali chuckled.

"Oh. Right."

There was a pause.

"Are you alright?"

"Yeah, fine."

"Really?" she scowled. "Because you've barely _looked _at me in the last week, let alone spoken to me…"

"You seemed upset," he shrugged. "Figured I'd best keep my distance."

"Or, you know, you could have tried _helping _me…"

"Hard to help when you don't empathise," Tyco grunted.

"What do you mean?" Vanyali replied, eyes narrowing.

"He was Cerberus. I ain't shedding a tear over him…"

There was a pause. They both knew who _he _was.

"He came good in the end. That's all that matters."

"Is it? What about the fact that he helped Creed? That he helped _blow up _the Cambrai? Helped _kill _Logan? Does none of that matter?"

"Cerberus _made_ him do those things, he wasn't in control."

"Bollocks. He's got no control for all those years, but when we capture him and put his back to the wall, _suddenly _he snaps out of it? If you take those rose-tinted glasses off, you might see that he was just a treacherous little rat who got _caught_."

"He was one of the best soldiers I've ever served with," Vanyali glared. "Pardon _me_ for having a little faith in a friend."

"Just a friend?" he scoffed. "Come off it…"

Another pause.

"Is that what this is about?" she scowled. "Are you _jealous?_"

"Jealous? Of him? Ha! Why the hell would I be jealous of him? My head's not full of Reaper crap, and I'm not six feet under!"

"What a shame!" Vanyali shrieked, suddenly far more angry than she had been in weeks.

Tyco swept over to the door, angrily _punching _the console as he did – he hesitated for a moment on the threshold, and growled:

"Who you screw ain't none of my business. You and me? Just rutting. You said so yourself..."

He marched out of the door, and it closed behind him with a subtle _hiss_. The moment he was gone, Vanyali bit her lip, hunching up on top of the crate as her brain angrily told her eyes not to _dare _to cry. It was a rather futile effort. One thing in particular was echoing throughout her mind as she sat in silence:

"_Just rutting. You said so yourself…"_

"I guess I did…" she murmured.


	296. Noveria Part 4

**A/N: Right. More Q&A, as promised, and today I've tried to go for some game-related questions focused on ME3 - classes, squadmates, and DLC.**

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><p><strong><em>Q: "So, favourite class?" -InsidiousAgent<em>  
><strong>

**A: I have a soft spot for Infiltrators. My very first Shepard (in ME2, weirdly enough, not ME - I played the sequel first, then picked up the original) was a Renegade Infiltrator, and the sniper's been my go-to ever since. How can you *not* love slo-mo sniping anything that comes within fifty feet of you? My favourite multiplayer class (although admittedly, I haven't unlocked too many) is also an Infiltrator, as it happens - the N7 Shadow. Tactics go out the window when you have a sword, but it's just so much fun...**

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><p><em><strong>Q: "Do you plan on bringing in any of the content from the DLC's of all three games into play? (Bring down the Sky, Overlord, Lair of the Shadow Broker, Leviathan, Omega, etc.)" -Blue-Jaye Fevre<strong>_

**A: We've had a few references to the DLCs, hidden with varying degrees of subtlety. Bring Down the Sky was covered quite extensively as part of Klara's backstory, and might be revisited again in future, but only in discussion. As for the other DLCs, all I'll say is this - in the back of my mind, where all the half-conceived missions live, Lair of the Shadow Broker and Leviathan are both lurking with their own operations. If you want more detail than that, though, you'll just have to wait and see.**

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><p><em><strong>Q: "If you could have any three characters from the story as party members in ME3, which would you pick?" -IFR<strong>_

**A: Hmm... depends on the aim - party banter, or combat. For party banter, witty comments on the world at large, I'd go with Lynus Rilum (for general conversation and Genophage discussions), Kan'Sura (for oh-so awkward dealings with the flotilla, and his particular line of black humour) and Hei Yui (FOR TUCHANKA!). If, on the other hand, I was going for absolute destruction, I'd pick Kamur for combat, Thorne for biotics, and Andersen for tech.**

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><p><em><strong>Port Hanshan, Noveria<strong>_

_**Day 1, 1210**_

"You're an idiot, you know that?"

"I know…"

"She's _grieving_, so you think the smart thing to do is rip the shit out of her former lover, who also happens to be _the guy she's mourning?_"

"Finished?"

"No. You're a fool, a buffoon, a _bloody _moron, and if I think of any more synonyms, I'll let you know."

"Great. Drink?"

"Priorities, huh? Fine… couple more whiskies!" Sam called, to the turian barman.

The barman nodded, reached beneath the bar, and a moment later produced two glasses, brimming them with golden-brown nectar before sliding them along the bar towards the two humans. Sam swilled his glass for a moment, then tipped it back – Tyco, for his part, had shotted it before Vimes even had his own glass to his lips, earning a disapproving scowl from the turian behind the bar, who clearly subscribed to the 'savouring' doctrine of whiskey…

Vimes' glass was half empty when a high-pitched _beep beep_ rang out from his wrist – his omni-tool began to glow vividly, and he drew up the comms panel to see two figures staring back at him, one human, one quarian.

"Andersen," he nodded. "Kan."

"Is that _whiskey?_" Andersen frowned, peering into the background of the shot. "What happened to 'we all need some rest'?"

"I'll have you know that a couple of whiskeys makes you sleep like a baby," Sam retorted.

"Granted, but I'd hate to see you shoot with a hangover."

"Huh, yeah… never again…"

"Never a-? Actually, I don't want to know."

"How's the recon going?" Vimes muttered, changing the subject. "Found a target to hit?"

"Several," the engineer replied. "We settled on a node near the Guanghui Solutions building. Tucked away in a back alley in the business district… it'll be abandoned in the early hours."

"Were you spotted on the way there?"

"In the marketplace, sure, but we used tactical cloaks to check out the actual nodes. Cameras might have caught us cloaking, but nobody saw us surveying the target."

"Good, good… tell you the truth, though, I'm a bit worried about this 'spiking' plan. What if someone sees the spike?"

"Sam… you do realise it's not an _actual _spike, don't you?"

"I… did not."

Silence, and a disbelieving stare from the engineer.

"Give me a break…" the C-Sec officer scowled. "I was in Investigation, not Network."

"Fair enough… Point is, a 'spike' is a computer program. I download it right into the network node, and it passes information back to our servers in the safehouse."

"Wait, if it's a downloaded program, won't their firewalls detect it?" Sam frowned, partly out of concern and partly to prove that he did know _something _about tech. "Surely they'd spot a new bit of code in their systems?"

"Depends how good the code is," Andersen shrugged, and Vimes knew that he was suppressing the urge to add: _'and I'm pretty good'_. "Just in case they _do _pick it up, I'm going to tag the spike with a corporate ID, shift the blame."

"What corporation?"

"Poseidon Technologies," he grinned.

"Nice touch."

"Thought you might appreciate that. Anyway, we're on our way back now, should be at the safehouse in five."

"Got it. Vanyali's still in there" – he hesitated, glanced at Tyco, and then looked meaningfully back to Andersen – "so tread carefully…"

"Will do," the engineer nodded, and with that, the channel closed, a subtle _blip _chiming out as he disconnected.

"Sounds like they've been busy," Tyco muttered.

"Yeah... I-"

_Beep beep_.

"The hell…?"

His omni-tool had gone off _again_, this time with a message rather than a call. He opened it up, checked the sender, and smiled to himself ever-so-slightly.

"What is it?" his friend asked.

"Nothing," he lied. "Just a message."

"Bull," Tyco chuckled – before Vimes could stop him, he leant over and checked the C-Sec officer's omni-tool, before frowning: "Who the heck's Eilyd?"

"None of your business," Sam retorted.

"Wait… is she the pilot you saved?"

"Maybe."

"Oh, come on!"

"What?"

"Damsel in distress play, that's the best you could manage? _Desperation _move, Sam…"

"You are _so _full of crap sometimes."

"I'm not saying it's not _effective_," the bounty hunter continued, "all I'm saying is, if the _only _way you can get a girl is by saving her life, then clearly you ain't much else going for you."

"You're one to talk. You've got a girl completely smitten with you, and you _still _can't seal the deal."

"She's not _smitten_," Tyco muttered, weakly. "It's just…"

"Physical? Yeah, the rest of us are way past believing that. Fact is, you got jealous, and she got mad. That wouldn't have happened if you didn't like each other, but you're both too bloody stubborn to do anything about it!"

"So what am I meant to do? Just walk up and tell her I love her or something?"

"Yes! For God's sake, man, _do that! _While you still can…"

"While I still can?" he frowned.

"Look," Sam sighed. "The way I see it, none of us have got long. You, me, Vanyali, Murphy… we'll all be lucky to live out the year. So you might as well get the girl before one of you bites the dust."

"Oh, yeah, because it's _that _easy."

"It is for you, you dolt. You know how long most of us spend chasin' the girl? Well yours likes you back, and you're sat here, not doing a bloody thing about it."

"It's not that _simple!_" Tyco protested, for what felt like the hundredth time.

They lapsed into silence, until, finally:

"Tyco, don't take this the wrong way, but this _needs _doing, and the others are all too polite to do it."

"Huh?"

_Wham! _Sam swivelled around in his seat and dealt Tyco a vicious right hook. His fist broke right across the big bounty hunter's nose, and the big man toppled backwards off his stool. He hit the ground with a _thud, _and lay still, much to the barman's dismay.

"Imbecile," Vimes muttered, hopping down from his own stool and heading for the exit.

"Ah, imbecile," Tyco groaned, from the floor. "That's a new one…"


	297. Noveria Part 5

**A/N: Not so much of a theme to the Q&A today, just a few interesting asides you guys came up with. If anything, I'd put them under "character" questions:**

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><p><strong><em>Q: "Does Kamur ever get with anyone? (Although I'm secretly hoping he won't, because I love his whole camaraderie thing with Andersen. In fact, I'm really hoping Andersen doesn't get with anyone either. They can be bachelor buddies forever.)" <em>****_- Aimi-chan_**

**A: I think he'll be happy with a couple of asari now and then... The romances in the story are never going to be a case of pairing everybody up with someone, because that's just a little bit convenient and a little bit tacky. Kamur's much better (not to mention funnier) when he's going out drinking and working his magic on shore leave, so somehow, I can't imagine him with a significant other...**

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><p><em><strong>Q: "Was the plan always to kill Logan off so early?" <strong>**- Jason Kreuger Myers**_

**A: The plan was always to kill him off around Chapter 100, but 100 came up *much* more quickly than I'd expected, and I'd thought 100 would be about halfway through the imaginary novel I have in my head, whereas we're now a few days away from 300 and I can say we're probably only just past halfway. So in hindsight, Logan did die much earlier in the story than I originally imagined, but that said, it was always the plan for Murphy to take over. Much more interesting to have the right-hand man come up from the shadows and develop as a leader than have an accomplished one like Logan in charge for the duration. More on that in one of tomorrow's questions.**

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><p><em><strong>Q: "If you could, which of the characters from the story would you want to spend a day with?" - IFR<strong>_

**A: My gut reaction is to say Rilum. Salarians can pack a lot into a day with the whole two-hours-sleep thing, and having his outlook on the world would be pretty fascinating. Exhausting, though, seeing as he talks at roughly a *million* miles an hour... Second and third would probably be Vimes and Araya. Vimes' attitude has become worryingly similar to mine in the writing, and Araya just feels like she'd be fun to have around.**

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><p><strong><em>Q: "What other names for the SSV Cambrai did you think of?" <em>****_- shadowmythic_**

**A: Hard to imagine it being called anything else, if you ask me... I can't really remember all the names I went through, but in the early stages the Cambrai was going to be an existing ship, not one I named myself. The first draft of Chapter 1 was set aboard the SSV Ain Jalut, which is the only canon-confirmed Normandy-class (apart from the Normandy itself, of course), and I think I also considered Hastings and Agincourt. Then, for various reasons, I decided to invent a ship of my own - I figured most readers wouldn't have heard of the battle Ain Jalut was named after, so it wouldn't resonate - also, I wanted the chance to play around a bit with the layout, because I *hated* the ship in the original Mass Effect. I had it in the back of my mind, too, that the name might be carried over to an SR2 later, to increase the size of the ship and the cargo space for N7s, another good reason not to use one of the SR1s that's supposed to survive in canon. When I did decide to name the ship myself, I seem to remember three that were considered seriously, before Cambrai: El Alamein, Midway, and Bunker (the latter two, you might recall, then showed up as entities of their own in Operation Thunder).**

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><p><em><strong>Port Hanshan, Noveria<strong>_

_**Day 2, 0120**_

One in the morning, Andersen had decided, was far too early to be waking up. He and Kan had set alarms – much to the annoyance of the rest of the team – risen on cue, and had been out of the door inside of ten minutes. Propelled by nervous energy, they were already half way to the target…

"Cloak?" he muttered. He was in civvies, as opposed to uniform, but they were still all too aware of the security cameras on near enough every corner.

"Maybe…" Kan replied. "It lasts five minutes, right?"

"Without cutting shields, yeah. We can be done in five, can't we?"

"Depends if anyone gets in the way…"

Andersen was about to reply, but off to their left there was a clatter of footsteps, and the quarian let out a sharp cry of:

"Move!"

A quick shove later, the two of them bundled into the nearest alleyway, just as a human couple came staggering around the corner.

"Come on…" the man was muttering, voice ever so slightly slurred. Presumably, they had just stumbled out of some club – with _agonising _difficulty, they steered around the corner onto the street which wound towards the residentials, and their backs retreated out of sight, much to Andersen's relief.

"Ready to move?" he murmured, quietly.

"Yeah…" Kan groaned, uncertainly. "I gotta go."

"_What?_" Andersen hissed, as the quarian made to move around the corner. "What the hell do you mean?"

"I mean, I've got to go," his companion replied, unhelpfully. "Just… personal business, okay?"

"What… no, not okay! We've got a job to do!"

"It's important! Besides, you can handle a data spike," Kan said, dismissively – and then, he was gone, cloaking and slipping out of sight.

"You absolute…" Andersen muttered to himself.

Kan had a point, though. A data spike was a trivially easy thing to set up – it certainly didn't require two people. And the note of urgency in the quarian's voice had been very real. He still _wanted _to be mad at him, though.

With a slightly exasperated sigh, Andersen wheeled around the corner and out into the street once more, pulling up his omni-tool once more. He had his cloak, but those _cameras _were still a bit of a concern…

A few moments later, his omni-tool finished scanning, and with a subtle _blip_, it reported back, a radar display showing no less than three security cameras in the vicinity of the target node. Hacking three systems at once was harder than hacking one, but it was by no means _difficult_ – he preferred, however, not to be caught on camera _hacking _the cameras, so he punched in the tactical cloak program he had adapted to his own, non-infiltrator armour, and disappeared from sight with a crackle of electricity. As he did, the engineer set a five-minute countdown running on his HUD.

Andersen drew up the data streams on his wrist as he walked – his HUD was allowing him to see his own arm, even if the rest of the world couldn't – and began to tap in various codes and commands. After a minute or two, he was satisfied that the cameras were showing nothing but an empty alleyway, as a clichéd old trick was put into action – the cameras were merely looping back the last ten seconds of uneventful footage. It was a thief's bread and butter, but somehow, _it still worked_.

The timer on his cloak was down to two and a half minutes as he approached the target – turning left into the alleyway that held the target, it ran down to two, and by the time he had prised the hatch of the server node open, there was just one minute left. That was enough… maybe. He went to work on the node's internals, applying his omni-tool and peeling away layers of code like pieces of a puzzle. There was a strange artistry in hacking, he found, and as he worked, he almost fell into a _rhythm_.

Thirty seconds, the timer in the corner of his vision reported. Twenty. Ten…

He watched with satisfaction as his omni-tool flashed white, and the little bundle of code he had been preparing appeared inside the node's own systems. All that remained was to restore the firewalls he had cut away, and-

Zero. _Blip_. His cloak dissipated, leaving him _quite _visible in the middle of the alleyway. The cameras were still out, though, which meant he was still safe… _ah._

Just as that last thought had crossed his mind, shuffling footsteps rang out around the corner, and a vaguely human form tottered into view at the near end of the alley. Andersen _shot _backwards, pressing himself into the shadow of the wall behind, but even as he tried to conceal himself from sight, he was well aware that the omni-tool programs he had been using were still running – they were hovering over the server node as visible discs, and glowing rather too brightly for his liking.

The figure who had just appeared, a scruffy-haired and pot-bellied human man, was quite evidently drunk. For one thing, he could barely stand straight, let alone _walk _straight. For another, he was now engaged in relieving himself against the alley wall. After an _agonisingly _long wait, he finished his business, made a fumbling job of closing his fly, and turned to stagger away.

Then, he stopped dead, as if struck by a sudden _bolt _of realisation, and Andersen's heart sank. The drunkard span around on his heel, took one look at the server, another at Andersen, and bellowed:

"Hey! Whatcha doin'?"

In desperation, Andersen went for his pistol, entertaining thoughts of silencing the man by any means necessary, but before he could so much as _threaten _a shot, someone else beat him to the punch. Literally.

The newcomer _exploded _around the corner, lashing out and connecting a _vicious _punch with the side of the drunk's head – he toppled instantly, hitting the piss-stained wall face-first and crumpling to the floor, nose and lip bloody from the impact of the steel wall.

"Well, that was easy," Ekris drawled, stepping over the man's unconscious form and cracking his blue knuckles. Like Andersen, he was in casual clothes, not battle armour, but he looked as formidable as ever.

"What the hell are you doing here?" Andersen scowled, slipping his pistol back into his belt.

"You're welcome," the drell frowned. "I thought you might need some backup. Guess I was right…"

"Guess you were," the engineer replied, moving back to the server node and resuming his work. He nodded to the drunk, and added: "What the hell do we do about _him?_"

"Well, he shouted out…" mused the assassin, "so I wouldn't recommend staying too long. How much longer do you need?"

"Ten seconds," he muttered – as he spoke, he was replacing the last of the firewalls and the embedded systems. _Good as new_. "But what about when he wakes up? He'll tell them he saw someone messing with the server, they'll check the systems…"

"I'm assuming you took out the cameras?"

"Naturally."

"Then we're fine, we just need to move him into one of the other alleyways. According to the security tapes, you were never here, and neither was he. Probably imagined it. I mean…" – he looked down, distastefully – "…he is pretty drunk."

"And the broken nose, the burst lip?"

"Simple…" Ekris murmured. He leant down, rummaged through the man's pockets for a moment, and then withdrew the contents – a packet of cigarettes and a couple of credit chits – before slipping them into his own pocket. "He was mugged."

"Hmm…"

His work finished, Andersen swung the node's metal hatch shut once more, and turned to face his new companion, who was still hovering over the drunkard's body.

"I'll restore the cameras to live feed once we're out of the way," he muttered. "You need a hand moving him?"

"No," Ekris grunted, bending down and scooping the man onto his shoulder. "Just make sure I don't stray into the cameras, okay? Carrying a body's pretty incriminating, by all accounts…"

"Head back that way," Andersen instructed, pointing to the far end of the alley, back the way he had come. "Cameras are all down in the street outside, and there's a bunch of other alleyways to dump him in."

The drell nodded, and set off with his burden, closely followed by Andersen.

"Where's the quarian?" Ekris called back, as they walked. "I thought he was meant to be with you?"

"He _was_," Andersen scowled. "He went running off after some human couple we saw in the street. 'Personal business', he said…"

"Old acquaintances, maybe?" the drell guessed.

"Maybe. Doesn't matter, though – I'm still going to _kill _him when he gets back…"


	298. Noveria Part 6

**A/N: A few more Q&As today, based on the writing of Galaxy at War:**

* * *

><p><em><strong>Q: <strong>**"Who are the main characters of the story, to your point of view, and who is the easiest to write about?" - shadowmythic**_

**A: That's a tricky one. I'm not so sure there *is* a main character(s), but I can think of a few that come close. Originally, the story was meant to be mostly if not entirely from Andersen's point of view (or more widely, from the point of view of the original Noveria team: Andersen, Kamur, Saffiya and Tyco), but as the crew expanded and the missions got more ambitious, the narrative broke down into a lot of subplots from a lot of different characters. The way the story's evolved, though, if I *had* to pick a main character... well, it has to be Murphy, doesn't it? He's the driving force behind most of the wider storylines, and in traditional terms, he's the protagonist (seeing as Creed is the story's main antagonist).**

**As for the easiest to write about... I can't really think of a definitive answer, and I can guarantee the moment I publish this, I'll think of a new answer. The human males - Andersen, Vimes, Irving etc. - are easiest for me to *identify* with, put it that way. The easiest to write are the ones who conform to stereotypes or have a single defining feature - Yui's a fairly typical krogan, Klara's a fairly typical quarian, so they're quite easy. The most *fun* to write has to be Rilum - when he goes off on one of his tangents, I'm writing at about the same speed he's talking, so it's a nice challenge.**

* * *

><p><strong><em>Q: "What character has been the most challenging to write and why?" - zenith020388<em>**

**A: Well, Rilum is quite difficult - like I said above, it's a challenge to write his babbling, but it's a fun challenge. Dr O'Leiph's scenes are hard to write, but not particularly because of *her*, more because the majority of her scenes are medical, so I have to do a fair bit of research beforehand. The quarians, Mac'Tir and the aforementioned Rilum are a bit tricky for another reason, too - because they have rather distinctive speech patterns, I usually to have to read back over any chapters they speak in to make sure that I didn't rush and make them sound too much like normal humans. The most challenging of all, though, is a character I've yet to introduce. Sometimes, when an idea for the future pops into my head and I think I'll forget it before we get to it in the story, I'll write the scene in advance - I've written a few scenes with this character in advance already, and it certainly fits the definition of "challenging". That's the limit of the spoilers I'm giving away, though, I'm afraid...**

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><p><em><strong>Q: <strong>**"As far as I can tell, usually stories that have the same amount of readers as yours do crossovers, like with other stories, characters from other authors. Will you do the same?" **__**-ConvictionSC**_

**A: No. I've given thought to proposing _collaborations _before, especially as OCs from this story get their own fics, but I have nothing planned at the moment, and don't intend to unless someone proposes an idea I can't say no to. Either way, any crossovers or collaborations would be one-shots or separate projects - Galaxy at War is going to remain its own story as long as I have any say in the matter.**

* * *

><p><em><strong>Q: <strong>**"We know that you've killed off crew members due to the vote of the community, or the flip of a coin. Do you always choose who lives or who dies by random chance, or have you decided to end some characters purely for story reasons?" **__**-Azrael Duke**_

**A: It's actually more often for story/my own reasons than you'd think. The notorious dice/coin incident was for one particular set of character deaths, but I haven't used it since. As for the community polls, they're usually for deciding between certain parties (eg. the Phoenix biotics and the turian Hastatim), not for the KIAs. Most of those deaths are for story reasons, and I don't usually plan out who's going to die way in advance - with the exception of Logan's death, which was set from the start, I usually plan deaths one or two operations/subplots ahead at most, sometimes less. For example, I decided Kyra and Vresh were going to die about six chapters into Operation Thunder - *very* short notice. However, I usually know *vaguely* who's going to die, if not how or when, and to tease you guys a little bit, I'll say this: in my mind, there are currently five characters lined up to leave the crew one way or another.**

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><p><em><strong>Port Hanshan, Noveria<strong>_

_**Day 2, 0140**_

"Come on…" the human male muttered, again.

"No…" his companion slurred. "I'm… no…"

As the two of them staggered along the street, Kan'Sura was rolling his eyes beneath his mask. The quarian's cloak had worn off some time ago, but as he waited for it to recharge, they were still completely oblivious to his presence.

"What's the problem, Lucy?" he persisted, and that ticked a box in Kan's mind. _Lucy. _She was probably who he thought she was, then – that was good, it avoided an embarrassing case of mistaken identity in the very near future.

"I don't…" she mumbled. "I just want to go home."

"My place is only two minutes away…"

"No… c'mon…" Lucy murmured, trying to pull away, half-sighing, half-protesting. She was off her head, not that _that _was anything new, he noted.

"You'll feel different once you're there," the boy muttered, and Kan had a feeling that the girl was too drunk to notice the slight tone of frustration in his voice, a tone which could easily turn into aggression.

"We just met!" she purred, giggling slightly, and Kan's stare hardened, the first traces of real anger flickering into his mind.

"C'mon…" he grunted again.

"I told you… I don't feel so good any more. Just lemme go home…"

"No, just-"

_Cough_.

The two of them wheeled around in surprise, as Kan strode into the middle of the street and approached them.

"What?" the boy snapped, irascibly.

"The lady said she wants to go home…" Kan murmured, icily. "Maybe you should let her…"

"Butt out, quarian, it's none of your business," he retorted – crucially, however, the girl didn't protest, and her silence was all the encouragement Kan needed to continue:

"Let her go."

"Yeah, _right_. Fuckin' suit rat-"

Kan had his pistol drawn before the boy could _blink_, and levelled it squarely at the human's brow. Beneath the visor, there was a cold glint in his eye, as his finger toyed with the trigger.

"I wasn't _asking_, bosh'tet. Step away from the lady."

"You think I'm afraid of you?"

"You should be."

There was silence for a moment. Kan was glaring at the human boy, he was glaring back, and the girl was watching the both of them, bemused. Finally, after what seemed like an eternity of waiting, the human gave in – he spat derisively, turned on his heel, and marched off down the street – Kan couldn't help noticing from his gait that he was a lot less drunk than he had been making out…

"God-damn, meddling-"

_Crack crack. _Kan sent two quick pistol shots skimming down the street, and the rounds snappedat the young man's heels, causing him to move quite a _bit _faster than before as he dashed off around the corner.

"Where are your parents living?" Kan muttered to the girl, as he departed – she looked confused, to say the least, and frowned:

"Who… who're you?"

"Come on, Lucy, you're a privileged human girl. You've only ever _met_ one quarian…"

Pause.

Realisation.

"Kan?"

"Got it in one," he nodded. To be honest, he wasn't sure whether to be pleased or offended that that had worked…

"What… whatcha doin' here?" she mumbled, drunkenly.

"Right now? Saving your backside… Where's your father's place?"

"I… err…" Lucy trailed off, and just pointed off over the rooftops in a vague direction.

"Come on, then," he groaned. "You need some rest, girl."

She stumbled a little closer, he slipped an arm under her shoulder, and they set off up the street at a steady, if somewhat clumsy pace, the quarian practically _dragging _his drunken charge along, and frowning inwardly the whole time. Being the gentleman was so _inconvenient _sometimes…

He took a look across at Lucy as they walked. She had barely changed since the last time he'd seen her, although she looked _painfully _slim, far more so than a human should. There was a faraway look in her eyes which didn't look too healthy, either.

After half an hour of staggering through the streets, they found themselves in the west district of Port Hanshan, approaching a small cluster of up-market residentials – ironically, they weren't too far from the team's safehouse... Lucy's eyes widened slightly with familiarity as they got near, and she steered him towards the middle tenement. A scanner ran them up and down as they passed through the door into an almost abandoned lobby, but there didn't seem to be any reaction after that, and the turian security guard barely looked up upon their entrance.

Negotiating the stairs was _fun_, but thankfully, Kan only had to get her up to the first floor – each residential, he noticed, occupied an entire storey – before she broke aside, pointing to the door of that floor's apartment. It was locked, and he didn't think it would be particularly _polite _to hack their door open.

"I don't suppose you've got _keys?_" he frowned.

"Err… hang on…"

"Never mind."

_Knock knock knock_ – he rapped on the door with his free hand, and waited. Nobody came to begin with, but after a minute or two, just as he was thinking of knocking again, there was a shuffling sound from beyond door. A moment later, it hissed aside, and an asari girl appeared in the doorway, looking tired and more than a little confused. Kan cursed, inwardly. _Wrong house-_

"_Again_, Miss Lucy?" the asari frowned, much to his surprise. "This really isn't healthy, you know…"

"Saphi," Lucy murmured, punctuating the name with a little _hiccup_. She opened her mouth to continue, but the words weren't quite there, and she fell silent again.

"Come on in, then," 'Saphi' sighed.

Lucy staggered out of Kan's grip and over the threshold, disappearing off around the corner. The quarian followed, warily. He still _wasn't _quite sure who the asari was – she looked young, a maiden rather than a matron, and she was still in her night garb, as if she had only just risen. That she apparently slept here was a good sign – that she knew Lucy was a better one. He was still a _little _suspicious, though.

"Get to bed, Miss Lucy," she called, and the human girl, after prising off her heels, went stumbling through what appeared to be a lounge and into the next corridor. As an afterthought, the asari added: "Try not to wake your father up, he's sound asleep and he doesn't want to see you drunk like this!"

If Lucy's father was in the tenement, that was _something_. Reassured, Kan let his shoulders sag with a weary sigh – he continued to hover awkwardly by the door, until the asari turned to him:

"Thank you for bringing her back, sir. Miss Lucy's been in a terrible state lately… how did you come across her?"

"Some boy was trying to get her to come home with him," Kan muttered, with a hint of anger. "I'd have her checked out, if I were you – I don't think it's just alcohol in her system…"

"It wouldn't be the first time," the asari replied, shaking her head. "Like I said, thank you. Can I get you something for the road, Mr…?"

"Sura. And, no… somehow, I doubt Arthur's got dextro."

"Ah, right… wait, you know Mr King?"

"I used to," he nodded. The asari probably couldn't tell, but he was smiling to himself beneath his visor. "I won't stay, but… could you pass on a message?"

"Of course."

"Tell Arthur… hmm… tell him Kan'Sura nar Llorens wishes him and his family well, and thinks his Illium estate was much nicer than this one."


	299. Operation Kingfisher Briefing

**A/N: So, Chapter 300 coming tonight, and the final Q&A session coming right now. As befitting the last of these little sessions, todays questions are regarding - what else? - the future...**

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><p><strong><em>Q: <em>**_**"Of the classes not yet introduced, what are your top three that you're looking forward to writing/introducing?" **__**- zenith020388**_

**A: Is this a sneaky attempt to get some spoilers about new characters...? Either way, I'm afraid I can't physically give a top three of classes I'm looking forward to - I haven't actually planned any new recruits yet, save for one special case. I can think of a couple that I'd *like* to include in some capacity (Krogan Adept and Turian Ghost/Havoc, in case you were wondering), but I'll answer the original question as best I can:**

**1. N7 Destroyer - Not a new character, but you all already know Irving and Alec are going to be getting an upgrade some time in the future, and the new toys that come with a T-5V should give us some fireworks, to say the least... Look it up if you don't believe me.**

**2. Geth Infiltrator - Most of you have probably worked this out by now - i**t's barely a spoiler any more, to be honest, so I'll say it outright:** We are going to be getting at least one geth character after Rannoch. Writing geth dialogue is going to be _interesting_, and the geth, especially after Rannoch, are going to create an explosion of debate - their past actions, their innocence or guilt, the various philosophical and ethical implications of their now being individual. It's going to shake things up, that's for sure.**

**3. Project Phoenix Vanguard - This one's a bit of a cheat answer, and it's so wrapped up in spoilers I can't tell you *why* it's a cheat answer. It'll definitely be interesting, though - after all, you've all been asking for more from Project Phoenix. I'm going to deliver.**

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><p><strong><em>Q: "Are you planning to add some newmore romance(s) between the crew?" - Dante-DeathSoul_**

**A: Definitely. Again, the "no spoilers" rule applies, but in addition to the... _three_ romances already in the story (I'm counting Saffiya/Raziel, Tyco/Vanyali, and Murphy/Kayla), there are three that are definitely in the pipeline (although not all of them are _between _the crew, strictly speaking), and at least three more that are hovering in the back of my mind as "maybe"s. So yeah, if I get time to write them all in, we'll have a lot more romance subplots going on, possibly in the very near future...**

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><p><strong><em>Q: "Can we expect any more spectacular deaths? Or super badass antagonists?" - ConvictionSC<em>**

**A: Duh. It wouldn't be Galaxy at War without explosive deaths, and villains that just scream "hate me!"**

**PS. Any particular reason you're asking, Conviction? It wouldn't happen to be in reference to a character of your own, would it? If so, I'll just tell you that that thing we talked about is coming very soon. (To the rest of you: You'll just have to wait and see...)**

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><p><em><strong>Q: <strong>**"What is Andersen's full name?" **__**-Azrael Duke**_

**A: Nice try.**

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><p><em><strong>Port Hanshan, Noveria<strong>_

_**Day 2, 1300**_

"Where the hell did _you _run off to this morning?" Andersen frowned, as he rolled off his bedroll. He had returned from that morning's escapade and gone straight back to sleep – now, however, he found Kan'Sura shaking him awake, and was surprised to see midday sun filtering through the window. Apparently, he'd been more tired than he thought…

"I was… taking care of some old friends," Kan muttered, vaguely. "Now come on, Sam wants us all out front. Briefing."

"Briefing?" the engineer echoed in surprise, but the quarian was already halfway out of the door.

He got to his feet with a groan, stretched, and then walked slowly through to the main lounge, where the rest of the team was already gathered. They were scattered across packing crates and the few bits of furniture the apartment had, all watching Sam, who was at the far end of the room, hands tucked behind his back in a business-like manner.

"Ah, Sleeping Beauty's arrived," he chuckled, as Andersen entered. "The gang's all here."

"We can begin, then?" a sharp voice asked, not the voice of any of the crew, but that of a hologram emanating from a projector in the far corner. The speaker was a pristinely turned-out asari, with an imperious air and a rather frustrated scowl. Andersen presumed she was the 'Tallis' Aeryn had mentioned, after her meeting with the Executive Board.

"Yes," Sam nodded, before proceeding: "We've spent a day and a half building up information on Holstein, and I don't know about you lot, but I think we've got all we're _going _to get – we need to start acting."

"Hear hear," Tyco called, from off to the right. Andersen couldn't help noticing that he and Vanyali were on dead opposite sides of the room, and were barely looking at each other.

"We're going to strike at our two prime targets," Vimes continued. "His residence, and his offices."

"Two-pronged assault?" Ekris asked.

"Exactly. We're going to be responsible for the raid on his apartment, Binary Helix are going to handle his office."

"Binary Helix raiding a Binary Helix office?" Kan piped up. "Am I the only one who smells a rat here?"

"This is an internal matter," Tallis scowled. "You shouldn't be involved at all, and we're _certainly _not going to let you into our private property."

"You mean you're not going to let us into your private _files_. Wouldn't want us unearthing another Peak 15, would we?"

"Don't be melodramatic, _quarian_. We just don't want the Alliance stealing our secrets."

"Yes, because the Alliance has _so _much to learn from Binary Helix," Vanyali interjected, sarcastically. "You people didn't even know one of your directors was selling you out to Cerberus."

"Typical Alliance arrogance," the asari retorted. "I'll have you know-"

"Enough!" Vimes shouted, with surprising volume. "None of this matters. We're executing our raid, and Binary Helix is executing theirs."

"_And_," his meaningful expression seemed to say, "_we're inside their systems, so we can check up on them anyway."_

"Fine. What's the plan?"

"Three paired teams, all equipped to assault an urban environment. According to his company expenses and the official investigations, Holstein was residing in an apartment on the twelfth floor of the hotel, here in Port Hanshan. Permanent executive suite, reserved for the next year at least, with his own team of bodyguards residing in-house."

"So we'll have to shoot our way through them, presumably?"

"Presumably. They're private mercs, not company employees, so Binary Helix doesn't mind if we have to fire shots."

Tallis scowled a little at that, but remained silent, as Vimes continued:

"Administrator Qui'in has provided us with a couple of cars courtesy of his office. Team Charlie – Zel and Vanyali – will keep one car and remain here to provide backup on the fly. The two of you are the most versatile operatives we have – you can both snipe, and you can both fight at close quarters, so you're our reinforcements."

"Understood," Vanyali nodded. She was waving her sword about as she listened, and looked slightly disappointed at being denied the chance to test it out – she had been training with Mac'Tir in every spare moment since they arrived on Noveria, but had yet to use her new gear in an operation.

"The rest of you will take the second car and head for the mezzanine. Tyco and Arrete, you're Bravo – that's our snipers. I want you to set up on the maintenance gantries opposite the hotel, and get in position to make a long-range takedown."

"Got it," Tyco replied, gruffly. Arrete just nodded, wordlessly.

"Mac'Tir, Ekris, you'll be in the car with them, and you'll comprise team Alpha. Drop them off on the gantries, then land in the mezzanine and infiltrate the hotel through the lobby. You'll be carving a path to Holstein's room – close-quarters, and quiet."

"Simple enough," Mac'Tir murmured. From anyone else, it might have sounded arrogant, but the drell was merely business-like, standing at the back of the room with his arms folded, and his sword glinting in his belt.

"We strike at oh-five-hundred tomorrow," Sam concluded. "Minimum chance of discovery, minimum risk to civilians. If you need any gear, make a run to Opold's store this evening. Otherwise, rest up, and be ready to go from oh-four-hundred."


	300. Operation Kingfisher Part 1

**A/N: Well, ten minutes to midnight over here in little old England, and here it is, Chapter 300. It's not a particularly exciting or important chapter, but that's just how things work out sometimes - that said, the very last line of this chapter has turned out to be surprisingly appropriate, and could easily serve as a metaphor for things to come, if you ask me... At any rate, after the treatment I gave Chapters 100 and 200, I feel a little bit under pressure to write something witty and observant here, but there's not much *new* I can say, except this:**

**I want to thank a few people. Up until now, I've always paid tribute to "the readers", "the reviewers", the "audience", but frankly, there are a few people in particular who deserve a shout-out:**

** First of all, I want to thank InsidiousAgent, BlackBox Inc, and ConvictionSC. These three have basically been my sounding board for every plot in the last few months, and although they don't realise it, they're responsible for getting me out of a pretty bad spell of writer's block and keeping this story going. I owe you bigtime, and if there's anything I can ever do to help your own projects, you just have to ask. **

**Next, I'd to thank Azrael Duke, who has ended up doing the sometimes annoying, oftentimes pessimistic but _always_ appreciated job of pointing out when I write some that just _doesn't _make sense. I hope that work continues, or my plots are gonna start slipping...**

**Furthermore, I want to thank some of my very first reviewers, a half-dozen or so people who have been with me throughout - seriously, go check the first three or four pages of reviews on Galaxy at War, and you'll find all of these guys, as well as some of the names above. So: shadowmythic, shadowsilv3r, Phygmalion, Sailoramber, Jason Kreuger Myers, Epicenter Six, and NiaUnoriginal, thanks for persevering through the early months. I know Q&A's finished, but a l****ittle piece of trivia for you: Aside from myself, Nia has the most characters on the Cambrai's crew, a remarkable six - Ethan, Zel, Lynus, Ria, Erika, and Akito. Also, I'd like to point out something not many of you know, that Mr Myers is responsible not only for Kan'Sura, but for Christopher Creed too. Address all hate mail to him.**

**After all that, however, I'd like to thank _everyone _who reads, reviews and supports Galaxy at War - the story's still going strong, I have some _big _plot lines coming up that hopefully won't disappoint, and from the author's point of view rather than the story's, there are a few more projects in the pipeline which I'm quite excited about, but not ready to reveal just yet. In the meantime have a Happy New Year, and here's to the next hundred, you beautiful bastards...**

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><p><em><strong>Port Hanshan, Noveria<strong>_

_**Day 3, 0445**_

"Mezzanine's pretty much abandoned," Tyco observed, from the front-side passenger seat of the skycar.

"Makes sense," Mac'Tir replied, from the driver's seat. "Early morning – stores and offices are closed, most residents are asleep in their homes… Good for stealth. Good for reducing collateral damage."

"Hey, up there!" the bounty hunter muttered suddenly, pointing out of the window. "On the left – maintenance gantry, looks promising. How high d'you reckon it is?"

"Thirteenth floor, maybe?" Arrete estimated.

"Perfect. Looks down on the target, but the angle's not too steep to get a shot. Can you get us up there?"

"Make it quick. Somehow, I doubt you're _authorised_ to be up there," the drell murmured.

Nonetheless, he span the car around, rising up and to the left and heading straight for the gantry Tyco had pointed out, high on the cavernous wall which constituted the perimeter of Port Hanshan. They span on a dime as they reached it, lining the passenger side up with the edge of the platform, and Tyco pushed the door open before leaping out, closely followed by Arrete. Ekris shuffled into the passenger seat to replace Tyco, slammed the door shut, and then the two drell were swooping back down towards the hotel below.

"Andersen, you hearing me?" Tyco called over the radio, as he and Arrete paced around the gantry, examining their position.

"Loud and clear," the engineer replied. "Got your mugshot on the cameras, too."

"Can you disable them?"

"Not from here. Maintenance cameras are on a separate loop to security, and our spike doesn't cover that one. I'm blocking it from reaching the security station, though – you might get a couple of pissed-off engineers, but that's it."

"Appreciate it. Give us some warning if they're comin' up."

"Will do."

The radio faded into silence, and Tyco surveyed his surroundings. The maintenance gantry was a level steel platform, about five metres square, rising into a slight lip at the edges to stop engineers falling off. Tyco couldn't help thinking a _rail _would have been much more effective… There was a small set of metal doors at the rear of the platform, where it met the wall, and Arrete was examining them with his omni-tool.

"Maintenance lift to the mezzanine," the salarian reported. "Can't call it up without access codes."

"Can you get the doors open?" the bounty hunter frowned.

"Might take a minute, but yes," his fellow sniper nodded. "Why, though? The lift isn't on this floor, and we probably can't operate itwithout the same codes."

"You've never watched an action movie, have you salarian? If it all goes to hell, we can use the empty elevator shaft as an escape route."

"Right…" Arrete frowned. "Of course, the thought occurs that if maintenance doesdiscover us, they'll be bringing the elevator _up_ while we're going _down_. Physics would _not _be on our side on that one."

"Oh, shut up and get the doors."

"You're the boss…"

The salarian went to work with an omni-tool, as Tyco pulled his rifle stock from his back, and allowed the Black Widow to unfold and slot into semblance in his arms. It was a formidable gun, which he had bought from an underworld contact after trying Vanyali's out on Benning, all that time ago. With a few illicit modifications it had become, in his opinion, the perfect weapon for this kind of work – a rifle with supreme stopping power, modded to penetrate anything short of ship-grade kinetic barriers and equipped with a rather remarkable piece of kit, a concentration mod which adapted for his heart rate, his breathing, even the influence of wind and the Coriolis effect.

Tyco moved to the edge of the platform, but stopped shy of the actual edge as he sat down – the big man didn't trust his balance well enough to hover over the precipice with his sight blinded in the scope. He shifted into a position that had once been taught him by an Alliance sniper-turned merc in the Terminus, sitting side-on to the edge with his left knee raised, and his right leg out straight, balancing the rifle on his kneecap.

"Your gun's better for distance work than this thing," Arrete noted, waving his Indra demonstratively as he joined Tyco at the edge. "I'll spot, you shoot?"

"Sounds good to me," Tyco grunted. "And… maybe try to catch me if I mess this up? It's a long way down…"

"Don't you think that's a bit… ambitious?" the salarian frowned. "I don't know if anyone's broken this to you before, but you're not exactly a _little _guy."

"Good point, well presented. Now shut up and stick to spotting, smartarse…"

Arrete chuckled, and knelt down next to Tyco, pointing his rifle down towards the hotel that lay across the "valley" from them.

"Got the twelfth floor," he muttered. "Which room's Holstein's?"

"Northwest corner, left from your vantage point," Vimes answered, to Tyco's surprise – he had forgotten the control team was listening in. "Are you two ready?"

"Sniper cover's in place," Tyco replied, as Arrete swept his rifle towards the left-hand corner. "Might as well get started, before someone spots us."

"Copy that. I've just been in touch with the Binary Helix team. They're going to launch their raid at the same time, waiting on us now. Alpha, are you in position?"

"Affirmative," Mac'Tir replied, and from up high, Tyco could see the drell hovering near the hotel doors.

"Alright then. Make it happen."

"Ekris, move in under cloak," the elder assassin instructed. "I'll open the doors. I see two contacts in the lobby – security guard on the right side, receptionist behind the desk. Both probably have a panic button. Use stasis, then go for _non-lethal _takedowns – they're ERCS and NDC, _not_ Holstein's men."

Mac'Tir strode towards the doors – presumably with the cloaked Ekris at his heel – and opened them quite casually, sweeping into the lobby. There was a moment of silence as the doors slid shut behind them, and then, over the radio:

_Whoosh. _Somebody had just been frozen solid with biotics.

"What-"

_Whoosh_. The second contact had just joined them.

_Crack, thud… Crack, thud._

"Targets down," Ekris muttered. "They'll be out for a couple of hours…"

"Good. Move the bodies, and let's go."

"Sounds like we're in business," Tyco grinned. "Let the hunt begin."


	301. Operation Kingfisher Part 2

_**Port Hanshan, Noveria**_

_**Day 3, 0500**_

The two drell swept out of the hotel lobby, weapons at the ready – Mac'Tir was toting his sword, and Ekris was wielding his biotic fists only. They had stashed the bodies of the receptionist and the security guard behind the desk, and were now approaching the elevators which ran up to the floors above.

"Twelfth floor?" Ekris muttered, as they stepped into the middle one.

"Thirteenth," Mac'Tir replied.

"What? But Holstein's on-"

"The twelfth floor, yes," the elder assassin nodded. "And so are his guards. _Trust me_ on this."

Ekris paused for a moment, and then, reluctantly, he hit the '13' button next to the door. The doors swung shut, the elevator rumbled upwards, and a minute or so later it clattered to a halt, a tiny _bing_ announcing their arrival.

"What now?" the young assassin grunted, frustratedly.

"Now…" Mac'Tir murmured, _pushing _him out of the elevator and tapping the '12' button, "we wait."

He darted out of the elevator just before the doors closed, and watched on expectantly – Ekris, for his part, watched on _perplexedly_ – as it rattled downwards. Through the floor, they heard it rumble down to the floor below, grind to a halt, and then-

_Crack crack crack crack crack._

"Shit!"

Mac'Tir shot him a _'Told you so' _expression, as he realised just what the older man had been talking about – Holstein's men had been waiting for them at the elevator doors on the twelfth floor. Now, the elevator was rising upwards again, if the holographic display on this floor was anything to go by, and Ekris could just _guess_ whowas riding it this time.

Raziel rolled into cover on one side of the doors, and Ekris fell in on the other, slipping into a fighting stance as the elevator continued to rise up towards them.

"I heard three shooters," Mac'Tir muttered, as the precious seconds fell away. "You?"

"Same."

"Presume four, then."

_Bing. _The doors slid open, Ekris slowed his breathing to a bare murmur, and half a second later, a rifle's nose protruded through the opening. He looked up to Mac'Tir, but the other assassin shook his head and held out a palm, telling him to stay put for the moment.

The rifle's owner took a step forward, out of the elevator, but made a rookie mistake right off the bat – he forgot to check his corners. The two drell allowed him to advance fully out of the elevator, before Mac'Tir clenched his fist, and _dove _forwards. He tackled the unfortunate man to the ground, and as Ekris swung around the corner into the elevator, he heard the man's neck _snap _painfully in the background.

There were three more bodyguards inside the elevator, and every one of them was going for his trigger – a quick _flare _of biotics, however, and Ekris sent all three men's rifles sailing through the air, clattering them against the steel walls and rather panicking their owners.

With the three men disarmed, he picked his target, the right-most man, and lunged in, slamming him hard against the wall. The drell swung around behind the dazed man's back, latched a powerful arm around his neck, and then _leapt _backwards, from a standstill, to land on the elevator's handrail. He shot out his free arm, steadying himself against the ceiling, and the two remaining bodyguards watched on, dismayed, as their fellow was yanked off his feet and strangled by the white-armoured apparition.

They didn't stand dismayed for long – as they watched Ekris, Mac'Tir _bolted _in through the elevator doors, punching the elevator console and causing the doors to slam shut, before diving into the fray. As the elevator lurched, and began to drop, the older drell was dragging one of the remaining bodyguards to the floor. The last one attempted to strike at his back, but Ekris dropped his half-strangled victim and promptly _leapt _from the handrail, landing fully on the last man's shoulders and causing them both to lurch away uncontrollably. The drell's back slammed painfully into the wall, but he succeeded in pulling his new target face-first into the handrail, breaking his nose and bursting his lip. He somersaulted down to the floor, reached over, and hit the 'Hold' button on the console.

Just as the elevator ground to a halt mid-journey, Mac'Tir was dispatching his own victim – he yanked the man to his feet, threw him against the wall, and then snapped his neck with ruthless efficiency.

Ekris, for his part, rounded on the bodyguard still sprawled against the handrail. A stamp to the back of the knee _shattered _the man's leg, leaving it limp and useless, and the drell followed it up with a sharp kick to the gut, causing him to groan and slump to the floor. At an almost _leisurely _pace, he flipped the man onto his back with the tip of his boot, and crushed his neck with a swift strike.

That just left one – the bodyguard Ekris had initially tried to strangle was clambering to his feet, going for the sidearm on his hip. Fortunately, Mac'Tir reached _him_ before _he_ reached his pistol. The assassin slammed it away with a quick palm, parried a retaliatory punch in the same manner, then delivered a third and final palm strike to the man's chest, winding him and knocking him back. He staggered, bumped against the elevator wall, and took a stumbling step forwards before Mac'Tir ducked out of the way-

And Ekris nailed him with a fistful of biotics. The dazed bodyguard was catapulted off his feet, slammed hard against the steel wall, and slumped to its base, neck twisted at an odd angle. Raziel paced over rather casually to confirm the kill, as Ekris leant over and hit the '12' button on the console once more.

"Dead," Mac'Tir muttered, as the elevator ground off again. Then, he added: "Look at the weapons."

Ekris looked down… and his brow rose in surprise. Quite _why _he was surprised he didn't know, because it made perfect sense, in hindsight.

"Cerberus Harriers," he observed.

"And a Talon on that one," Mac'Tir muttered, examining one of the familiar shotgun-pistols before tossing it back to the floor.

"I call that evidence," Ekris murmured, "and enough reason to take the bastards down."

"Quite."

A few seconds later, the elevator reached its destination, and they stepped out into an empty corridor. It was not, however, a _silent _corridor, and as they emerged, a panicked voice rang out from one of the rooms to their left:

"Somebody call security!" the voice shrieked.

"They're already on their way!" another voice replied.

_Shit_, Ekris' brain cursed. That wasn't good…

"Security doesn't know we're here," Mac'Tir muttered, giving voice to exactly what Ekris was thinking. "Could get ugly."

They were silent for a moment, and then:

"Can you deal with the last of them?" the older assassin asked.

"Easily," Ekris nodded, with a hint of arrogance that even he couldn't deny.

"I'll get the car, then," Raziel murmured, biting his lip. "Pickup from Holstein's office window in ten minutes."

"Got it."

"You've got sniper cover!" he shouted back, as he bounded off along the corridor. "Remember to use it!"

Mac'Tir disappeared around the corner, and Ekris swung around to face the other way. According to the maps, that door at the end of the corridor led to Holstein's apartment. His gaze hardened, and he checked his omni-tool one last time before striding off towards the target…


	302. Operation Kingfisher Part 3

_**Port Hanshan, Noveria**_

_**Day 3, 0515**_

"Tyco, have you got eyes on the targets?" Ekris muttered, pausing for a moment on the threshold of Holstein's office.

"Yeah, I got 'em. Too many for me to take down in one mag, but I can give fire support."

"Got it. How many am I looking at?"

"Six hostiles. Two riflemen just inside the door, three more in the middle of the room, one setting up a turret."

Ekris nodded, slammed the little green roundel in the middle of the door, and then ducked back into the door frame.

_Crack crack crack crack_. Almost instantly, two Harrier rifles were stuck through the open doorway, and the space the drell had occupied moments before was _drowned _in fourty rounds of fire. Only once the two shooters had run out of bullets did Ekris swing around the corner, biotics flaring.

As he did, he went for the nearest of the two doormen – he grabbed the man's rifle with his left hand, and _slammed _it into the doorpost, bending it to damn near ninety degrees before launching a strike with his right hand. Burning blue with biotics, his palm connected with the man's jaw, snapping his head back with a horrid _crunch_.

He slumped to the floor, and Ekris rounded on his fellow, who was quickly trying to cram a fresh thermal clip into his rifle-

But not quickly enough. The drell slammed a biotic cannonball into his head, reducing it to a pulpy mass and sending the man crashing to the floor. He span around, took a quick survey of the room, and then twitched his index finger – the cloak program on his omni-tool activated, and he flickered out of sight.

Two of the bodyguards were retreating across the room, diving for cover behind the desk near the window and reaching for blue-labelled ammo boxes on their belts – Ekris had a sneaking suspicion they were omega-enkaphalin rounds. The engineer, off to the right, was crouched over a steel pod which unfurled into a turret with astonishing speed, while the last bodyguard stayed put in the middle of the room- the drell was rather taken aback to notice biotics flowing from the human's hands…

"Biotic bodyguard," Tyco muttered to the still-cloaked drell. "Can't have been cheap. Want me to take him?"

"No, he's mine," Ekris replied. "Take the turret, and the engineer. Keep one round back. Go!"

He bounded out of cloak, lashed out with a first flare of biotics, and forced the bodyguard back a step. The engineer's turret was swinging around to face him, when-

_Bang! _Tyco's first shot hurtled into the room, shattering one of the floor-to-ceiling windows to Ekris' left and cleaving right between him and the biotic. It slammed into the turret's mouth and exploded in a ball of scrap and fire, staggering the engineer behind it, before _bang! _He went down too, a second sniper shot lodging in his chest.

That just left Ekris, the biotic, and the two riflemen taking cover behind the desk. The drell flexed his arms, let the biotics course through his blood, and then _launched _himself at his opponent. His left hand summoned up a barrier, shielding them from the riflemen at the end of the room. His right went for the other biotic's jugular with a fistful of biotic flames. The human leapt back, sent a billowing shockwave back at him-

And Ekris caught it with a flare of his own between his palms. Quite suddenly, the two of them were wrangling with either end of a biotic _storm_, a whirlwind of energy that rippled and whirled between them, blue light illuminating the room. In the background, one of the two riflemen was trying to clear a jam from his rifle – the other was just watching on, mystified by the two duelling biotics.

The bodyguard gave a great _heave _of effort, but it came to nothing, and Ekris could see exertion creeping over the human's face. He was good, in a blunt-force kind of way, but he'd never had much biotic training, that was for damn sure. His biotics were probably used for intimidation more often than combat.

The drell closed the gap slightly, taking two steps toward his opponent and compressing the blue blaze between them. Then he pulled his arms back, and swung them forwards with no small amount of effort – the whirlwind _exploded, _and a tongue of biotic flames lashed Ekris' cheek, but it was his opponent who took the brunt of the hit. The unfortunate man _screamed _as the storm broke over him, and crumbled away before the drell's eyes, reduced to blue ash and cinders in a matter of moments.

That snapped the two riflemen out of their stupor. Bullets _crack_ed through the air towards him, and Ekris ducked low, sprinting towards the far end of the room.

_Bang! _Tyco's third round burst into the room, and for the first time, Ekris realised the bounty hunter was using armour-piercing rounds – this one _shattered _the glass surface of the desk and split the metal frame into two. The whole thing crumpled, the two halves slammed down to the floor, and the bodyguards were staggered for a moment.

A moment was all the drell needed. He dashed towards his last two opponents, took a skip and a hop, and used one half of the collapsed desk as a springboard to launch himself a few feet in the air. He lashed out with a _vicious_, biotic-assisted kick, striking the rifleman on the left around the jaw and knocking him back – as Ekris dropped back to earth, the bodyguard stumbled, tripped-

And went head-first through the window Tyco had just shot out. He screamed for a moment, and then the breath was torn from his lungs as he plummeted the twelve storeys down to the mezzanine. In the office above, Ekris hit the ground and lunged into a neat combat roll, moving quickly to avoid his last opponent's aim. The final bodyguard was sweeping around, searching for the drell with the nose of his rifle, but he was _far _too slow. With a flick of his arm, Ekris swung the two shattered halves of Holstein's desk into the air – one of them slammed into the gunman's back, knocking him down and sending his rifle skidding away across the floor. Before he could reach for his pistol, the second one _crunch_ed down on top of him, with an ugly noise of bones giving way to blunt force.

"All targets down," Ekris murmured, drawing his pistol as he paced over to the crushed guard. Just in case.

He didn't need it, as it turned out – the man was already dead.

"Check the other rooms," Tyco muttered, over the radio. "VIP might have been hiding out while his men locked down the front of house."

The assassin just nodded, and paced over to the unopened door in the far wall. He could only assume it led to a bedroom – the main room he had just shot his way through was more office than residential, and Holstein had to sleep _somewhere_.

He punched the door panel, cloaked, and fell back behind the door post. No shots came racing out. That was a start.

"Anything?" he asked aloud, knowing the snipers were watching over his shoulder.

"Not that I can see," his overseer replied. "Check up close, might be cloaked."

Ekris swept into the room, keeping a tight grip on his pistol and looking around for the tell-tale signs of a cloak in use. He checked all four corners of the room, the en suite bathroom too, and:

"Nothing."

"Crap," Tyco rumbled.

"Guess we're done here. Mac'Tir, what's your ETA?"

"Sixty seconds. Had some trouble with ERCS. Nothing to worry about – didn't draw blood."

"_They _didn't, or _you_ didn't?"

"Both. Broke a couple of bones, that's all."

"They did, or you di- you know what, it doesn't matter. Just get the car up here."

"On my way."

"Anyone with eyes on the hotel - am I about to get visitors?" Ekris muttered, as Mac'Tir went silent.

"Armed teams are moving through the building," Andersen replied. "Evacuating civilians, looking for you. Vimes still hasn't been able to get through to them to call off their forces – no-one in their offices this early in the morning."

"How far away are they?"

"A few floors. They won't reach you in time."

"Good… they can deal with the fire, then."

"What fire?"

"This one…"

With that, Ekris popped the thermal clip from his pistol, pressed in the top part as a rifle's loading chamber would, and applied it to the bedsheets as sparks began to spring out. In a matter of moments, bright orange flames were blossoming out across the bed, colonising the half-wooden dresser and the rug on the floor…

As Ekris wandered out into Holstein's office once more, slipping pistol and clip back into his belt, the flames were spreading behind him, engulfing the doorway, but he wasn't finished yet. Even as the fire suppressors began to beat back the flames with streams of glittering rain, he produced a couple of small, round objects, and hurled one to either end of the room. They _exploded _violently, tearing out chunks of wall and floor and punching out what little glass was left in the windows. By the time Mac'Tir's car rose into view at the far end of the office, reddening flames were scorching the walls, creeping across the floors – a gas pipe burst, causing another sharp _bang _and a jet of flame which shot from floor to ceiling, making the fire extinguisher's efforts to beat it back look rather futile.

He slipped casually through the skycar's open door, and clambered into the back seat.

"Was that necessary?" Mac'Tir muttered, with a hint of reproach, as they veered away from the hotel and shot up towards Tyco and Arrete's position on the border wall.

"Maybe not," Ekris admitted, looking back as tongues of smoke and flame began to billow out of the corner of the hotel. "But it never hurts to send a message…"


	303. Operation Kingfisher Part 4

_**Port Hanshan, Noveria**_

_**Day 3, 0530**_

"They did _what?_" Sam frowned. "Christ, that's gonna take some explaining…"

Vanyali watched on, boredly, as the command team pored over their screens. Andersen and Kan were sat down in front of the holographic displays while Vimes peered over their shoulders nervously. Aeryn had been dispatched to the administrator's office to get to him to call ERCS off their team. Back across the room, Vanyali herself was sat on a packing crate, tapping her sword absent-mindedly against the floor as she observed the observers – Zel was sprawled out on the sofa next to her, and made for an odd contradiction as she laid back in full battle armour, with a sniper rifle across her lap. The turian's eyes were shut, but she definitely wasn't asleep – as ever, she seemed alert, ready to go. Not that there was anywhere _to _go, seeing as-

"Alliance, do you read me?" a panicked, static-y voice yelled out.

"We read," Vimes replied, frowning concernedly.

"This is Sergeant Torya, Binary Helix!" the voice continued. "We're under attack!"

"What?Repeat, sergeant, you're under _attack?_"

"Affirmative! Hostiles ambushed us inside the offices, killed most of my team! We've fallen back to the main entrance, keeping them pinned, but we won't last long and we haven't got much ammo left!"

There didn't seem to be a _hint _of hesitation in the C-Sec officer's mind, as he wheeled around, and barked:

"Charlie, get the _hell_ in the air and head for the Binary Helix offices! I'll re-route the others if I can, but if they're still hot, you'll be on your own…"

Zel and Vanyali shared a brief, rather perturbed look, then clambered to their feet and made for the door.

"Torya, can you identify the hostiles?" Vimes was asking. "Who are they, where did they come from?"

"Came into the building behind us," the unseen speaker groaned. "Caught us on the flank. Paramilitary operation, maybe another corporation – military-grade weapons, white-gold armour…"

Vanyali's brow knitted into a solemn glare at that last bit – both she and Zel ran just that little bit _faster _as they swept through the door. Their safehouse was on the second floor of a non-descript block, and the two of them practically _leapt _down the two-storey staircase that led to the small corral of vehicles in front of the building.

They made for the nearest car, one of the two grey, subtly-armoured vehicles the administrator had provided them with, and Zel – who had reached it first – clambered into the driver's seat, taking the controls. Vanyali had barely jumped into the passenger's seat before the skycar pitched upwards, and the door was left hanging open for a moment, before she slammed it shut and focused her attention on the world ahead.

Zel had already plugged in their destination on the holographic console in the top corner of the windscreen, and it was now directing them to the Binary Helix offices. To be honest, though, it wasn't really necessary – Port Hanshan had expanded a great deal in the last couple of years, but it was still a small place, and the firefight proved _very _easy to spot from above. Swooping down towards the two-storey office building, Vanyali was aware of the steady _ping, ping _that sounded like some instrument ticking over – she knew, however, that they were bullets, bouncing off the skycar's underside. They were just a few stray shots, however, and didn't trouble Zel as she brought the car swinging around to the side of the building, and set it down behind the wall of a nearby tenement.

As they stepped out of the car, gunfire was ringing out all around them – the steady _crack crack crack _of a machine gun, interspersed with the more erratic _bang_s of sniper rifles and pistols. Vanyali quickly found cover against the wall of the tenement, wordlessly signalling for Zel to fall in behind her, and edged along it until she could stick her head around the corner.

The scene that presented itself to her seemed rather dire, from the corporates' point of view, at least. She could see four or five Binary Helix soldiers, but only two of them were alive. One had fallen – shot in the back – just beyond the double glass doors leading into the lobby, which had been blown outwards by a grenade and were now occupied by three troopers in the familiar white-gold armour…

Closer to her position, two more corporates – a human and an asari – were lying dead behind a burning car in the complex's gateway, blood mingling on the floor and staining the boots of the turian who was still defending that position. He was stood, face grim and bloody, churning out rounds of suppressing fire from a Revenant machine gun. Off to the right, behind a section of the shoulder-height wall that framed the gateway, a lone asari was slumped against the wall, right arm hanging limp and bloody as she tried to reload a Predator pistol with her left.

"C'mon," Vanyali muttered, cloaking and stepping around the corner. A dull _whoosh _and a clatter of footsteps at her heel told her Zel had followed suit.

Thirty seconds later, the two of them were reappearing and dropping down in the cover of the wall, next to the wounded asari. The shots were much louder now, as rounds bounced off the metal around them. Over the din, Vanyali called:

"Sergeant Torya?"

"That's me," the asari grunted, shifting upwards slightly against the wall, and shutting the loading chamber of her pistol with a _click_.

"We're your backup. What's the situation?"

"Three gunmen on the door," replied the sergeant, "more hostiles inside the building – additional troopers, snipers, and some _damn _scary ninja things…"

"Phantoms?" Zel groaned. "Oh, that's never good…"

"How many hostiles?" Vanyali persisted. "And where did they come from?"

"At least a dozen, maybe more. They came in behind us while we were searching the ground floor. Shot our captain, opened fire on the rest of us – team of eight, only half of us made it out. Now we're down to two…"

"Have you got reinforcements of your own coming? Medics?"

"We put in a call to security," Torya muttered, "but they're delayed. Something about a shootout in the mezzanine. Shouldn't be long now, though, and they've got first responders..."

"Just keep your head down, then," the human murmured, rather gently. She turned, shouting towards the scorched-out car to add: "You too, turian! Play it safe, and we'll take care of Cerberus!"

"Cerberus?" the turian replied, dropping down behind the car as a slew of bullets came his way. "That's who these bastards are?"

Vanyali nodded. The turian made to reply, but a stray shot _pinged _off the metal frame of the car, just inches from his head, and he slung himself to the ground in a desperate saving throw.

"Still just the three of them in the doorway," she observed, peering around the corner _very _cautiously. "Manado, can you take them out?"

"Easy," the sniper nodded.

Zel stepped out around the corner without a _hint _of hesitation, sweeping her Viper rifle up to her eye, and:

_Bang! _

The turian sidestepped, biotic barriers flaring as shots came racing towards her from the building ahead. She braced the rifle once more, her glinting eyes found a target…

_Bang!_

She cloaked after the second shot, and disappeared with an electronic murmur. A few stray shots came flying through the gateway, but after a moment, the retaliatory fire stopped – Vanyali had a suspicion there was only one trooper left, because the only response from up ahead seemed to be a single _click _of a rifle reloading, and the awkward silence of a frightened trooper trying to find a target. Then, without warning, Zel _flashed _into view once more, on the far side of the gateway, before:

_Bang! Bang!_

Silence reigned. The turian stood very still for a moment, rifle mouth smoking ever so slightly, as her shots reverberated off the buildings all around. Then, she let the muzzle drop, and her shoulders slumped slightly.

"All down," she reported. "Entrance is clear."

"Then let's move…" Vanyali nodded. She reached for her rifle, then hesitated... and pulled her sword into her free hand as she stepped around the corner.


	304. Operation Kingfisher Part 5

_**Port Hanshan, Noveria**_

_**Day 3, 0545**_

_Shing_.

"Argh!"

The Cerberus trooper looked down, rather helplessly, at the sword tip protruding from his belly, and gave a slightly, almost inaudible groan. Then, with the vicious sound of steel running through flesh, Vanyali yanked the blade back out and ducked behind the doorframe, as the unfortunate man crumpled to the floor.

A burst of fire came racing towards her in retaliation, but the rounds dug into the doorframe impotently. As the firing paused for a moment, Vanyali leant around the corner ever so slightly, spotted the offenders, and called:

"Zel! Two troopers, on the right!"

"I got 'em!" the turian replied. The pair had punched through to a large, collective office, and there were two doorways leading into the room from this side – while Vanyali sheltered in the one to the left, Zel popped into the right-hand doorway, lifted her rifle, and:

_Bang! Bang! _One of the troopers went down instantly, his head _exploding _in a bloody mess. His fellow staggered back as blood and brain spattered over his visor, and promptly took a bullet to the chest, dropping to the floor and disappearing behind the desk in front of him.

"Any more?" Vanyali shouted, as it all went quiet for a moment.

"One way to find out…" Zel replied. "Eyes peeled, I'll draw their fire!"

With that, she stepped through the doorway, and Vanyali leant out of cover to watch the supposedly-subdued office, the rows and rows of desks, the floor littered with scattered equipment and documents-

Her internal commentary was interrupted by a high-pitched whine, as a red laser swept over the room.

"Sniper!" she yelled. Zel looked around, first to her, then to the sniper, whose head had appeared above a desk in the far corner of the room. At the last moment, the turian dove aside and cloaked, just as a sniper's round whistled through the space she had occupied moments before.

The Nemesis dropped back down behind the desk, but Zel was already re-appearing, a few feet from where she had cloaked, and she slung a hissing fireball of biotics across the room with her free hand. It struck the wall just behind the sniper's hiding place, ripping the desk in two as it exploded, and hurling the Nemesis into the air – she thudded down, quite dead, and the room was quiet for real this time.

"Ready to move?" Vanyali murmured, as Zel popped a new thermal clip into her rifle.

"Yeah…" she nodded. "Let's-"

"Check, check, do you read?"

The two women paused, staring at each other in confusion as the disembodied voice echoed out across the room. Slowly, Vanyali looked down at her feet, and realised the voice was coming from the helmet of the trooper she had just disembowelled...

"Comlink's still active," she whispered over their own radio, eager not to give the game away to whoever was speaking.

"Anyone?" the rather harsh voice muttered. Then, he – it sounded like a he – _cursed _viciously, and in the background, rather more quietly, she heard him call out to a colleague: "Enemy's in the next room. The idiots couldn't hold them off…"

"Get to the car," a second, very filtered female voice interjected. "We'll hold them."

"You'd better," the first one growled.

The comlinks faded into silence, with a hint of static, and the two snipers shared a meaningful look.

"Move," Vanyali said, finally. "I don't know who that is, but we can't let him escape…"

"Might be Holstein!" Zel called back, as they set off running towards the door at the other end of the room.

"Could be… whoever he is, he's dead."

They sprinted through the door, barely pausing to open it, thundered down the next corridor, turned left, then passed through another door-

And found themselves in an angular corridor bordering two sides of a steel-floored courtyard. The exterior walls were almost entirely made up of glass panes, but Vanyali had a suspicion they were tinted – not least because the party of Cerberus troops in the courtyard didn't appear to be aware of their presence, even as the two snipers stopped dead to survey the enemy.

There were three Phantoms, all brandishing their blades, accompanied by a hulking Centurion with a Mattock in his arms. They were clustered around a red skycar-

Into which a white-armoured leg was retreating. _Shit._

"Get to the far end, shoot that thing down!" she barked to Zel. The Cerberus troops were still blissfully unaware of their presence.

The turian nodded, and darted off along the corridor. Vanyali, meanwhile, took a more direct route – she sprinted towards the nearest window, leapt into the air, and _crashed _through the glass side-on, much to the consternation of the stunned Cerberus party.

She rolled across the floor, rose gracefully to her feet, and quickly assessed the situation as the Cerberus soldiers turned to accost her. The Centurion was the most dangerous, as she saw it, already going for his rifle – a quick swing of her sword and a jolt of electricity, however, and she sent him screaming to the floor as his shields shorted out. He wasn't dead, but he was certainly immobilised for the time being, and that was what mattered, because the Phantoms were moving in with terrifying speed…

As the first one reached Vanyali, the hissing figure aimed a broad swing at her head with its own blade. She made a rather desperate attempt to parry the blow, as Mac'Tir had taught her, and was amazed to find that it _worked _– the Phantom's blade was knocked aside, the figure stopped dead in its tracks, and Vanyali took the chance to step forward and drive her sword clean through the Phantom's chest. A little gurgle of blood, a cybernetic groan, and the slim creature died on her blade.

The second Phantom was closing fast, however – Vanyali hastily _ripped _her blade out of the first one's corpse, and carried the motion into a broad, three-sixty degree spin. By the time she came full circle, she had a great deal of momentum behind the swing, and the Phantom had rather helpfully stepped within arm's range – the sword _slammed _against the Phantom's own block, causing it to stagger aside, momentarily stunned.

That didn't last long, however. A mere moment later, the Phantom was darting back in, sword swinging high overhead – Vanyali rushed forward, blocked, and sent her opponent's blade springing back up, above both of their heads. The Phantom stepped past her, she stepped past the Phantom, and quite suddenly, they were back to back. The Cerberus agent tried to wheel around and strike, but, again remembering a move Mac'Tir had taught her, Vanyali flipped her blade around into a reverse grip, and stabbed back underneath her own arm. The slight resistance of flesh to steel and the subtle _squelch _of a blade sinking in told her she had found her mark – a couple of seconds later, the Phantom's own sword clattered to the ground, and Vanyali pulled her blade free, allowing the lifeless corpse to crumple to the ground.

Two down, one to go. The last Phantom was back by the skycar, and seemed to be… hanging back? Why was she-

_Crack crack crack. _As shots rang out, Vanyali realised exactly _why _the Phantom was hanging back – her Centurion colleague had clambered back to his feet, and had opened up with a bout of Mattock fire which narrowly missed Vanyali's flank as she dove aside. A quick tap of her omni-tool, a moment later, cloaked her from sight with an electronic murmur, and she paused to catch her breath. The Phantom was skulking forwards like some prowling predator, while the Centurion swept around with his rifle, waiting for her to re-appear. With the Phantom blocking the direct route, he was too far away to reach before her cloak expired. She would just have to rely on-

_Bang! _

That. With a loud report and a shattering of glass, Zel sent a single round skimming through the air, _popping _the Centurion's head in a grisly display. He toppled to the floor, much to the consternation of his colleague, and after a moment's indecision she bounded backwards, towards the skycar.

"Go!" she snapped, thumping the tail end of the vehicle as Zel sent a second round her way. The Phantom dodged it – narrowly – and cartwheeled away as, with a great rumbling noise, the skycar began to lift off.

Vanyali rushed forwards, aiming for the beleaguered Phantom as she turned, raised her free hand, and opened fire with what _appeared _to be a blaster on her palm. A quick _crack crack crack _of glowing shots raced across the courtyard, and out of the corner of her eye, Vanyali saw her turian squadmate dive out of the way, beneath the sill of the windows, as the panes above her shattered and tumbled inwards. Vanyali was almost on top of the Phantom now, however, and her target was completely oblivious-

Until her cloak failed. She flashed back into the world just a few feet from the Phantom, and it spotted her at the last damn second… Even as she dashed in, sword raised, the Cerberus agent wheeled around and delivered a sharp _kick _to her midriff, doubling her over and leaving her staggering. She span around, brandishing her sword once more, but the Phantom was already upon her – a wild swing of the blade left Vanyali leaping back out of the way, but a grunt of pain escaped her as the tip of the blade nicked her arm, cutting clean through the light Shadow armour to the skin beneath.

She slashed back in reply, knocking the Phantom down with a jolt of electricity, but somehow, her opponent managed to turn the fall into a roll and a graceful cartwheel, grabbing a blade from one of its fallen colleagues as it did – it flipped back onto its feet with a sword in each hand, hissing dangerously and advancing relentlessly yet again. Behind the two duellers, the skycar was lifting into the air, above the level of the building, and with a roar of thrusters, it shot off over the rooftops – Zel pursued it with half a dozen rounds from her Viper, but a sinking feeling in her stomach told Vanyali that the vehicle had just escaped regardless…

The N7 back-peddled frantically as the Phantom came in swinging – she blocked to left, to right, to left again, then knocked away a stab at her chest and leapt back to buy herself some room. Her opponent seemed to pause for a moment, but just as Vanyali was preparing a strike of her own, the Phantom lunged in, swinging both blades high overhead and bringing them _crashing _down – caught off-guard, Vanyali had to buckle to her knees and raise her blade high overhead to block the strike. The Phantom applied more pressure, and she applied her free hand to the end of her blade, pressing it upwards – even as she did, however, she was aware that she wasn't in the _best _of positions, and-

_Whack! _As if to prove a point, the Phantom shot out a slender leg, connecting with her jaw and knocking her to the ground. She managed to keep a grip on her sword, but even as she rolled into a crouching position, her opponent was charging in, blades swinging viciously…

_Bang! _Quite suddenly, and in a blaze of serendipity, a single round whistled out from the window to the right. Zel's shot punched straight through the Phantom's knee, blowing it out and causing the hideous creature to stumble, fall onto one knee, and falter, rendered helpless for a mere moment.

It was all the chance Vanyali needed. Launching into a sprint from her kneeling position, she bowled forwards, sword in hand – with adrenaline still coursing in her veins, she struck right, flicking one of the Phantom's blades out of its hand. She swung the blade upwards, _slammed _it down to the left, and her opponent's other blade clattered to the ground.

Finally, with her momentum still flowing, Vanyali gripped her blade in both hands, pulled it back, and then swung it forward with all her might. It sank through the disarmed Phantom's neck with ease, and she was astonished to see the creature's head roll clean off, thudding away across the courtyard as the headless body toppled to the floor.

Silence reigned for a moment, and then, with the last enemy gone, her arm began to _burn _with pain.

"_Bitch_," Vanyali cursed, as she finally spotted the bloody trail winding its way down her upper arm.

"You alright?" Zel called, clambering out of the corridor to join her in the courtyard.

"Just a scratch," she nodded, in reply. "All hostiles down, anyway."

"Close one, though," the turian murmured, biting her lip slightly. "Shame the boss got away."

"Did you get a look at him?"

"No, not even a guncam, he was gone too quick… I don't know about you, though, but I'm pretty sure we'll _bump into him _again."

"I think you might be right," Vanyali laughed, mirthlessly. "Call it in. Tell Vimes we're done here – no sign of Holstein, confirmed Cerberus involvement. We need to regroup, re-arm, and try again…"


	305. Operation Kingfisher Debrief

_**Port Hanshan, Noveria**_

_**Day 3, 0620**_

"So you failed," Tallis hissed, icily.

"We didn't fail," Sam retorted. "The objective wasn't _there_. We could have interrogated that Cerberus agent, but _your _men failed to catch him."

The sun was rising through the great windows in the east wall of Port Hanshan, reflecting off the snow outside and scattering sparse sunlight over the port's interior. The crew had regrouped to their safehouse, and now ERCS had been called off, everything was in order. Security was cleaning up at the hotel and at the offices, and Vimes' crew was left to have a rather _annoying _discussion with a crowing Tallis.

"I'll ask again," the C-Sec officer growled. "Do you have any idea where Holstein might have gone? Do you know where he lived?"

"He _lived _in the office your drell friend just set alight," she replied, sarcastically. "Follow the smoke and corpses."

"What, a director for Binary Helix spent all his time in that cramped little office? He must have had a private residence – where is it?"

"I don't know."

"Bullshit."

"Excuse me?"

"This is Noveria. I'll bet you've got all your subordinates bugged and tracked, just in case they try to take your place… So where is he?"

"I don't know," she repeated, "and even if I did, I wouldn't tell _you_. We're done here – I suggest you enjoy your last few days , and then get the hell off my planet."

The hologram flickered to nothing, and Vimes _punched_ the projector with a guttural growl of frustration.

"Well, that went well," Ekris murmured, drily, from the back of the room. "What do we do now?"

"I don't know…" Sam admitted. "But here's what we don't do – we don't let that bitch win. We don't just give up…"

Silence greeted that remark. Everyone agreed, but no-one knew quite how to put it into action. Finally, after an almost eternal pause, it was Aeryn who spoke up:

"First thing's first, we'll need to be able leave Port Hanshan – obviously, wherever Holstein lives, it's _not _here."

"Big business type," Andersen observed, "he's probably got at least two residences. Not even necessarily on Noveria – maybe he went off-world?"

"Doubt it," Tyco interjected. "For a start, we'd have clocked him heading for the docks. Besides which, if he steps off Noveria, he's in a hornet's nest – anywhere outside this system he's in Alliance territory, or Council territory, where they can grab him legally. If he's smart – which, seems to me, he _is_ – he'll stay on Noveria where the red tape can protect him. I'm with the asari, though – he'll have skipped Port Hanshan the moment we came to meet with the Executive Board. If he's brought in Cerberus to protect him, then he's obviously entrenching himself, tryin' to hold off the siege."

"Right," Aeryn nodded. "So we'll need to go to him. That means we need transport, and we need transport _permits _from the administrator or one of the company directors."

"I'd say Qui'in's our best bet," Vimes mused. "The only directors we can get in touch with from here are Tallis, who was never gonna help us, and the ERCS chief, who probably _won't _after the stunt we just pulled in the mezzanine… Can you speak to him, Aeryn? He seemed pretty willing to help before."

"Of course," the asari replied. "But, you realise we'll have to cover our tracks, hide our movements from Tallis?"

"Yeah… I wouldn't put it past her to try and stop us, or even tip Holstein off."

"You think she's with Holstein?" Andersen frowned. "With Cerberus?"

"I think she's mighty keen to shut us out – too keen, considering we're trying to take a traitor out of her ranks."

"I doubt an asari would actively aid Cerberus," Aeryn interjected. "But it's always possible she's playing both sides. She clearly doesn't want the Alliance interfering, and I'd say she doesn't want us taking the credit for getting rid of Holstein – she'll probably wait till our week's up, then take care of him herself."

"Then… why don't we let her?" Tyco shrugged, suddenly.

"What?"

"Why don't we let her? Either way, the bastard's dead…"

"It's just a speculation," Sam sighed. "For all we know, she'll extort him instead of killing him – let him run his business on the side as long as he pays his dues to her. We need to confirm the kill ourselves."

"_And_, we need to get inside his files," Kan added. "His communications could help us break open Project Phoenix, Cerberus, _Creed_…"

That last bit seemed to sway Tyco, and he fell silent, merely nodding in agreement.

"No time to lose, then," Vimes concluded. "Hit teams, check your gear and then get some sleep – you'll need it. Aeryn, you check in with Qui'in, try to get us a transport permit. I'll check in with security, see if they found anything after the office raid – they've been handling the clean-up, might have found documents on the bodies of the Cerberus troops… Andersen, Kan, I want you to scour every record you can find, try to locate Holstein's private residence. Get to work, everyone."


	306. Noveria Part 7

**A/N: So, I figure I should probably mention this... I got an offer for freakin' Cambridge!**

* * *

><p><em><strong>Port Hanshan, Noveria<strong>_

_**Day 3, 0800**_

"This had better bloody work…" Kan murmured to himself, as he approached the tenement. In silence, he walked through the front door, stepped into the scanner – he had left his pistol at the safehouse, and thus passed without incident – and made for the stairs, climbing up to the first floor.

_Knock knock knock._

There was a moment's pause, and then the door _whirr_ed open, to reveal a now slightly familiar blue face.

"Oh! Mr Sura…" she smiled, a hint of confusion peeking through nonetheless. "What can I do for you?"

"Is Arthur- is Mr King in?" the quarian murmured. "I need to speak to him."

"Err, yes, he's just in his study… come in, come in."

She stepped back from the threshold, allowing him in, and with a slight bow of his head, Kan entered the apartment for the second time.

The asari led him through the lounge he had seen the day before, along the short corridor at the back of the room, and then right, around the corner, before reaching a dead end, and another door.

"Mr King's study," she explained. "Go on in."

Flashing a quick smile at the… what was she, technically? Housemaid, servant? Whatever she was, he smiled at her, before pushing the door open and stepping through.

As he entered the room, he quickly took stock. Four square, steel walls, bookcases covering them to left and right, a huge window occupying the one on the far side. And, in the middle, a rather large desk, with a holographic computer resting on top. Sat behind the computer, a glass of dark liquor in hand, was a middle-aged human man, who was studying something on the computer with a scrutinising frown.

"Visitor for you, Mr King," Saphi piped up, from the doorway.

"Thank you, Saphina. I-"

He looked up, and his eyes bulged. Beneath his visor, Kan grinned – not that the human could see it – and he wandered up to the desk, as 'Saphina' went back into the lounge, allowing the door to slide shut behind her.

"Kan'Sura…" he murmured, abandoning his glass and his object of interest and standing up out of his seat. "My dear boy!"

Arthur rounded the desk and approached, arms out wide, before pulling Kan into an awkward, avuncular hug. After a moment, he broke away again, clapping the quarian on the arm.

"Mr King," Kan nodded, still smiling.

"Oh for God's sake, you know it's Arthur, boy…" the human scoffed, perching on the edge of his desk, opposite Kan. "Now what on _earth _brings you here? I haven't seen you since you went back to that flotilla of yours! What is it now… six years?"

"Seven, I think…"

"Certainly feels like it…" Arthur chuckled, running a hand through his rapidly greying hair. Streaks of silver had been running along his temples when Kan last saw him – now, his whole head was covered in a slick of grey. "But you never answered – what _are _you doing here? I didn't think the Migrant Fleet was in the area…"

"It's not," Kan explained. "I haven't been with the fleet in three years. It's... complicated."

"Oh. Is this a private call, then?"

"Not quite… I'm with the Alliance now."

Arthur frowned, in clear confusion.

"I admit, it might have gone over my head…" he began, "but when did the Systems Alliance begin enlisting quarians?"

"Spec ops," Kan grunted. "Multi-species operations."

"Ah, I see… Hackett's pet project?"

"How did you know that?" he frowned.

"I like to keep up to date with what's going on in the Alliance," Arthur smiled. "Unlike just about everyone _else _on Noveria, I don't have some burning vendetta against them – between Mantis refits and Tridents, half of my income comes from manufacturing Alliance designs."

"Good time to be a military supplier," Kan muttered. "_Avalon Aerospace_ is doing well?"

"It is," King nodded. "And it's Avalon _Engineering _now."

"You branched out?"

"Indeed. Guanghui Solutions contracted us to build a _liner_ for them, some… six months after you left. It took the best part of a year, but the profit margin was titanic – we used it to branch out into skycars, civilian-sector ships, and we bought out a small engineering firm on Tyr to begin producing ground vehicles. A few of those go to civilian buyers, the occasional diplomat or businessman looking for something armour-plated, but most go to Baria Frontiers – they have a standing contract for us to outfit their exploration teams."

"Sounds like the company's doing _very _well," Kan chuckled. "What about you, Arthur? How are you holding up?"

"Well, I'd prefer not to be stuck on _this _freezing rock," the human sighed, "but such is the cost of doing business. I thought of relocating Lucy and myself to the Citadel, but then _Cerberus_ attacked it. Noveria might be a hell-hole, but it hasn't been invaded yet. I might still head for Illium, though. Much warmer than here…"

"How is Lucy?" the quarian murmured.

"Unconscious," Arthur replied, with a slight scowl. "Whatever she took the other night, it knocked her for six. I swear, that girl's been on a downward spiral since we came here…"

"Well, Noveria's not exactly the most _lively _place," Kan pointed out. "I've been here three days, and apart from a couple of bars, it seems like it's just apartments, stores and _bloody _snow."

"You're right, of course… this place is full of intrigue, double dealings, dubious morals… not the best place for a young woman. At any rate, thank you for going out of your way to bring her back. You didn't have to step in, but you did, and that's the second time you've saved her from an… unfortunate situation."

"More than the second…"

"Well, quite…"

There was a pause, as Arthur leant back, plucked his glass from the desk, and took a sip. He seemed to savour it for a moment, before finally swallowing it down, and looking back up at Kan.

"Port?" he offered.

"Dextro," Kan muttered, shaking his head.

"Ah, of course. Curse my old brain… Now, boy, I still don't believe you've told me _why _you're here?"

"Have you heard of a man called Friedrich Holstein?" the quarian asked, cutting right to the crux of the matter.

"Director for Binary Helix," Arthur nodded, instantly. "Not the top man, but high up…"

"Our team found evidence that he was acting as a double agent for Cerberus. We're here on Noveria to take him down."

"I see…" – King's eyes narrowed slightly, with a hint of suspicion – "So is that why his apartment was bombed out this morning?"

"Yes. Our operatives raided it, but he wasn't there."

"Well, I should imagine he wasn't… That was a rather crude way of doing business, I must say. We're used to subtlety here on Noveria, not shock and awe."

"This isn't business," Kan rumbled. "This is war."

"Evidently…"

"Now what the hell do you mean 'I should imagine he wasn't'?"

"Well, he doesn't exactly spend much _time _there. It's a work residence, for when he needs to commute to Port Hanshan."

The silence that followed was almost _crushing_, and Kan found his right hand balling into a fist, until finally, he burst out with:

"I _knew _that bitch was lying!"

"Oh?" Arthur frowned, eyebrow rising as he shrank back a little in surprise.

"Tallis. Binary Helix's director? She's been blocking us ever since we got here, and according to _her_, that apartment we raided was Holstein's main residence."

"Not even _close_," the human sighed. "Holstein's got a complex up in the valleys to the north, the Rivera region. As for Tallis… well, _her _estate's up there too. So is Binary Helix's main base of operations. I can imagine she wouldn't want you snooping around up there..."

"Can you give me the co-ordinates?" Kan asked, eagerly.

"Certainly… if Holstein's with Cerberus, he's bad for business."

He retreated back behind the desk, and tapped at away at his computer keyboard. After a minute or two, Kan's own omni-tool lit up, and he found a set of co-ordinates downloading to the interface. With a victorious smile beneath his visor, he added:

"Can you do anything to help us _get _there?"

"I can't give you a travel permit, if that's what you mean," Arthur frowned. "You'd have to see the administrator for that, or _maybe _one of the bigger corporations – Synthetic Insights, Guanghui..."

"We're already sorting out a permit with the administrator," Kan muttered, waving his hand dismissively. "I was thinking about the actual _transport_. We can't get a Mako down from our ships in orbit – they'd never let it through the docks. We've got skycars, but somehow, I don't think they'll hold up too well outside the port."

"Indeed… you'd be snow-blind in a minute, and dead in two."

"Got any suggestions, then?"

"Well, heading up to the Rivera… you'd need ground transport, in my opinion – skycars and shuttles are quicker, but if a blizzard hits unexpectedly, they're going to get knocked out of the air. Considering your destination is up in the mountains, blizzards are quite likely… You'd also need something that can cross rough terrain, and if your little escapade in the hotel is anything to go by, you'll need heavy armour. Hmm… a VT7, maybe?"

"What's a VT7?"

"Civilian model of the Alliance's M29 Grizzly – in essence, a tank without a gun. Slightly slower than a Mako, but bigger, and if you ask me, better for the mountain roads. It has heavy armour plating, enough compartment space for five men and a driver, and if you get it up to speed, it's pretty much unstoppable."

"Sounds perfect… do you know where we can get hold of one?"

"As it happens, yes…" Arthur smiled, placidly. "We sell them to Baria Frontiers for exploration teams. I think I could spare one from our latest shipment. For you, anyway…"

He looked down to his computer once more, and spent a minute or two rattling away on the keyboard. Finally, he saved the resulting document to a datapad, and passed it over to Kan, as he explained:

"There's a turian in the vehicle depot, a Lili… God, I can never pronounce this. Lilihierax? He answers to Li, anyway… _the point is_, give him this datapad, and he'll bring a VT7 up for you. It should get you to the Rivera without much trouble."

"Thanks, Arthur," Kan muttered. "I'd best get back to my team, tell them the good news, but I owe you one…"

"We both know it's the other way round, boy. Now, get going. And try not to scratch the paintwork."


	307. Noveria Part 8

_**Port Hanshan, Noveria**_

_**Day 3, 1040**_

"Kan came through," Vimes was saying, in the corridor outside. "He's got us co-ordinates for Holstein's _real _residence, and a bloody tank to get us there."

"What about the travel permit?"

"Aeryn's working on it, but Qui'in's been on our side since we got here. He shouldn't be a problem."

"Sounds like we're ready to move out…"

"Not just yet. You all need some rest after this morning – I'm going to put the last of the plan into place, and we'll move out tomorrow."

"Very good…"

In the back room, adjacent to the corridor, Ekris was crouched over his footlocker, listening to the conversation outside while examining the collection of weapons he had _inside_. The locker was full of glinting steel, and he had stripped, cleaned and re-assembled every bit of his kit after the morning's operation, making sure it was ready for the second try.

Sam's conversation in the hallway seemed to have ended, and he heard the door _hiss _open behind his back, as someone else paced into the room – thus far, his only company had been a slumbering Tyco, who was practically unconscious on a bedroll on the far side of the room.

"You fight well," a voice muttered over his shoulder, quite suddenly. He wheeled around to see Mac'Tir looming over him, and the older assassin continued: "But you didn't seem to have a weapon of choice. I'm curious: what did you specialise with during your training?"

"I didn't."

"What? You must have done," Mac'Tir frowned. "You were trained on Kahje, like I was, by the same _people _as I was, I'll wager."

"I told you a while ago," Ekris muttered, "you're an old breed. We don't 'specialise' any more. We learn to use as many different tools as we can. For every attack, there's a counterattack – sure, you're good with a sword, but if you came at me with it, I could just shoot you down with a rifle."

"Interesting doctrine – bring every weapon you can, and hope you pick the right one. It seems inefficient."

"Not compared to you," he retorted. "You bring a knife to a gunfight."

"Who says I don't bring a gun _too?_" Mac'Tir murmured, pulling the Phalanx pistol from his belt by way of demonstration.

"Better, I suppose. But I prefer a proper arsenal."

He beckoned to the older assassin, pointing to his open footlocker. Mac'Tir let out a low whistle, as Ekris began to point through the various items:

"M-15 Vindicator. Assault rifle, good for gunning down any guards who catch up to you. Loaded with warp rounds to penetrate barriers and armour. Phalanx pistol. Sidearm, equipped with warp rounds like the rifle. Better for close range, taking down melee combatants. Smoke bombs for making an exit. _Actual _bombs for making an entrance. Omni-tool, with quick-finger triggers to a tactical cloak, a hack module, a sabotage program… and an omni-blade, in case my biotics are out of the equation. Asari-made Savant amp, for the best biotics in the galaxy – effective at all ranges, and I've yet to find a target they can't rip through. Finally, modified armour from the Hahne-Kedar Shadow Works, based on their Janissary model – gives a damn sight more protection than a _leather jacket_, but with no less flexibility."

Mac'Tir seemed a little offended at the last comment – although in fairness, that _had _been Ekris' intent – but he said nothing, merely examining the footlocker, before reaching for something with a hint of curiosity.

"These look rather more… _traditional_," he murmured, picking up one of the four daggers that Ekris had laid in the corner, next to a small cylinder of clear liquid.

"You think so?" the younger assassin scoffed. "They were made in a _lab_, not a forge. Micro-porous carbon – just as strong as steel, but lighter, and with an extra _bite _to boot."

"Oh?"

"They're made for delivering poison. Soak the blade in toxin overnight, then boil it away, and the process leaves a solid but _soluble _residue inside the pores. Stab it into a man's flesh, and the toxin dissolves into his blood for rapid delivery."

"Quite ingenious…" Mac'Tir admitted. "What kind of poison is it?"

"A cocktail, I think. Cyanotoxins, necrotoxins, hemotoxins…"

"All made and mixed in a lab?"

"Naturally."

"It seems flawed. If you're in position to stab your target, why would you need the toxin? Why not just strike a killing blow?"

"It's insurance," Ekris muttered. "If he moves, or if I miss by a fraction, and he doesn't die. the poison will take care of it for me. Or if I'm being stealthy, just passing a mark in a crowded street, I can bring him down with a little nick, a glancing blow, and stay hidden in plain sight."

"Useful, I'll admit," Mac'Tir nodded, "although I'd track the target back to an isolated spot… At any rate, you fight well. Like a sentinel of Amonkira himself."

"You know I don't believe in your Lord of Hunters," the younger man scowled.

"Yet you still know who he is… curious."

"Nothing _curious _about it. I know your faith, I just don't follow it. I find more strength in the Enkindlers."

"The Enkindlers are the Protheans, and the Protheans were wiped out by the same foe we now face. If they could not find the strength in themselves to beat the Reapers, why would they inspire strength in us?"

"Simple. A cause to fight and die for gives more strength than anything. I fight this war to avenge my gods, Mac'Tir. The Reapers killed them, so I'll repay the favour… Have you got a problem with that?"

"No…" Mac'Tir smiled, as if he had been planning on riling Ekris up all along. "I just wanted to know you have a reason."


	308. Noveria Part 9

_**Port Hanshan, Noveria**_

_**Day 3, 1800**_

The safehouse was quiet for the first time in a _long _while. Pretending to take Tallis' advice and enjoy their last few days, the majority of the team had gone down to the bar on the mezzanine, and only three of them were left in the safehouse – Vanyali was somewhere in the back, while Tyco and Vimes did one last strip and clean of their sniper rifles. To be honest, Tyco wasn't quite sure _why _Vimes was maintaining his weapon – he hadn't _used _it since they came to Noveria, and he wouldn't be on the operation tomorrow…

He eventually decided that it wasn't worth the bother of asking, and slid the final component of his own rifle – the scope – back into place_._ He popped the firing chamber open, and slipped a heatsink in to check it was all working. Then, finally, he folded the weapon up into its stock, and set it down at his side on the crate he was currently using as a seat.

"Done," he grunted. "Bar?"

"One second…" Vimes muttered, biting his lip.

The C-Sec officer had just finished re-assembling his Mantis, and slid the bolt back with a satisfying _click_, before he too set his weapon down.

"There," he murmured. Rather ponderously, he got to his feet, crossed the room, and reached into his footlocker, which was lying open by the far wall. To Tyco's surprise, he emerged with a small vial in his hand – one of the thin, 'trendy' articles that was replacing proper drinks in the galaxy's bars – and promptly tossed it to the bounty hunter, who caught it absent-mindedly and examined it for a moment.

"What's this for?" Tyco frowned.

"Dutch courage," Vimes replied. "When you did this sober, you screwed it up."

"When I did _what _sober?"

"You know damn well what I'm talking about…" – his fellow crossed over to the door, even as Tyco half-scowled, half-_glared_ at him – "Now, I'm going down to the bar, and you two are gonna sort this out once and for all."

"Wha… why?"

"_Why? _To be happy, you idiot! Or, alternatively, because I'm locking this door until you do. Bye."

The door _slammed _shut at a wave of his omni-tool, and the roundel glowing crimson in the middle of it seemed to slap Tyco in the face as he felt a swell of anger rising in his gut. For want of something better to do, he pulled the cap off his little vial of liquor – it was a _pitifully _small amount, he noted, with some annoyance – and smelt the familiar aroma of whisky drifting out.

"Sod it…" he sighed. He tipped the whisky back in one, tossed the empty vial to the floor, and turned on his heel, marching off with the air of a doomed man.

As he reached the adjoining corridor, however, he found Vanyali coming the other way, heading for the bathroom with a towel wrapped up to her shoulders.

"Hey," she murmured, eyes lowered – and then, she was gone, stepping through the door.

Tyco couldn't quite say what possessed him to follow her. To an outsider – hell, to _himself _on any other day – it would have seemed creepy, or at the very least _incredibly _forward. Maybe that was the intention, though… at any rate, he strode through the door, with about a million different thoughts racing and wrestling through his mind.

"Wait!" he called, much to her surprise – she started slightly, and wheeled around, replying:

"Kind of a bad time, Tyco…"

"We need to talk."

"No, we don't."

"_Yes_," he rumbled, "we do…"

"Go on, then," Vanyali muttered, folding her arms. Tyco suppressed a little chuckle at that – wrapped in nothing but a towel, she was _still _trying to be the tough girl.

"You were right, and I was wrong."

"What?" she frowned. "Since when did _you _admit to being wrong?"

"First time for everything," he laughed, drily, looking at his feet. "And… yeah, you were right. I _was _jealous."

A pause, as she stared at him questioningly.

"I was jealous of Reach- of _Nick_, because he had the balls to tell you how he felt. I didn't. I wasn't honest, and neither were you…"

"What?" she scowled, a little affronted at his calling her a liar.

"This ain't just rutting," he laughed, with a lop-sided smile. "It was never just rutting, was it?"

"I… I guess not. What's brought this on, Tyco? Are you _drunk _or something?"

"No! Well, maybe a little… it doesn't matter. Point is, I realised something the other day – we could both die tomorrow, and I'd never forgive myself for not gettin' all this straight."

"Well, go on then..."

"Alright. I think… I… damn it, I think I'm in love with you."

"And I think I'm in love with you too, you daft bastard…" Vanyali purred. "Now what are you going to do about it?"

They hesitated for a moment, and then, for what hindsight would tell him was the first time ever, Tyco swept down and kissed her. He broke away after a moment. She giggled. And then he kissed her again. And kept kissing her. And quite suddenly, she was snaking a hand up into his shirt, yanking it off over his head as her towel dropped to the floor, pooling around her feet. Half-laughing, half-growling, Tyco found himself being guided over towards the hissing shower as she went to work on his belt, and then, after a few agonising moments of fumbling, they tumbled inside.

"Rutting?" he rumbled, sarcastically, scooping her up into his arms.

"Hell no…" she replied.


	309. Operation Blizzard Briefing

_**Port Hanshan, Noveria**_

_**Day 4, 1100**_

It was hard to ignore the _glow _coming from the far corner of them room – Vanyali was sat side by side with Tyco, looking unusually small tucked under the bounty hunter's massive arm – but Sam tried his best as he set about his second briefing. He really wasn't _used _to these – Murphy had gotten them down to a tee, but Sam had never had much cause for making and laying out plans – partly because he had always been in the position of _following _at C-Sec, rather than leading, and partly because he rarely listened to plans anyway…

"We've got our target," he began, finally. "Thanks to Kan, we've got a location for Holstein's _real _house, and thanks to Aeryn, we can get there. It's going to be a long journey, though – eighteen hours at least by truck."

"What about by shuttle?" Ekris interjected.

"Less than one, but shuttles are out of the equation for now. There are major blizzards up on the mountain roads – if the shuttle happened to get caught in one, she'd be down in an instant."

The drell nodded, and didn't object any further.

"The truck we've acquired seats six, so we're sending in the whole strike team in two groups of three. Alpha is Vanyali, Ekris and Raziel – you'll infiltrate, scout the compound, and try to get to Holstein undetected. Bravo is Tyco, Zel and Arrete – you're on sniper cover. Pull the truck up over the gates to block the escape route, and hit targets of opportunity."

The half-dozen operatives of the strike team nodded in understanding, and one or two of them hefted their weapons demonstratively.

"The complex is an unknown," Sam continued, "so you're probably going to have to be a bit creative, work on your initiative. Now grab whatever gear and rations you need, head down to the garage, and get on the road – we'll be in touch once you're underway."

"You'll need this," Kan added, handing a datapad to Arrete as the salarian made to exit. "Arthur said to give it to a turian called Lilihierax."

"Will do," Arrete nodded, pocketing the datapad.

With that, the strike team filtered out one by one, taking varying amounts of equipment with them – they were all in combat armour already, and were carrying their weapons, but Ekris had been tasked with bringing a locker packed with ammunition and more specialist kit for emergencies, and Manado had a box of food rations under her arm.

"What about us?" Aeryn murmured, once the strike team was gone. "Do we just sit here and wait?"

"No…" Sam muttered, shaking his head. "We're going to make our bluff."

"What?"

"Tallis made it damn clear she didn't want us leaving Port Hanshan, and if she finds out the strike team's gone, she might well interfere. We're going to trick into thinking we're leaving the planet early, keep her off their scents."

"How?" Kan piped up, curiously.

"Well for starters, Aeryn's going to take one of our shuttles and fly it back up to the Logan – as far as docking control's aware, the strike team's on that shuttle, leaving Noveria. Kan, you and me are load every bit of kit in this place into the second shuttle, save for one computer and one server. Andersen, you're going to _use _that computer to direct the strike team. Think you can handle that?"

"Hmm…" Andersen mused. "Assuming there's no satellite coverage we can tap – not any time soon, at least. I'd prefer to have eyes on them, but I guess I can do it blind."

"Good man. Now, Aeryn, get moving."

The asari nodded, and rushed out of the apartment with a determined expression on her face.

"Kan," he continued, moving over to one of the server banks, "get over here. We've got some heavy lifting to do…"

"_Brilliant_," the quarian scowled, taking the other end of the server in question. "Always the hard jobs… why do I feel like I'm being punished?"

"Well…" Andersen observed, now sitting down at one of the computers. "You _did _run off and leave me to do the easy one on my own…"

"Point taken…" Kan sighed. "Still not happy about it, though."

"Ah, life's a bitch," Vimes frowned. "Now put your back into it – three, two, one, _heave!_"


	310. Operation Blizzard Part 1

_**Rivera Valley, Noveria**_

_**Day 5, 0540**_

"Andersen, any news?" Arrete muttered, with a hint of boredom. Snow was lashing off the truck's windscreen in a never-ending barrage, and the road stretched on ahead along the valley side for at least a few miles more.

"Nothing new," the engineer replied, sounding equally bored, and more than a little sleepy – their overseer had apparently been running on caffeine for most of the night, even as his two command colleagues slumbered. "Just waiting for security to come and liven things up a little. You know, dawn raid and all that…"

"I wouldn't joke about that," the salarian replied, chuckling nonetheless. "If Binary Helix find out what we're doing…"

"Don't worry about it. They bought our bluff – as far as they're concerned, the bulk of our strike team's off-world, and we're just loading up the last of our gear to leave."

"What if they were bluffing too? Maybe they know we're out here, but they didn't want you tipping us off."

"_Way_ ahead of you. Data spike's still in place, I'm keeping an eye on all of their internal comms – Elanus' too, for good measure. If they know about you, they aren't doing anything about it."

"Alright…" the salarian nodded, reassured. "I'll check in again when we're closer to the target. Strike team out."

With that, the radio went silent, and Arrete was left alone in the driver's seat once again. The rest of the team was slumbering in the crew compartment while the salarian drove. He only needed an hour's sleep a night, which was usually a blessing – it allowed him to get stuff _done. _Now, however, it felt like a curse – while the others got to sleep, he was going snow-blind up front, staring out over the seemingly endless tundra. Tyco had taken the first shift, some five hours behind the controls, but Arrete had been driving since then – twelve hours, in all. Blizzard or no blizzard, he was seriously wishing they'd taken the shuttle now…

Back in Port Hanshan, everything was going to plan, according to the messages he was getting from Andersen. Aeryn had made it past the obstinate docking control and into space just an hour after setting off, and had reported, to the others' pleasant surprise, that the Cambrai was back from her hunting trip. Vimes and Kan had finished loading the second shuttle, and were now just waiting it out in the safehouse, with Andersen.

"You're still awake?" a new voice called out, interrupting his train of thought. Zel Manado stumbled sleepily into the cockpit, and the turian slipped down into the seat beside his own, next to the engine readouts.

"Who did you think was driving?" he replied, sarcastically, keeping his eyes fixed on the road.

"Any trouble up here?" she asked, conveniently ignoring his sarcasm.

"Nothing but a couple of nathaks," Arrete muttered.

"Nathaks?"

"Scavengers, endemic to Noveria. Similar to a varren, but slightly larger, and adapted to the cold."

"Yikes…"

"Yeah… as it turns out, they can be pretty predatory, too. Couple of them jumped down off one of the passes, tried to take a chunk out of our back wheels."

"Seeing as we're still going in a straight line, I'm assuming they didn't succeed."

"Of course not," he frowned. "They're primitive creatures, and thing's wheels are made of _steel_."

"Everything on Palaven's made of steel," Zel pointed out. "It doesn't stop the predators there… they just learn to bite through it."

"Thanks for the nightmares," Arrete scowled. "Anyway, the nathaks gave up after half an hour – they can't outlast an engine…"

"So, apart from a couple of hungry scavengers, you've been alone up here ever since we went to sleep?"

"Pretty much."

"Wow. I almost feel bad…"

"Almost?"

"Well, you did volunteer."

They lapsed into silence for a moment, as the trail snaked to the right. Arrete swung the truck – the controls were _heavy_, to say the least – around the bend, and then kept on going straight. He took some solace in the radar screen – it was blurred slightly by the blizzard's interference, but he could make out enough to see that their destination wasn't far away. He turned, about to convey this news to Zel, when-

_Whoosh!_ _Something_ shot overhead, very low, and he felt the truck's controls shudder as the downdraft rocked them from side to side. It wasn't too bad – not bad enough to send them over the edge, anyway – but it certainly woke him up…

"_What,_" Zel hissed, "was _that?_"

"Not sure," Arrete muttered, as the both of them leant forward, craning their heads to try and see up into the blizzard above. "But I'm guessing it _wasn't _a nathak. Check the sensor screen?"

The turian nodded, and swivelled around to the display at her side. She tapped away on the console as Arrete drove onwards, but after a moment or two:

"Shit."

"What?" he frowned.

"You need to see this."

"I'm driving."

"Then _stop_."

He sighed, grumbled slightly, and hit the brakes, slowing the truck to a crawl, and then to a dead stop, leaving the engine to rumble and tick over absent-mindedly. He shifted to Zel's side, peering over her shoulder to examine the camera shot…

"Shuttle," the salarian observed, instantly recognising the white form ploughing through the snow above. "Flying in these conditions? Whoever they are, they're brave…"

"Or arrogant," Zel frowned, pointing a talon at the shuttle's rear thruster, as she added: "They didn't even paint the logos off."

Sure enough, as he squinted to follow her fingertip, Arrete realised what she was pointing at, and his eyes bulged. A Cerberus logo was resplendent on the steel hull, and to his mind, it was a metaphorical red rag.

"They're trying to back Holstein up," Arrete growled. "How did they find out what we were up to?"

"I could hazard a guess…" the turian replied. "But right now, it doesn't matter, does it? How quickly can we get to the destination?"

"Twenty minutes."

"And how quickly can _they _get there?"

"Less than one, if I had to guess."

"They'll have time to dig in, then…"

"Indeed. You wake the others. Tell them to get their weapons ready, and prepare to go into a hot zone."

She nodded, and disappeared back into the crew compartment. A moment later, her yells broke the silence, swiftly followed by the waking grumbles of the rest of squad. Arrete slipped back down into the driver's seat, set the truck in drive, and thundered off along the road.


	311. Operation Blizzard Part 2

_**Rivera Valley, Noveria**_

_**Day 5, 0610**_

"Coming up on the target," Arrete called, over the radio. "Sixty seconds, tops."

"What's the terrain look like?" Tyco muttered.

"Natural gateway formed by the ridges on either side – looks like the route's open, though, no actuals to keep us out. The main complex is behind that choke point – looks like three storeys, fairly expansive. Haven't got a visual on any kind of defence force, but I'll bet Holstein's got more of his bodyguards up here – expect the same kinda guys that were defending his apartment, plus Cerberus reinforcements."

Tyco fell silent for a moment, considering the situation, as Zel watched on – the whole strike team, save for Arrete, was clustered around the VT7's exit hatch, weapons at the ready, feeling tense. It was always this way before charging into a hot zone…

"You mentioned ridges either side of the entrance?" the bounty hunter piped up, finally. "Could we get snipers up on top of them?"

"Right's too steep," the salarian replied. "Practically a sheer cliff face. There's a narrow path up on the left, but it'd probably only take one gunman. Crowd three into that space, and one grenade takes you all out."

"I'll take the ridge, then," Tyco decided, holding out his Black Widow by way of explanation: "Best to have the heavy gun up on the vantage point for when we need it. Zel, Arrete, you can handle cover fire with your lighter rifles."

"Understood," Arrete confirmed, as Zel nodded her agreement. "I'll pull the truck up over the entrance way, and we can use it as a barricade."

"What about us?" Vanyali interjected, gesturing to herself and the drell.

"Cloak, and head for the complex. And for God's sake, stay to the right, out of our field of fire – we don't want friendly fire this early…"

"Got it," she nodded.

"Twenty seconds," came the voice from the driver's seat, once again. "Might want to brace yourselves…"

Zel grabbed one of the rails on the roof, feeling vaguely uncomfortable at the _need _to 'brace themselves', and for a moment, nothing seemed to happen… then, the salarian hit the handbrake.

The truck twisted in a manner that didn't seem mechanically possible, and span ninety degrees while still sliding across the snow and ice, wheels _screeching_, the whole thing feeling like it was about to roll onto its roof…

And then, just as suddenly, they stopped dead, and the soundtrack was back to howling wind and falling snow.

"Zel, on my six," Tyco muttered, as he regained his balance. Without waiting for a reply, the bounty hunter _kicked _the floor hatch open, lowered himself into the gap, and then dropped out of sight.

Moving over to the hatch herself, Zel looked down to see Tyco hit the snow beneath them, straighten up, and cloak – as he moved away, a trail of footprints in the snow marked his progress, snaking towards the truck's front wheel.

With a sigh of resignation, the turian crouched down, swung herself through the hatch until only her head and elbows were above the rim, and then let go, thudding down into the powder-white snow. Her reluctance was based on the expectation that bullets were about to come whizzing towards her, but as it happened, her appearance on the ground drew no response at all. She stood up, grabbed her rifle, and paced over to Tyco, who had just re-appeared behind the truck's nose.

"Any hostiles?" she murmured, quietly.

"Three coming out of the door," Tyco reported, peering down the scope of his rifle. "A way off, weapons raised. Not sure why they ain't firing yet."

"They're closing to range," the military-trained turian explained. "Back at the hotel, they were using Harriers, right? Automatic rifle, moderate recoil – that limits the range. If your enemy's an unknown and isn't firing yet, you use the seconds you've got to close the distance, give yourself a better shot."

"Whatever you say," the human grunted. "Take this position, I'll head for the ridge. Get Arrete on the back wheel."

She nodded, wordlessly, and watched as Tyco took one last check of his scope. Satisfied, he slipped his rifle onto his back and sprinted out of cover, _hurling_ himself at the rocky cliff to their left. Zel shifted into the position he had just vacated, back pressed against the truck's massive wheel, and reached for a box of warp rounds.

As she slipped the magazine into her rifle with a _click_, she looked back towards the VT7's hatch. Ekris and Mac'Tir were already out, and were creeping around to the rear end of the truck. Behind them, Vanyali was just landing in the snow, sword at the ready.

"Alpha, cloak and move, quick as you can," the turian hissed, cautious not to give the game away by shouting out her orders. The infiltration team, being of a similar mind, simply responded with nods, and the slight flicker of their cloaks as they disappeared from sight. "Arrete, are you coming?"

"I'm with you," the salarian replied – true to his word, he dropped out of the hatch a moment later, already holding his rifle.

"Take the back wheel. Three hostiles on their way, coming out of the main complex."

Arrete nodded, and quickly darted over to the rear end of the truck, finding shelter behind the massive wheel just as Zel had. He peered around the corner, checked with his scope, and then replied:

"Getting close. Take them down?"

"Tyco?" Zel murmured, urgently. "We need to open fire, please tell me you're in cover…"

"I'm in position," the bounty hunter grunted. He was out of sight, but his voice echoed down from the top of the ridge to their left. "Waste 'em."

Zel nodded, and turned, exchanging a glance with Arrete. After a moment, the salarian smirked, sarcastically:

"Ladies first…"

"What a perfect gentleman," she grinned. One last glance at the advancing squad of three, a quick of estimation of their distance, and then, the turian allowed a flare of biotics to build in her free hand…

Bellowing a turian war cry, she lunged around the corner, swinging her arm and sending the fireball hurtlingtowards the advancing guards. It shot through the snow-filled air, closed the gap between them in a matter of moments, and then _slammed _into the middle of the three men – a vivid flash of blue erupted from the impact site, and the two men on the flanks were hurled away like ragdolls, landing limp and broken in the snow a few feet to either side. The middle man was even more unlucky – he took the brunt of the hit, and crumbled to blue ash without so much as a scream.

"Classy," Tyco remarked, over the radio. "But I see gunmen moving to the windows. Gonna be a hell of a-"

_Crack crack crack crack! _Rounds began to batter against Zel's cover, bouncing off the metal wheel as she leapt back behind it.

"-firefight!" the bounty hunter half-yelled, half-laughed. "I'll try to get a signal back to Andersen, you two lay some suppressing fire!"

"Keep your head down!" Zel shouted to Arrete, as another couple of rifle rounds _ping_ed off the truck's rear axle. "But give them something to shoot at!"

"My pleasure!" the salarian replied, hefting his own rifle. "Brought some incendiaries for the occasion…"


	312. Operation Blizzard Part 3

_**Rivera Valley, Noveria**_

_**Day 5, 0615**_

"Keep moving!" Mac'Tir barked, as the three infiltrators darted through the snow. Ekris was following the elder assassin's footprint-trails, and bringing up the rear, Vanyali was following them both.

In a matter of minutes, the complex's front courtyard had become a battleground. A dozen or more shooters were lined up to bombard the new arrivals from the windows, and the chatter of gunfire all around the complex was deafening. Bravo was stuck in a stalemate with the defenders, both sides heavily entrenched as they were, but the latter were taking losses, now and then – as Vanyali glanced up, still sprinting through the snow, she saw a black-armoured bodyguard step out onto a balcony, take aim, and fire off a burst towards the team's truck. He had chosen his position poorly, however – unlike his fellows, who were well-covered in the building, he was exposed, and after a moment in the open, a quick _crack crack crack _accompanied his taking three rounds in the chest from Arrete's rifle. The incendiary rounds ignited, and he was burning as he tumbled over the railing at his side, plummeting down into the snow below. There was a little hiss, and a haze of steam drifted upwards from the melting snow, but the man's body was perfectly still, lifeless.

"We should split up," the drell continued, as they raced towards the corner of the building. "Vanyali, break in on the ground floor. Look for vents – a complex out at this altitude must have oxygen supplies on the interior, unless Holstein wears a breather twenty-four seven. We can use them to move undetected. Ekris, you sweep around to the rear of the complex, try to find the shuttle pads – make sure he can't escape."

"Will do," the younger assassin nodded – and then, quite suddenly, he was veering off to the right, away from the other two, as they reached the corner of the main building.

"What about you?" Vanyali called – Mac'Tir didn't show any signs of stopping, even as they headed for the wall.

"I'll take the roof," he replied, simply.

The drell was still cloaked, but Vanyali saw a flurry of snow fly upwards as he jumped, bounded onto a generator set against the wall, and then took an even greater leap to the second-floor balcony above, the one that had been occupied by the ill-fated guard a moment earlier – he remained cloaked, but the slight _shimmer _in the air that the cloak produced caught her eye, dangling just beneath the balcony for a second. Then, Raziel pulled himself over the railing, rolled onto the balcony-

And re-appeared, as his cloak ran out.

"Move!" he yelled to Vanyali, with just the slightest hint of panic.

It spurred her into action. She had cloaked a few moments after the drell, and that meant she had a few more moments now, but it couldn't be more than ten seconds… As Raziel leapt up the wall, grabbing the sill of a third-floor window and hauling himself up with a grunt, Vanyali made for the nearest window, sword in hand, _praying _for the cloak to hold a few more seconds.

As she crossed in front of the window, a black-armoured form flitted into view on the other side – one of Holstein's guards was moving up, rifle at the ready, to join the firefight. With barely a moment to decide just what the _hell _she was going to do, Vanyali reasoned that without her cloak, she would be safer inside than out – with that, she _hurled _herself forward through the window, sword at the ready.

It shattered easily – Holstein hadn't bothered with bulletproof glass, then – and she collided heavily with the guard, the two of them tumbling to the floor, rolling over-

The guard was dead before either of them got back to their feet – Vanyali slit his throat, rolled into the shadow of the wall, and pressed herself against it, reaching for her pistol in her free hand as she scanned the corridor for any more hostiles.

It was empty, but from the chatter drifting around the corner, it was clear she wasn't out of trouble yet:

"You go!" an unseen voice demanded.

"We both saw it, why don't you go?" a second replied, _whining _petulantly.

"What, you chicken?"

"_Yes. _I ain't running into sniper fire!"

"Well, stick to cover and you'll be safe."

"If it's so _safe_, why don't you go first?"

"Because I outrank you!"

"No you don't! We're the same rank – _guard!_"

"Yeah, but I've been here for six months, you've been here for four…"

Vanyali let her attention drift away from the conversation slightly, as she brought her pistol up, aiming the bulky Eagle down the corridor and flicking off the safety. She shifted up the wall, bracing her arm to mitigate some of the recoil, and began to listen once more, as one of the two frankly _incompetent _guards sighed:

"Fine. We both go at the same time. Happy?"

The other merc grumbled something she couldn't quite hear, and a moment later, footsteps echoed out amidst the roar of gunfire – a shadow peered around the corner, followed by another, and then the two men stepped out around the corner, rifles raised-

_Crack crack crack. Crack crack crack._

The two men dropped to the floor, bloody and quite, quite dead. After pausing a moment out of caution – no reinforcements came running at the sight of the pair's deaths – Vanyali rose to her feet, sword in one hand, pistol in the other, and began to creep along the wall.

"Just killed three of Holstein's guards," she reported, over the radio. "Crappy soldiers… why's he throwing these guys at us?"

"What?" Raziel whispered – she got the distinct impression he was hiding, so she lowered her voice as she responded:

"I hate to admit it, but Cerberus are way tougher than these guys. If he's got Cerberus backup, why isn't he sending _them _to deal with us?"

"Maybe he's keeping them back," the drell mused. "Keeping the best soldiers he has as a personal guard? At any rate, we'll deal with it when we find him."

"Guess we need to find him, then. What's the plan?"

"I'll sweep from above, you sweep from below. Ekris will reinforce once he's taken out the shuttles. Take out as many hostiles as you can, but don't let them report your position back to Holstein – we don't want him to run until we know where he is."

"Got it," Vanyali nodded, as she reached the corner and peered around it. "Might be hard to stay hidden, though. Can't help feeling like we're inside the hornet's nest here."

"If we are…" Mac'Tir murmured, drily, "then it may not have been such a wise idea to _kick _it."


	313. Operation Blizzard Part 4

_**Rivera Valley, Noveria**_

_**Day 5, 0620**_

_Crack crack crack_. Ekris put a three-round burst through the head of the trooper at his feet. The unfortunate man slumped back against the wall – which was now spattered with his blood – as Ekris reached for a fresh clip, and thanked the Enkindlers for the firefight going on all around him. Said firefight meant his Vindicator was pretty much inaudible over the racket of machineguns and high-calibre rifles, and the guards at the shuttle pad still hadn't realised he was there…

He peered around the corner, and took stock of the scene around the corner. There were three craft lined up behind the main building: two old model shuttles, painted black and evidently belonging to Holstein's men, and a newer Kodiak, emblazoned with the Cerberus colours. If he was lucky, the warp grenades in his belt would be enough to cripple them. Stood a few feet from the shuttles were a pair of Holstein's guards – engineers, judging by their light arms and omni-tools – and behind them, leaning against one of the craft, was a Cerberus trooper, one of the big Centurions, dwarfing the two of them as he stood there in full combat armour, with a Mattock in his arms.

"I don't like this…" one of the guards on the pad was muttering. "The place is under attack, and we're just sitting here?"

"Yeah…" the other one nodded. He turned towards their Cerberus colleague, and frowned: "Why aren't you lot up there fighting? That's what you're here for, isn't it?"

The Centurion just _growled_, and the two engineers turned away, exchanging a rather nervous look before returning to their vigil. Ekris' eyes, however, were _fixed _on the trooper – no sooner had they turned away than he straightened up, hand rising to his helmet, as if to tap a comlink.

"Sir?" he rasped, to the surprise of the two engineers. They wheeled around, watching just as closely as Ekris as the trooper paced away from them, listening intently to the radio in his ear.

Ekris raised his Vindicator slightly, half-considering bursting from cover. It wouldn't be _too _difficult to bring the three of them down in one clip, especially with warp rounds, and he was fairly confident he could do it before any of them got a shot in. He hesitated for a moment, however, as the conversation by the shuttles continued.

"Yes sir," the trooper was nodding. His hand fell back to his belt as he paused for a moment, met the eyes of the two engineers, and then:

_Bang. Bang._

The sheer brutality of the kills took Ekris by surprise – in the space of a second, the trooper had hefted his Mattock, taken aim, and blown both engineers away with two quick headshots. The pair's corpses dropped limply to the floor, and he examined them with bored disinterest for a moment, before muttering into the radio:

"Terminated."

Whoever he was talking to, they replied briefly, and the Centurion reached for _something_ on his belt, drawing it out ponderously…

A _grenade?_

Ekris didn't have to wait long to have his unspoken question answered – the trooper pressed down on the top of the grenade, wheeled around, and tossed it at the nearest shuttle, one of Holstein's. The shuttle's door was open, and the grenade bounced through it, clattered off the inside wall of the shuttle, and-

_Boom!_ The little craft erupted into a scarlet fireball, hurling chunks of steel and glass through the air and sending a plume of smoke skywards. The main hulk of the shuttle _pitched _upwards and then slammed back down noisily, as the Centurion watched on with apparent disinterest. He paced over to the second of Holstein's shuttles, and Ekris wasn't inclined to stop him – he was doing the drell's job for him, after all.

_Bang bang bang. _He punched three quick rounds into the shuttle's cockpit with his rifle, then plucked out another grenade and literally _punched _it through the glass, dropping it as he did and then stepping back, before-

_Boom! _The second shuttle went up even more violently than the first – it was propelled into the air by the blast, flipped over, and slammed down on its roof with a _crunch_.

Assuming the Cerberus agent _wasn't _about to blow up his own shuttle, Ekris reasoned that he had reached the end of his usefulness. As the Centurion turned, pacing back towards the building, the drell wheeled out from his hiding place, raised his rifle, and took square aim at the back of the trooper's head:

_Crack crack crack. Crack crack crack. _The first burst of fire took out his barriers, causing him to stumble forwards, before the second burst took chunks out of the back of his skull – he tumbled to the floor damn near instantly, and lay still, as Ekris bounded over towards the last shuttle.

"Mac'Tir!" he called over the radio, as he ran. "You need to hear this – Cerberus just opened fire on Holstein's men, blew up his shuttles!"

"_What?_"

"You heard! I don't know what the hell's going on, but I know what I saw! Have you found Holstein yet?"

"Negative."

"Alright…" – he reached the Cerberus shuttle as he talked – "Where do you need me?"

"Punch in on the second floor," Mac'Tir replied. "Find the vents, move quickly and quietly."

"Got it."

He let the radio fade to silence, and reached into his belt for the bombs he had shown Raziel the day before – they weren't particularly sophisticated, just basic warp grenades with a magnet to make them stick. He plucked out two, slapped them against the side of the shuttle, and then dashed away, back towards the main complex.

_Boom!_

He didn't turn to watch as his explosives gutted the shuttle – he just ploughed on forwards, set his sights on a second-floor window, and leapt at the wall…


	314. Operation Blizzard Part 5

_**Rivera Valley, Noveria**_

_**Day 5, 0630**_

"_Two targets," _Raziel's brain murmured. _"Twenty feet down. Blind."_

He was currently cloaked, looking over an unnecessarily grand staircase in the middle of Holstein's complex. It spanned all three storeys, first running straight up from the ground floor, then splitting around the first and curving to left and right, with the two branches meeting again on the third. Raziel was perched on a railing on the third floor, watching a pair of Cerberus operatives who were standing at the fork on the first. The pair consisted of a big, tough-looking Centurion, and a much smaller engineer.

"Set it here," the Centurion ordered. "Keep them off the boss."

The engineer nodded, and pulled the round, white object from his back, setting it down on the floor and swiping it with his omni-tool. Immediately, it began to whir and shift, a round head popping up out of the pod, and Mac'Tir realised, with a sinking sensation, that it was a _turret_. A turret's sensors would spot him, even while the two operatives were standing there oblivious. That gave him just a matter of moments to act…

He lunged forward and to the right, bounding onto the railing of one of the second floor curves, as the turret's barrel emerged from the shifting construct. Almost instantly, it gave a little _bleep_, and whirled around, muzzle spinning to find him – much to the surprise of the two Cerberus operatives – but he was already leaping off. The turret got off two or three shots, clipping his coat-tails, but he was already plummeting towards the first floor landing.

A last-minute flare of biotics cushioned his fall – his feet touched down a few steps above the landing and he lunged forward, rolling between the two stunned operatives. He popped up onto his feet, sword ready, and on instinct alone _lashed _out to the left.

The Centurion was on his left, as it happened, and took the first hit – he crossed the trooper's visor with his blade, cracking it open and causing him to stagger back, dazed. The turret was spooling up behind him, a mechanical whir rising, as he wheeled around and let biotic fire build in his free hand – a moment later, he hurled the biotic cannonball right at the turret's head, and it exploded violently, tearing the construct apart and tossing the engineer to the floor like a ragdoll.

Mac'Tir paused for one tiny moment, weighing the situation up in his mind. The Centurion was staggered, the engineer was on the floor. He wanted one of them alive. The Centurion was senior, but he was also tougher. Furthermore, engineers needed to keep some of their smarts – that meant less implantation, less indoctrination, and more emotion, more fear. The engineer could break.

Mind made up, he wheeled around to finish off the Centurion – as the big trooper tried to raise his rifle, Mac'Tir took a half-step towards him and swung out with a long leg, kicking the barrel of the gun away from himself. A split-second later he _stamped _back, cracking the sole of his boot into his opponent's chest and knocking him into the stair rail. As the Centurion tried to regain his balance, the drell hit him square in the face with a flurry of biotics – he flipped over the bannister and shot through the air, slamming into the far wall before falling broken to the floor.

That just left the engineer – the man was trying to get to his feet, trying to reach for his pistol, but Mac'Tir was quicker. He paced towards the operative, _kicked _his gun away over the railing, and dragged him to his feet before applying the sword in his hand to the unfortunate man's throat.

"Why is Cerberus here?" he barked, instantly. "Why are you going after Holstein?"

"Ha…" the engineer scoffed, in a monotone that was _almost _devoid of organic inflection. "Screw you."

_Shing. _Mac'Tir pulled the blade back and _swiped _viciously at the engineer's helmet. The blow took a great chunk out of the visor, and judging by the blood now pouring out, the man's eye, too…

"Argh! Argh… you goddamn-"

He gave a great choking cough of pain, doubling over as his blood pooled around Mac'Tir's boots.

"How are the implants holding up?" the drell snapped. "I thought you weren't supposed to feel _pain?_"

"Can't… kill me," the man spluttered. "Need information…"

"Not really. I could just rip your comlink out of your head. The only reason you're still alive is through my good graces, so do_ not _anger me. Now, I'll say it once more: Why. Are. You. _Here?_"

"Cleaning up," the engineer chuckled, mirthlessly. "Better luck… next time."

He grinned evilly, lapsed into silence, and clenched his jaw. Seemingly in slow motion, Mac'Tir realised just what the _hell _he was doing – the drell gave him a hefty shove and _leapt _backwards, but it was too late.

_Bang!_

The engineer's head was reduced to a pulpy mass in a split-second, even as he tumbled backwards over the railing. There was a blinding white flash, Raziel felt blood – or at least, he hoped it was blood – spatter over his cheek, and he hit the floor with a thud.

Raziel's world was a blinding, deafening white mess for a few moments, as a shrill ringing filled his ears, and as he struggled to his feet, his efforts were hindered somewhat by the fact that he _couldn't see_. After ten seconds or so, however, his vision finally cleared, and the drell managed to find his footing.

The first thing he did was dash to the railing, peering over it to check after the engineer. He needn't have bothered – the ocular flashbang had done its job, and the man's head was practically _gone_.

"This is Mac'Tir," he called over the radio, wiping some of the engineer's blood off his cheek. "Cerberus are here to silence Holstein – their leader's moving on him now."

"Ain't that a good thing?" Tyco replied. "Let 'em do our job for us."

"Negative," Andersen interjected. "I don't care if they kill Holstein, but they'll destroy any material evidence he might have, too. We want his files. Also, if they've got an assassin here, I'd say he's worth killing, right?"

"Right," the drell nodded. "Alpha, he's somewhere on the third floor."

"_Somewhere?_" Ekris muttered. "How useful…"

"Just find him," Mac'Tir scowled. "It seems we don't have much time."


	315. Operation Blizzard Part 6

_**Rivera Valley, Noveria**_

_**Day 5, 0645**_

Left, right, forward a bit, left again, back the way you came… the ventilation shafts had become a maze, and Ekris was _bloody _relieved to find them narrowing towards a single path, winding towards a vent which represented the promise of fresh air, and a glimpse of light. As he approached the vent, however, he was rewarded with something even better than oxygen – a chatter of conversation...

"Why aren't those commandoes dead yet?" an angry voice was blustering. "For heaven's sake, there are only three of them!"

Whoever he was talking to, it seemed to be over the radio, because he lapsed into ponderous silence, before replying, quite naturally:

"Then send more guards! Make them charge, damn it!"

Edging right up to the vent, Ekris managed to get a look down into the room below. It was a rather spacious office, furnished in modern style, and stood in the centre of the room, by a large desk, was a besuited figure who he could only presume was Friedrich Holstein.

"I've got eyes on the target," the drell murmured. "He's below me."

"Impossible," Vanyali replied. "He's right here. I'm looking at him."

"What? Are you sure you've got the right guy?"

"Are _you _sure?" she retorted.

"Ahem!" a new voice interrupted – Mac'Tir. "If you're quite finished arguing, could I make an observation? According to the radar, you're _in the same room_. Holstein's office has more than one air vent."

That was… embarrassing, to say the least. Ekris groaned, and slapped a gauntleted hand against his forehead.

"I'm moving to join you," the elder assassin continued, as if nothing had happened – had it been anyone else, or had they been in less _frantic _circumstances, they would never have heard the end of it. "Should only be a minute or two. Keep eyes on the target-"

_Crash!_ Ekris' attention was torn away from the conversation, away from Holstein, as a blue _explosion _rocked the near end of the room. The steel doors, which had previously stood as a bulwark against the outside world, were rent apart in the blink of an eye. Biotic fire was left dancing in the air around the shattered remnants, and a lone figure was marching through…

"Contact. Our assassin just arrived," Ekris reported, and for one terrible moment, he expected Christopher Creed to come strolling in. He had a habit of showing up when everything was going to pieces…

Craning his neck to get a better angle, the drell examined the newcomer from above – and it wasn't Creed. The man was tall, about six foot, and reasonably bulky – about the same as the human marines he had seen on the Cambrai and the Logan – with shaggy blond hair and rather sharp features. Most worrying was his armour – it took Ekris a moment to realise how he recognised it, until finally, his brain recalled images of the defector Eldridge, wearing that exact same suit. A Project Phoenix suit. This assassin was a biotic, then, and probably a very powerful one. That would explain the dramatic entrance, and the bluebell flames still coursing over his arms…

"D-D-D-Drake… what are you doing here?" Holstein stammered, as the Cerberus agent strode into the room.

"Cleaning up," the biotic rasped back. "You've been compromised."

"It's… it's just Noveria security," the director muttered, looking at the floor as 'Drake' advanced. "Trying to put the squeeze on me – shot up my apartment, bombed out my office, came here... Hell of a stunt, but my guards can hold them off, and after that… well, everything can be bought on this planet, the authorities included. I've got documents, documents that frame Tallis – give me a week, and I'll be in an even better position to help you. Maybe even running the board…"

"It's not that easy. Security didn't raid your apartment, the _Alliance _did. Those commandoes at your gate? Also Alliance."

"Shit… and the office?"

"That? That was me."

"You? _Why?_"

"I had to start somewhere," Drake shrugged, drawing even closer so that he was practically breathing down Holstein's neck. "And you're a hard man to find, Friedrich. Almost like you were _hiding _from me…"

"From you? No, no! I was hiding from… from security…"

"Of course."

Silence fell over the room, and Ekris shifted to a slightly more upright stance, ready to spring from his vantage point in the vents. As he did, the radio crackled in his ear:

"Does anyone have a shot on the assassin?" Andersen's voice called.

"Negative!" Arrete barked, between shots. "Wrong angle…"

"Same here," Manado muttered frustratedly, gunfire chattering in the background. "Can't get a shot from the truck, too low."

"Tyco, what about you?"

"I've got a shot from the ridge…" the bounty hunter rumbled, "ain't got a kill, though. Holstein's in the way."

"Go through him."

"No can do. Can't guarantee the shot'll penetrate – I'll bet Holstein's got a personal barrier, and if he does, my shot won't reach the big guy. He'll be running by the time I take a second shot."

"Understood," Andersen grunted, begrudgingly. "Infiltration team, what about you?"

"Got a route to the target," Vanyali reported. "It's not smooth and it sure as hell ain't clean, but it's all we've got."

"At your discretion, then," the C-Sec officer murmured. "Take the chance when you see it."

"Affirmative."

The radio faded to silence, and the conversation in the office below began to drift up to Ekris' ears once more. They had shifted towards the window, and Drake was muttering:

"These files? The ones to blame this 'Tallis'? Have you got a copy?"

"I… yes, right here," Holstein nodded, moving over to his desk. "They're quite thorough, I had a friend of mine-"

_Bang._

The shot caught everyone by surprise, and for a split second, Ekris thought Tyco had taken his shot after all. Then, he saw the smoking Talon pistol in Drake's hand, and the buckshot wound that been torn through the back of Holstein's shirt. Blood had been spattered across the floor, the desk, the holoterminal Holstein had been bent over – he slid to the floor with a little cry of 'Oh!', clinging to the desk and turning to face the now-advancing Drake.

_Bang._

That next round was fatal. Holstein's shirt was torn open from chest to shoulder, a bloody spray filled the air, and he slumped under the desk, breathing his last few ragged breaths. Drake was pacing towards the computer, evidently intending to swipe Holstein's files, but he was barely half way to the desk before-

_Crunch. _A vent at the far end of the room came flying off the wall, and Vanyali sprang down into the office. Ekris took that as his cue – even as Vanyali rushed into the room, he was slamming a biotic palm against the metal grille in front of him, sending it flying across the room before leaping through the open edifice. He hit the ground just as Mac'Tir dropped out of the ceiling vent a few feet away, and quite suddenly, it was three on one.

Vanyali lunged forwards first of all, swinging the monomolecular blade off her shoulders and swiping through the air, seemingly at random – as the blade came down, however, a crackle of electricity passed along the steel edge, and moments later, a burst of lightning went shooting at Drake.

It hit him in the shoulder, causing his barriers to flicker and fail – the Cerberus agent staggered back, the two drell darted forward to capitalise-

And _wham! _A blue wave of biotics hurled them to the ground – Ekris felt his head _slam _painfully against the floor, and for a few moments he was left staring up at the blank ceiling.

Then, the thunder of heavy, armoured footfalls rang out a few feet away, followed by a muffled _bang_, and the sound of breaking glass. Drake had turned to run, and Tyco had taken his shot, caving in the office window but failing to hit the man himself. Ekris stumbled to his feet as a second _bang _broke the air – Tyco's shot came perilously close again, clipping past Drake's sprinting form and burying itself in the far wall. He didn't have chance to take the third shot – the Cerberus operative was already in the doorway leading out of the office, as Ekris and Mac'Tir clambered to their feet-

And Vanyali tore past them, sword in hand. She was sprinting full pelt, and as Drake turned, pausing in the threshold to check on his pursuers, she raised the blade high, closed the last few feet, prepared to strike…

Too late, Ekris saw the Talon coming up in Drake's hand, the last chambers _click_ing into place, before-

_Bang. Bang._

Vanyali never knew what hit her – two rounds of buckshot dug into her chest, and she crumpled to the floor in a split second, blood spray filling the air.

"You fucking-!" Tyco swore, over the radio. Ekris, for his part, found the world drowned out by a flood of angry adrenaline. Drake had already dashed his empty pistol to the floor, and was sprinting off up the hallway as the two drell rushed towards the door.

Ekris reached the doorway first – he hopped over Vanyali, spotted Drake disappearing off ahead, and then turned back with half a mind to help his fallen squadmate. As he did, however, he found a strong arm pushing him away, propelling him onwards down the corridor.

"Go!" Mac'Tir barked urgently. "I've got her!"

He paused for a moment, hesitated, looked after Drake's fleeing form… and then sprinted off in pursuit.


	316. Operation Blizzard Part 7

**A/N: Sorry for the delay, guys. I know it was a hell of a cliffhangar to leave you on, but to be honest, that works quite well in my eyes. At any rate, it's been a busy week with exams and so on, and next week promise to be the same, so updates might still be a little irregular. As always, though, I'll try my best...**

* * *

><p><em><strong>Rivera Valley, Noveria<strong>_

_**Day 5, 0650**_

"Alpha, what's the situation on that _fucker?_" Tyco swore, over the radio.

"In pursuit," Ekris snarled – as he did, he clattered through the doorway at the end of the corridor, eyes _fixed _on Drake's back. The biotic was a good distance ahead, too far for him to pause and get a shot away, at least…

The drell ploughed forwards, urging his lungs to work, his legs to pump. A doorway to his right swung open as the two of them passed it, and _someone _aimed a shotgun round at his head. He simply ducked low, and kept running.

At the end of the next corridor, Drake paused to slam the door controls – he turned impatiently, hurling a ball of biotic fire at Ekris' head as he waited for the door to open. Just as it cleared, with a _hiss_, the drell parried the shot away – it exploded against the wall to his left, tearing a chunk out of it and killing the lights above his head. By the time his attention returned to Drake, the biotic was already sprinting away again.

They burst out of the end of the corridor onto a grand staircase, which split and branched and ran all the way down to the first floor. For whatever reason, Drake dashed across to the far branch – Ekris swung onto the near one, bringing the two of them side by side-

And he realised exactly _why _Drake had gone the long way round. Side by side, he could strike back. The Cerberus agent sent a shockwave roaring across the gulf between them, and it was all Ekris could do to hurl himself down the stairs, as the biotic juggernaut reduced the metal staircase behind him to twisted scrap. This guy was powerful,maybe even more so than Creed – and _that _was a scary thought.

By the time Ekris had _bounced _off the last step onto the first floor landing, the Cerberus agent was wheeling around, biotic fury building in his hand as he prepared the killing blow…

Salvation, however, came in the strangest form. The door leading into the grand hall slid open with a _hiss_, and three of Holstein's men came storming in, rifles drawn. Drake's attention was diverted for a crucial moment, and he wheeled around, delivering his shot to the three men, instead of Ekris – they were reduced to cinders in seconds, but the drell took the chance to spring up onto his feet and centre himself, his own power welling up at his fingertips.

When Drake finally turned back to face Ekris, the drell got a proper look at his face for the first time. Before, he had seen the sharp, angular features, but now he was presented with the full visage. The biotic's eyes were a livid, _venomous _green, shining brightly yet somehow without an ounce of emotion, and his lips curled into a sinister, almost _amused _smile for a brief moment – then, he was solemn-faced once more, and flexed his arm boredly, biotic sparks playing around his wrist…

Ekris struck first, flinging a fireball at Drake's head – he ducked it easily, and hit back, aiming a furious wave of biotics at Ekris' feet. The drell had to _leap _over his opponent's attack, rolling away to one side…

As he did, the Cerberus agent swept forward once more, and the drell was astonished to see a bright blue tendril blossoming from his wrist, a whip-like construct snaking through the air he had occupied a moment ago – it cracked viciously against the wall, leaving a deep black scar, and Drake slashed across with his other wrist, a second tendril _lashing _at Ekris' head. He ducked low, avoided the blow, and responded with all the biotic force he could muster, marshalled into a _barrage _of biotic cannonballs.

Left, right, left, right, left – his shots forced Drake onto the back foot, his barriers flaring as he sent the drell's shots ricocheting off in all directions, tearing into the walls and blowing out one of the light fixtures on the cavernous ceiling. A moment later, the Cerberus agent came back at him, swinging both lashes anew, over his head in a wide arc. They slammed against a barrier Ekris has conjured up a split-second before, but the blow still knocked him onto his knees…

The only way he could respond was with more aggression – as Drake took a step forward, the smirk passing his lips again, Ekris sent a _bolt _of biotics at his midriff, catching him in the gut and knocking him back, winded. The drell staggered to his feet, Drake staggered to his, and they stared at each other for a brief moment, pausing to let their minds catch up. Already, Ekris could tell he was on the losing end of the fight – his nerves were _burning _with effort, but Drake wasn't even out of breath. Time to play dirty.

He let Drake attack first – as the biotic swung at him, sending a _vicious _ball of blue fire at his head, Ekris swatted it away with his left hand, and went for a gun with his right… His pistol was out in half a second, and he barely paused to aim as he squeezed the trigger.

_Bang bang bang bang bang._ He emptied five rounds towards his opponent, but Drake already had a barrier up – the shots bounced away, ricocheted off, and Ekris bounded back, trying to widen the gap so that he could shoot again. _Bang bang bang bang bang _– another five rounds, and the Cerberus agent's barrier held, but he was forced back, _pushed _back. It was a stalemate, though, as he edged towards the door, and-

"Freeze!"

Two more of Holstein's goons had just burst through the door to the hall, rifles raised, aimed at the back of Drake's head. The Cerberus agent winced for just a second – a brief, fleeting break in the façade. Then, his gaze hardened, as everyone took stock of the situation. He was throwing all his might into a barrier to stop Ekris in front of him, but had nothing to counter the gunmen behind – not quickly enough, anyway. His lips parted, paused for a moment, and then finally, he spoke:

"Valkyrie? Execute."

Ekris frowned. Holstein's men frowned. Drake smiled.

_Boom!_

The world became a rush of fire and noise, and Ekris went crashing to the floor for the third time that day.

"Christ!" Tyco was swearing, over the radio. "Gunships, in the air! Positive on missile strike over the front entrance!"

The missile volley hadn't just _struck _the front entrance – it had gutted it. The blast had torn through the main door, the entrance corridor, and right into the hall they were standing in. Holstein's men had been killed instantly – they were face-down on the floor, charred and bloody – but Drake was still on his feet, his barriers momentarily swollen into a bubble that shielded him from the hit.

Ekris hadn't been so fortunate, and found himself a few feet from where he had been standing – the drell staggered to his feet, pulling up his pistol as one of the gunships swung low, hovering a couple of feet above the ground and _pouring _mass accelerator rounds through the breach.

_Chatter chatter chatter. _Rounds went scudding across the floor, bouncing and ricocheting and filling the air with lethal, glittering streaks. The most Ekris could do was make a run for the far side of the hall, attempting to outrun the gunship's turret as it swung around to chase him. At the last second he dove forward, rolled across the ground, and triggered his cloak.

In a matter of moments, he had disappeared from view, ducking into the shadows of the far wall. Before he could consider any kind of retaliation, however, Drake glanced at the spot he had occupied a moment before, bit his lip in indecision… and then turned on his heel, dashing through the breach and _leaping _up into the open crew compartment of the gunship.

Acting more on instinct than sense, Ekris sprinted after him, raised his pistol, and took aim at the biotic's retreating back:

_Bang. Bang. _He sent two shots skimming through the air, cracking off the gunship's nose… and then his pistol ran dry. He was forced to dive aside again, avoiding the first burst of retaliatory fire from the thing's turret by a matter of inches. The mass accelerator swivelled around, spooling up even as the compartment doors slid shut, and the gunship hovered up and away.

Ekris tossed his pistol aside and threw all his force behind another barrier. Shots began to bounce off it a moment later, dancing and glittering in the air, but the gunship only kept up its fire for ten seconds or so – after that, it disappeared out of view, soaring off into the air.

"Can anybody hear me?" Ekris panted, finally allowing the barrier to drop. "Target's gone. Took off in a gunship."

"Well stop him, then!" Tyco snapped.

"You want to try bringing down a gunship, be my guest," the drell growled back. "But I've been blown half to hell down here… Mac'Tir, what's the situation?"

"Holstein's dead," the elder assassin reported, before Tyco could interject again. "But I got a copy of his files, and I've got Vanyali. Nothing left for us here – we should evacuate."

"Agreed…"

"I can't defend myself very well while I'm carrying the lieutenant – I need your barriers."

"Meet me by the main entrance, then. Route's clear on the way. Bravo, get ready to cover our exit…"


	317. Operation Blizzard Part 8

_**Rivera Valley, Noveria**_

_**Day 5, 0700**_

"Friendlies coming out," Tyco reported, peering through the scope of his Black Widow. "Arrete, you got eyes on the gunships?"

"Only two. Third one ran – must have the assassin onboard."

"Son of a bitch… what about the others?"

"Targeting Holstein's men, but they'll go for ours as soon as they spot them. Also, I've lost contact with Andersen – I think one of the gunships is carrying a jammer."

"I'll deal with them, then," the bounty hunter growled. "You two get into the truck – get it ready to move, and try to get a link through to Port Hanshan."

"Understood. Zel, come on!"

Out of the corner of his eye, Tyco saw the turian and the salarian duck out of the firefight with Holstein's men – it had died down rather, now Cerberus gunships were sweeping the buildings' windows with their machine guns – and retreat back towards the hatch on the underside, quickly yanking it open and clambering inside.

Looking back into his scope, he saw two figures move ever-so slowly out of the devastated main entrance, and focused his sights on them as they emerged. The two drell were in a rough way… Ekris looked battered, and was staggering under the effort of maintaining a biotic barrier over the two of them. Mac'Tir didn't appear to have been wounded, but he was labouring under the weight of the… _body_… slung over his shoulder.

Tyco swallowed down the rather _distracting _flare of emotions in his stomach, and, as two of Holstein's men dashed around the corner of the building to accost his squadmates, he fixed his sights on the nearest of the two.

_Bang. _The man dropped, head blown wide open by an armour-piercing round.

_Bang. _His fellow hit the floor a moment later, as Tyco's second shot tore into his gut.

_Bang. _For good measure, he found a shooter on the third floor, and put the unfortunate man down even as he tried to fire a burst at the drell.

That got their attention. Tyco had remained hidden throughout the fight thus far, only breaking cover once to fire at Holstein's killer, before dropping down onto a lower outcrop and disappearing once again. Now, though, he found shots _racing _towards him – rifle rounds bounced against the rocks in front of his head, as Holstein's guards rather stupidly decided to focus on the lone sniper, rather than the _gunships_. He grabbed one of the magazines he had laid out in the snow next to him – there were just three left, he noted – and reloaded, before setting his eye to the scope once again:

_Bang. Bang. Bang. _He swept his crosshairs along the third floor, picking off a gunman in each of three adjacent windows, not even pausing to watch the men go down. Still peering down the scope, he dropped his mag, fumbled for another, and jammed it into the underside of the gun, before taking aim:

_Bang. Bang. _Two guards who had clambered out of a ground floor window to chase the drell suddenly found themselves under fire – both dropped to headshots, and slumped dead in the snow. Raziel glanced back at the corpses, then up at Tyco, and nodded in appreciation. Tyco, meanwhile, fixed his attention on a marksman in the top left corner of the battered complex. Long rifle, scope – a sniper, like him. He brought his crosshairs up, trained them over the man's head…

And cursed in frustration as mass accelerator fire raked over his position, a round stinging the back of his leg. One of the gunships had broken off, and was battering the ridge with a wild spray of shots from its turret. Stone chips were bouncing against his visor as it tore into the rocks in front of him, and his shields flickered as they tried to hold out against the odd few rounds that found their target. – the barriers had already failed over his leg, and the shot had spattered his blood over the stone beneath him.

With an angry growl, he snapped the scope to his eye and picked off Holstein's sniper, acting almost on animal instinct alone. He grabbed his last two mags, loaded one of them into his rifle, and then clutched the other in his free hand as he staggered to his feet, ducked beneath another spray of fire, and _hurled _himself down the side of the ridge.

He hit the ground running – well, stumbling – and went for his rifle as the gunship buzzed around the side of the rocks, turret spinning around to seek him out. The gun spooled up, the muzzle began to blare-

And Tyco was already gone, cloaking and ducking behind the truck's hefty wheel for cover. Bursts of fire ran along the road in streams, punching inch-wide pock-marks in the snow, but the sniper himself bought a few moment of safety. Only as the gunship's fire died down for a moment did he spin out into the open, raise his rifle, and take aim.

_Bang. _He tested the waters, so to speak, putting a round downrange towards the gunship's nose. The bounty hunter grinned as the armour-piercing round punched a round hole in the craft's cockpit screen, and passed right on through…

_Bang. Bang. _Tyco sent two more rounds skimming towards the gunship, and they smashed clean through the pilot's screen, to deadly effect – on the third shot's impact, the whole gunship _pitched _forwards, rolling to one side, tail over nose. It skimmed past Ekris' barrier, missing Alpha by a margin that was much too small for Tyco's liking, but then it ploughed back towards the main building, slamming into the ground and sliding the rest of the way before _boom!_ What remained of the gunship's ordnance went up, exploding violently and tearing another chunk out of the side of Holstein's complex – not to mention Holstein's guards.

"Last mag!" Tyco bellowed, ducking back into cover to load the last thermal clip into his rifle. "Move, drell!"

They did just that – as he rolled out of cover once more, the little group was just a few metres away. The shooters in the building were still raining fire down on them, and two more were advancing quickly over the snowy courtyard, reaching for shotguns-

_Bang. Bang. _He brought them down with angry precision, and beckoned furiously for the drell to hurry up. They exchanged a glance, and then Mac'Tir set off at a run, sprinting towards the truck with his charge as Ekris turned, swelled his bubble into a full-blown barrier across the road, and began to back up, slowly, covering the way…

Mac'Tir rounded the corner, shared a brief nod with Tyco, and then dashed towards the truck's hatch – Arrete had kicked it open, and the skinny salarian proved surprisingly strong as he took Vanyali from the drell's tired shoulders and hauled her up into the vehicle. Mac'Tir himself followed quickly, and that just left two.

"Ekris, come on!" Tyco yelled, rather worried in the knowledge that he only had one shot left – the drell's exhausted, slumped body language wasn't exactly _encouraging_, either. Ekris glanced once over his shoulder, frowned as if he was going against his better judgement, then turned, and ran. His barriers broke behind him, and almost instantly, shots began to crash through the air, stinging Tyco's shields once more and bouncing off the tail of the truck.

Tyco fired off his last round, praying it would at least make a few of the gunmen drop into cover, and then turned, tossing his rifle towards the truck's hatch. It clattered off the rim, and Arrete reached down to grab it, quickly pulling it into the compartment as Tyco turned to deal with his last squadmate. _Somehow_, Ekris managed to make it back through the hail of shots crashing down around him, and the bounty hunter practically _dragged _him around the corner, propelling him towards the hatch.

The drell was quite clearly exhausted from his biotic display – after a faltering, stumbling attempt to get into the truck, he ended up being _dragged _up through the hatch by Arrete and Mac'Tir, as Tyco dashed over to join him, rounds still scudding past his feet as they passed under the truck's belly.

At long last, as Ekris disappeared inside, Tyco was free to jump up, pull himself through the hatch, and shut it behind him.

"I've got a line through to Vimes!" Zel was calling, from the comms panel in the front section. "That gunship you shot down must have been carrying the jammer!"

"Well tell him to get us the _hell _out of here, then!" Tyco yelled in reply.

"Vimes, do you copy?" she continued – filled with panic, her voice was loud enough for everyone to hear, as was Vimes', as he replied:

"I copy, strike team. What's your status?"

"On the move! We're in the truck, heading back up the mountain road. One heavily wounded, airborne contacts in the area!"

"Heavily wounded?"

"Yes. She won't last eighteen hours, Sam. Need a medevac, ASAP."

"It's still an hour's flight from Port Hanshan," Tyco growled, _punching _the wall in frustration. "She won't last an hour either."

"That's why I'm going to _send _it from Port Hanshan," Vimes replied, a note of tension in his voice. "Cambrai's in orbit. They can have shuttles with you in ten."

"Where's our rendezvous?"

"They'll find you, just keep moving!"

The radio fell silent after that, and Zel cursed in turian, as they were left to the soundtrack of gunfire and shouting once more. Tyco paused for a moment, chaos bringing indecision. Then, his head cleared, more through anger and desperation than wisdom and clarity:

"You heard him, get us out of here!" he barked at Arrete, practically _shoving _the salarian through to join the turian up front.

As the sniper nodded and disappeared into the driver's section, Tyco turned to the two drell – Ekris was half-unconscious, propped up in one of the seats on the far wall, but Mac'Tir was still on his feet, leaning over Vanyali, who had been laid out on the floor of the compartment, bloody and worryingly still…

"Will she last ten?" he asked, frantically.

"She's alive," Mac'Tir replied. He couldn't help noticing, however, that was all the drell deigned to say…


	318. Operation Blizzard Part 9

_**Rivera Valley, Noveria**_

_**Day 5, 0715**_

"Vimes, where are those shuttles?" Zel cried into the comms, rather desperately.

"On their way!" Vimes replied, with equal frustration. "I don't control when they get there, Zel! We're busy enough down here as it is!"

"Busy?" Arrete frowned, from the driver's seat – he had been guiding them down the mountain trails for the last ten minutes, travelling _much _faster than he had on the way up.

"Loading everything we've got onto the shuttle and getting the _hell _out of Port Hanshan!" the C-Sec officer explained. "Binary Helix knows what's going on – they're already sending a security team from their main base to Holstein's complex. Won't be long before Tallis decides to pay us a visit too."

"What do we do about her, then?" the turian scowled.

"Nothing we can do…" Sam sighed. "If she _is _in league with Holstein, we'll deal with it another day. For now, just-"

"Check, check, does anybody read this?"

Zel's eyes bulged. The new voice was utterly unexpected, and wonderfully familiar. It was the human, Victor Cross.

"We copy!" she cried, relief flooding through her brain.

"Somebody call for a medevac?" Victor called.

"Affirmative, where are you?"

"On your four o'clock, with an escort. Skies are clear for now but the blizzard's getting worse – how the hell do we do this?"

"We've got an emergency hatch topside," Tyco interjected – evidently, he had been listening in. "Guess they fitted it in case the truck gets bogged down in a swamp or something..."

"Understood. Once you've opened her up, we can take it from there. Does the patient have any spinal damage?"

"Negative. Gunshot to the chest."

"Won't need a spinal board, then… When you're ready."

"Zel, get back here," the bounty hunter instructed. "Need everyone ready to go save for the driver – Arrete, how quick can you drop the controls and get out?"

"Few seconds, maybe?" the salarian grunted. "We'll soon find out…"

The turian clambered up out of her seat, clapped the salarian on the shoulder for good luck, and then ducked through into the rear compartment. The scene was much as it had been before – Tyco was on his feet, checking something on the ceiling; Mac'Tir was hovering beside the lifeless Vanyali; and Ekris was clutching his head, sat at the very back of the compartment.

"Ready to go?" she murmured, to Tyco.

"Yup," he grunted. "Give me a second..."

He ran his omni-tool over two little roundels near the door to the front section – they looked remarkably similar to the breaching pins on a shuttle door, she noted – then paced half-way down the compartment, to where Mac'Tir was standing, and ran it over a third. He hesitated a moment, nodded to the rest of his colleagues, and then, finally, pressed his omni-tool to the fourth. It flickered green, and-

_Bang bang bang bang! _Four explosions in a split second, _just _like blowing a shuttle door. A great chunk of the truck's roof shot skywards, and disappeared into the blizzard in a matter of moments. Speaking of which, the instant the roof was off, snow began to _pour _over their heads, and the truck's speed served only to increase the effect of the vicious wind that now tore through the compartment, chilling Zel to her bones…

"Roof's open!" Tyco bellowed. "What now, Cross?"

"Just stand back!" the marine replied. Tyco frowned, and beckoned for Zel step back towards the driver's compartment, shuffling over with her to leave a metre of clear room in the middle of their compartment.

What happened next took her by surprise, to say the least. One of the two shuttles following them – now clearly visible through the gap in the roof – swept forward, coming to hover right over their heads, buffeted slightly by the blizzard. The door swung open, a pair of boots appeared on the threshold… and Victor Cross proceeded to _leap _into the compartment from ten feet up, crashing to the ground with remarkable steadiness, and straightening up. Only after thirty seconds or so did Zel realise he was wearing a tether line around his waist…

"Where's the wounded?" Victor yelled, over the roar of the blizzard.

"Over here!" Mac'Tir called – the marine wheeled around at his words, and caught sight of Vanyali, on the floor. He let out a low whistle – which the turian was sure no-one else had heard, but her sub-harmonic attuned ears caught it clearly – and his eyes bulged for a moment beneath his visor. Then, he regained his composure, and jabbed his hand up to point at the shuttle now hovering over their head.

"That's a medical bird from the Logan!" he explained, shouting over the wind. "Dr O'Leiph's onboard with everything she needs to treat a critical patient! We're going to attach _this _tether" – he tugged at the cable around his waist – "to Vanyali, and winch her up. Then the medical shuttle's going to haul ass back to the Cambrai."

"And the rest of us?" Tyco frowned.

"Cash and Lisk are in the number two shuttle! They'll swoop down and pick us up once the medevac's clear!"

"Alright… do it."

With a nod, Victor crossed to the back of the compartment, unclipping the tether from around his waist and keeping a tight grip on it as he moved over to Mac'Tir and Vanyali. Watching on, it was easy to forget that they were hurtling along a mountain road, but every so often Zel would be reminded, as the shuttle or the truck lurched, rocking them all and dragging Victor towards the wall as he tried to retain control of the line. After an eternity of laborious effort, the marine managed to slide the cable under Vanyali's arms as Mac'Tir propped her up, and the two of them quickly moved her into the middle of the floor, dead-centre beneath the opening in the roof. Victor gave two quick tugs of the line to check it would hold – as he did, Zel noticed his gauntlets were now covered in blood – and then bellowed, up through the blizzard:

"Clear!"

There was a moment's pause, and then, slowly at first, Vanyali _jerked _up off the floor, chest-first, rising limply out of the compartment. It was a work of seconds for the shuttle's winch to pull her up and out, and when she finally touched against the bottom of the shuttle's door, Zel saw Ria's blue arms reach down and help pull her inside.

"I've got her," the asari reported, as the shuttle's door slid closed. "Bugging out!"

"Aye aye," Victor nodded. "Cash, get up here, we need-"

_Crack crack crack crack crack. _

"Son of a-!"

Victor and Raziel _dove _towards the back of the compartment as machine gun fire rattled down through the roof, and Tyco practically_ slammed_ Zel against the wall, the two of them pressing back towards the driver's door. Mass accelerator rounds punched through the ceiling, the walls, the floor, obliterating the truck's civilian barriers and causing sparks to dance around the interior.

Through the opening in the ceiling, a low rumble was sounding out over the blizzard – the firing paused for a moment, and Zel saw a metallic form flit over their head, spin, and come around again.

"Gunship," Tyco growled, next to her, and as he did, she saw the nose of the craft turn to chase them, heard the mass accelerator on its nose begin to spool up with a whining noise...

_Boom! _Out of nowhere, a round shot _crashed _against the gunship's wing, causing it to buck in the already-turbulent air and drop back, out of sight. A blue form rushed over their heads, and as the truck turned left, around a corner, Zel saw a remarkable sight following them – a shuttle was swinging clumsily towards the gunship, trying to line up another shot with the cannons on either side of its nose…

The gunship was far more agile, however, and a moment later it swung around to the left, turned on a dime, and brought its cannon to bear on the shuttle's flank:

_Crack crack crack crack crack. _A _stream _of shots billowed out, punching holes in the side of the shuttle and causing one of the craft's two guns to explode violently. The shuttle dropped out of sight, smoke billowing from the front corner, the gunship span around to take on the truck once more… and in the moments that followed, Zel realised the Alliance didn't pay their pilots anywhere _near_ enough – whoever was flying the shuttle had been bluffing, and after diving some ten feet or so, the little craft lurched upwards, back into sight, in a manner that seemed to defy physics, as the door of the troop compartment was flung open from within.

"Lisk, take that bastard down!" Ethan Cash yelled, over the radio. The Cerberus pilot seemed to realise his mistake and turned again, searching for the stricken shuttle, but it was already too late-

_Wham! _The transport came out of nowhere, soaring over their heads and slamming into the gunship's wing, physically knocking it back from the battered truck. The gunship shuddered, the pilot struggling to keep the craft under control in the blizzard, as the Alliance shuttle came around, a lithe form practically _hanging _out of the troop compartment…

"Is that a bloody missile?" Tyco frowned.

It was.

"Boom!" Lisk cackled, and without further ado, he pulled the trigger. The launcher's recoil practically knocked him off his feet, back into the shuttle, but his shot was good – a streak of white crossed the air, slammed head-on into the gunship, and sure enough:

_Boom! _The whole thing erupted in a rather magnificent fireball, dropped out of sight behind their backs, and _thudded _into the road. As it did, Zel felt the truck shake, Arrete swerving to avoid it.

"That's what I'm talking about…" Cash growled. "More contacts on the long range, a few minutes out but moving fast. Pilot, get us in close, let's make it quick!"

"Time to go," Victor muttered, clambering to his feet. "Two by two – I'm out last before the driver. Zel, Tyco?"

The big bounty hunter nodded, and Zel hesitated for a moment, before nodding too, and following Tyco into the middle of the compartment. The shuttle was hovering in close now, moving mere inches at a time as it edged nearer and nearer, the floor of the troop compartment coming level with where the truck's roof had previously been…

"Jump!" Cash bellowed, from above, and at her side, Tyco did just that. The big man took a couple of sprinting steps, hurled himself into the air, and grabbed hold of the bottom of the shuttle's doorway, hauling himself up with a grunt. Zel followed a second later, springing up rather more nimbly – but only just. There was a brief, perilous moment as the truck shuddered with her still hanging onto the shuttle floor – the side wall of the compartment came crashing against her midriff, but Arrete regained control immediately afterwards, and Cash leaned down, grabbing one of her arms and helping haul her up into the compartment. The little marine was stronger than he looked…

By the time Zel got to her feet – hanging on to the side of the doorway for support as the shuttle bucked in the blizzard – the two drell were coming up behind them. Mac'Tir gave the exhausted Ekris a hand up, and Lisk pulled him in, before the elder assassin leapt up himself. He clambered into the shuttle rather nonchalantly, and made for the seats on the far wall.

That just left Victor and Arrete. After a brief conversation – which consisted of little more than a thumbs-up each way over the roaring of the wind – Victor jumped up, the servos in his suit making up for its weight as he sprang up the inside wall of the truck and managed to latch his arms and elbows over the bottom of the doorway. He hauled himself in, shooing off Cash's help, and that just left one.

"Arrete, time to go!" Cash called, over the radio.

"Understood," the salarian muttered – and was it her imagination, or was there a rare tone of nervousness in his voice?

He steadied the truck, and the pilot brought the shuttle even closer to make his task easier. They seemed to wait for an eternity for him to be satisfied until, finally, he spoke up again:

"Locking the controls. Ten seconds."

The change was instant, and made Zel realise, quite suddenly, just how hard the salarian had been working on their eighteen-hour drive up the mountain. The moment he let go of the controls, the truck shuddered and drifted to the left, then back to the right, then _jolted _upwards on a slight rise, knocking against the shuttle floor and causing them all to lose their footing. Arrete appeared in the crew compartment, took one look up at the shuttle, and then _dashed _towards them.

Unfortunately, the truck chose that moment to hit a particularly tough outcrop of rocks and spearoff to the left. The shuttle's pilot reacted with lightning speed, pitching the craft left to match the truck's movement, but Arrete, dangling in midair, still caught a metal punch to the gut, just as Zel had. He yelled in pain, still flailing for the shuttle, but he was being knocked back, away-

On instinct, Zel lunged onto her belly and swung out an arm. To her left, Ethan Cash did the same, and they caught the salarian between them, one arm each, as a chain reaction rocked the cabin – Tyco had grabbed Zel to stop _her _tumbling out as well, Victor was pulling Cash back, and Mac'Tir was on his feet, half-way to assisting.

Luckily, Arrete was a light creature – it didn't take much of their combined effort to haul him in, especially with Zel and Ethan's biotics in play. As they pulled him in, however, the scene playing out beneath them was rather disconcerting. The truck's front-left wheel ran off the edge of the road, and the whole vehicle _bucked_… before tipping over the cliff edge that had been disguised beneath the blizzard. In a matter of moment, it had plummeted out of sight beneath the white veil…

"Sam, it's Ethan…" Cash panted, rolling onto his back as Lisk slammed the shuttle door closed. "We got them all. Get the hell out of Port Hanshan, and we'll meet you back on the Cambrai…"


	319. Operation Blizzard Debrief

_**SSV Logan, Horse Head Nebula**_

_**Day 5, 0750**_

"Well, that was… interesting," Murphy sighed, running a hand through his hair. "I knew Noveria was going to be complicated, but… _shit_."

The whole team had been given some time to cool off – or, indeed, warm up – before transferring to the Logan's war room, with varying degrees of reluctance. Only Vanyali was absent, for obvious reasons… Admiral Singh was hovering behind Murphy's shoulder, as the captain continued:

"In terms of our main objective… well, it was a success," he shrugged. "Holstein's dead, and we grabbed his files – they should help the Alliance root out more Cerberus operations in this sector. Andersen?"

"Err… right," the engineer nodded – he was stood off to the right, sifting through information on his omni-tool. "We haven't had accurate information on Cerberus operations since the last time we came to Noveria, ironically… Those files helped us fight Cerberus' military front – depending on how careful Holstein was, these should help us take out their front corporations and undercover agents. At the very least, they help prove that Cerberus _was _involved on Noveria."

"Speaking of which, where the hell did those gunships come from?" Cash piped up. "Port Hanshan?"

"No…" Andersen replied, shaking his head. "We monitored everything in and out of the spaceport, and there certainly weren't any gunships. They must have launched from a facility in the tundra."

"I think we'll let the Executive Board handle that one themselves," Murphy murmured, wryly.

"Is that wise?" Kan scowled. "Tallis was covering for Cerberus the whole time we were there."

"Actually… no, she wasn't."

As one, the room turned to stare at Mac'Tir, who had spoken up from mid-way down the war room table. The drell looked around at the sea of curious faces, and continued:

"Just before Holstein was killed, he told Drake he had forged files ready to implicate Tallis, and put himself in control of the company."

"Right…" Ekris frowned, looking up from the liquid ration pack he was using for a calorie replacement. "Why would he need to forgethe files if Tallis really _was _working for Cerberus?"

"Simple answer: she wasn't," Andersen sighed. "The files implicating her are forged, and _badly_. I bet he had them fabricated right after we attacked his apartment, and whoever made them was definitely working to a deadline…"

"So she wasn't working with Cerberus?" Vimes muttered. "She was just being a bitch for the sake of it?"

"Pretty much…"

"Great…" Admiral Singh groaned, sarcastically. "That means we still have to work with her."

"Try going through Administrator Qui'in, instead," Aeryn piped up. "He was very co-operative during our mission, and he could help you make overtures to the heads of Synthetic Insights and Elanus Risk Control – neither of them seemed quite as hostile as Tallis, and getting them both on side would win us a considerable voice on Noveria."

"Noted. Now what about the Cerberus involvement down there?"

"Three gunships, a dozen-strong strike team…" Murphy muttered, "Hardly an _army_, but still worrying. Particularly that agent of theirs, the one who killed Holstein. I'm assuming he was also the man who ran from Holstein's offices…"

"He was a member of Project Phoenix," Ekris called out, instantly. "I recognised the armour, and he was a damn powerful biotic, to boot."

"How's that possible?" the captain frowned. "We ki- well, no Phoenix agents made it out of our operation over Illapa…"

"Not _quite _true, sir," Andersen murmured. "We only took down one cell. And, even if that _was _the only cell with viable subjects, I've reviewed the comm logs several times – didn't that man Eldridge mention 'priorities'?"

"Err… yeah, I think so. They were the first subjects to be implanted and deployed."

"So, it's not _too _unreasonable to assume that this 'Drake' is one of the priority subjects, is it?"

"I suppose not. Eldridge said they were the real fanatics. And he said…"

The captain paused, and growled, rubbing his brow angrily as realisation hit him.

"What, captain?"

"When we told him Creed was on the station, his first guess was that he'd be looking for a henchman… that's who Drake is. He's working for Creed."

"Son of a bitch…" Vimes rumbled. "What do we do about him?"

"Nothing we _can_ do," Murphy sighed. "We've got no leads. If we find anything, we'll chase it up, but until then, we've got other business to attend to."

"Like the Reapers?" Andersen guessed.

"Like the Reapers…" Admiral Singh nodded, grimly.

"But, we're making a run to the Citadel first," the captain interjected. "Shakedown run went okay, but our fuel reserves are low – we're going to refuel on the Citadel, take on supplies, and make a trip to Shalta General for our wounded. We leave at oh-nine-hundred – everybody back to the Cambrai by then. Dismissed."

The crew turned to leave, some nodding, some saluting, some simply disappearing. At the very back, Murphy saw a black-armoured figure lead the way. Tyco stormed out of the room, as silent as he had been throughout the debrief, and the others gave him a wide berth…

Murphy caught Andersen's eye as he turned away. The engineer just shook his head, and mouthed: _"Leave it to me."_


	320. Downtime 26

_**SSV Cambrai, Horse Head Nebula**_

_**Day 5, 0820**_

Dr O'Leiph was just emerging from the med bay as Andersen arrived – the asari looked haggard, more than a little distressed, and was pulling off a pair of bloody surgical gloves…

"You alright, doc?" Andersen frowned.

"I… yeah," she replied, rather lamely. "Just needed some air. I'll be honest, Vanyali's the last person I expected to end up on my table…"

"How is she?"

"Professionally, or personally?"

"Truthfully."

"They're both _true_," Ria murmured, with a hint of amusement. "They just have different priorities…"

"Give me both, then."

"Well, _personally_, I'd say she's still alive, and we should be glad of it. Goddess only knows, most people wouldn't survive two shotgun rounds to the chest. By all accounts, she should be dead, and the fact that she _isn't _is a very heartening fact indeed..."

"Alright… and what do you think professionally?"

"I don't _think _anything professionally. I _know _that patients in her condition don't have a good prognosis. She went into cardiac arrest in the shuttle – I managed to treat her, but she went into a shock-induced coma, and she hasn't regained consciousness since."

"Isn't there anything you can do?"

"Nothing that I haven't tried already. Normal procedure for a coma is to stabilise respiration and circulation after the initial trauma, then treat any other causative factors – lack of blood glucose, narcotics in the system, and so on… If that doesn't matter, it's just a case of waiting, relieving her pain, and preventing secondary infections. Trauma-induced comas can last anything from an hour to several years – and that's after you filter the fifty percent who die before they regain consciousness. If they progress to a vegetative state, or you medicate them, human patients can be comatose for _decades_."

"And you really just have to _wait? _There's nothing you can do to bring her out of it?"

"Not with the equipment I have here," Dr O'Leiph sighed. "There are a few procedures with incidental success rates, but they all require more specialised equipment – the Cambrai's well-equipped for a frigate, but we still can't top a hospital. Best we can do is keep her stable until we reach the Citadel."

"I guess that's all we can ask…" Andersen nodded. Then, with a grave expression, he added: "Has Tyco been up here?"

"Five minutes ago," she replied, as if she had been expecting the question all along.

"What did you tell him?"

"Everything I just told you. He, ah… he didn't take it too well."

"I'll bet. Did you see where he went?"

She pointed towards the main battery – then, with a sad smile, she walked away, clapping him on the shoulder sympathetically as she did.

With a sigh, Andersen set off towards the main battery – he passed through the empty mess, then the rows of cryo pods framing the corridor, and finally through the door, into the gunnery officers' domain.

They were absent, for whatever reason – they weren't needed up here until the Cambrai went into a fight, he supposed – but there was a noise coming from the back of the room, a steady _clang, clang, clang._

As he moved forward, stepping down onto the low walkway at the gun's side, Tyco finally came into view around the corner. The bounty hunter's helmet had been _thrown _down halfway along the walkway, with such force that the visor had shattered. His empty rifle had been cast aside a foot or two further down, and just next to it, his gauntlets. The man himself was at the very end of the battery room – punching the hell out of the wall.

_Clang. Clang. Clang. _Andersen frowned, as he saw a trickle of blood burst from one of Tyco's knuckles…

"Hey, don't take it out on the ship," he called, wearily. "I have to fix that later…"

Tyco didn't reply – he just swung another punch at the wall, leaving a sizeable dent in the panel and causing an ugly _crunch _to emanate from his balled fist. He seemed to hesitate, pained for a moment, and before he could swing again, Andersen took the chance to interject:

"She's not dead, Tyco…"

"Maybe not," he growled, in reply, "but you heard the doc. Fifty-fifty, she dies in her sleep. Even if she doesn't, it might be years before she wakes up. One way or another, she's gone."

There wasn't much he could say to that. It was hard to counter the truth. Eventually, he settled on a rather old cliché:

"It wasn't your fault, Tyco."

In hindsight, Andersen would realise that his words rather fitted the description of 'poking the bear'. Tyco rounded on him, face reddening, and snarled:

"Who said it was my fault? Sure, I missed a shot, but the drell were two feet away and they didn't _fucking _stop it, did they? Sam was the one who sent her on the infiltration team, Murphy was the one who gave her that crappy-ass Alliance armour that gave in after one shot! And _you _were the one who ordered her to take down Drake!"

There was a tinge to his voice that Andersen just didn't like as he said those last words. He was advancing, chest swelling angrily, and as he reached the engineer he gave him a powerful _shove_, forcing him back along the walkway…

"You ever consider that?" Tyco snapped, advancing again. "Huh? You ever think that it might have been _your _fault!"

Andersen wasn't quite sure what motivated him to do it – maybe anger, maybe grief, maybe sleep deprivation – but as Tyco stepped forward to shove him again, he picked possibly the _stupidest _of the many options inside his head. He stepped back, balled his fist, and _cracked _it over Tyco's nose in a surprisingly powerful jab.

The bear was well and truly enraged now. The little engineer had stung his nose, but before he quite knew what was happening, the bounty hunter fell on him, with a baleful roar – a hefty fist _smacked _him full in the face, and he hit the deck.

As he staggered to his feet, Tyco hit him at a run, rugby tackling him to the ground and slamming him down on his back. Andersen retaliated, throwing one punch at his friend's temple, then a second at his already-bloody nose. He fell back with a noise that was half-groan, half-roar, and the two of them stumbled to their feet, panting as much from the emotional exertion as the physical.

They squared off for a moment, and Andersen had just enough time to regain his senses before Tyco came in again, swinging a right hook. This time, he took the smart approach – he grabbed the big man's wrist in one hand, smacked his other against the bounty hunter's elbow, and in one swift movement pulled him into a hammerlock, twisting his arm painfully behind his back. He span Tyco round for good measure, placed his free hand between the merc's shoulder blades, and slammed him head-first into the gunnery apparatus with a loud _crunch_.

The two of them lapsed into silence again, Tyco still immobile in the smaller man's hold. After a few seconds of heavy breathing and awkward silence, Andersen was amazed to hear a mirthless laugh tear itself out of his friend's jaws…

"How the hell'd you learn to do that?" he rumbled.

"Ethan's been teaching me marine hand-to-hand," Andersen admitted, with a grin.

"Fuckin' Ethan…" Tyco replied.

"Caught me a good one there," the engineer muttered, releasing his hold as pain began to throb through the right side of his face.

"Likewise…" his friend grumbled, futilely trying to wipe the blood from his trickling nose.

"Look, I don't mind the anger…" Andersen sighed, finally. "I understand it. But for God's sake, direct it at the bloody enemy, not me…"

"I plan to," Tyco growled, suddenly grave once more.

For a moment, Andersen was _very _worried, as the bounty hunter slid a rather huge knife from his belt and examined it in the dim light of the gunnery section. After contemplating it, however, he wheeled around and _buried _it in the wall, right up to the hilt. Still panting slightly, and holding one hand up to stem the blood flowing from his nose, he turned to Andersen, pointed to the buried blade, and snarled:

"That comes out when Drake's dead."


	321. Downtime 27

_**SSV Cambrai, Horse Head Nebula**_

_**Day 5, 0910**_

"We're under way, captain. Eight hours to the Citadel."

"Understood."

Silence fell over the newly-rebuilt cargo hold for a moment, as the occupants simply stood, and examined the object of their attention.

"Captain…" Klara murmured, slowly. "Why did you even bring that thing aboard?"

"I promised Nitesh we wouldn't do anything until the Cambrai was rebuilt and under way. She's been rebuilt, and unless I'm much mistaken, we're now under way. Time to open it up."

"You _can't _be serious."

"Why not? I spend _way_ too much time being serious."

"And why are we doing this _now? _We're en route to the Citadel, and they don't exactly _like _the geth after that little incident with Saren…"

"True, but we're going to be in FTL for the next six to eight hours. More than enough time to deal with a breakout situation, and if all else fails, we use FTL speed to scuttle the ship."

"You _can't _be serious. That'd kill us all!"

"I _was_ planning on ejecting first…" he frowned, pointing out the obvious.

The quarian didn't reply – she just folded her arms, and Murphy assumed she was frowning beneath her visor.

"Bottom line, I'm curious," the captain shrugged. "I've been waiting for a chance to do this since we found the thing."

The geth pod loomed in the corner like the proverbial elephant in the room, as Murphy and his companions continued to stare it over, with varying expressions. Klara looked disdainful – from what he could see beneath the visor, anyway – while Rilum looked… excited, maybe? Inquisitive, certainly… Zel, leaning against the far wall, just looked resigned, a 'come-what-may' expression passing over her plated face.

"Major step for science in the making," Rilum said, finally. "Shall we?"

"No," Murphy muttered, shaking his head. "Wait for Andersen."

Even as he said that, however, the man himself entered the room – and Murphy's eyes bulged at the sight of him.

"How the _hell _did you do that?" he gawped – a shiner the size of a krogan's nut had broken out over the engineer's right eye, and the captain was torn between the urge to ask, and the urge to simply break down laughing…

"I, ah… tripped," Andersen muttered, looking at the floor in embarrassment.

"Idiot," Zel smirked.

"You should go to Dr O'Leiph," Murphy frowned, still suppressing the laughter. "Get some ice on it."

"What, and miss the grand unveiling?" the engineer grinned, nodding to the pod in the corner. "No chance."

"Fair enough. I want you tapped into our firewalls. If the geth tries to access anything, counteract it. Akito's going to be doing the same from the bridge – between the two of you, I daresay you can lock it out for a few seconds, right?"

"Probably…" Andersen nodded, although he didn't look particularly _confident_, as he added: "Geth software is _very _advanced, though…"

"I'm not asking you to beat it, just to stall it long enough for us to knock the buggar out."

"Got it…"

"Klara, I want you with a sabotage program at the ready. If the geth attacks, you disable it and we cram it back into the stasis pod, okay?"

She nodded, but judging by the scowl under her hood, she would have much preferred to use her pistol for the purpose of 'disabling' it.

"Zel here volunteered to open the box, and if the worst comes to the worst, she's got biotic barriers at her disposal."

"So what's his job?" Klara interjected, nodding at Rilum.

"Observation," the salarian replied, instantly.

"Observation?"

"He's the smartest person on this ship," Murphy elaborated – Andersen and Klara both scowled at him, while Zel just nodded in agreement. "And he's got a photographic memory. He physically _can't forget_ anything we see here…"

"Good point."

"One last thing," Zel interjected. "What _exactly _are we expecting to come out of that pod? I'd like to have some idea before I break it open."

"You shouldn't have much to worry about," Klara murmured. "Geth operate on a network – a single platform has no intelligence."

"Actually, not true," Rilum frowned. "A single platform has no _sapience _– different concept altogether. No intelligence implies no thought, no processing of information – demonstrably false. Single geth has _animal _intelligence, not none – expect self-preservation instincts, disorientation, quite probably aggression too."

"Right…" the turian replied. "And if it takes a swing at me?"

"You swing back," Murphy muttered, simply.

"Simple. I like it."

"I aim to please… when you're ready, Zel."

The turian nodded, cracked the knuckles of her taloned hands, and stepped forward from the wall, with a surprisingly calm expression on her face. Murphy was soaring between apprehension and excitement, himself…

"How do I actually do this?" she asked over her shoulder, as she advanced.

"I've already disabled the barriers," Klara called, and it was all too clear in her tone of voice that she wasn't _happy _about disabling them. "Just hit the release."

"This thing?" Zel frowned, looking at a little round control on the right-hand side of the pod.

"Yeah."

"Alright, here goes nothing…"

Murphy tensed slightly as she jabbed the release with a long talon. The turian stepped back, biotics flaring around her fists in preparation for a barrier, as the rest of the team nervously set about their tasks. Andersen was tapping away on his omni-tool, Klara had hers at the ready, Murphy and Rilum were letting their hands stray towards their sidearms, just in case…

There was a _hiss _of hydraulics, and inside the pod, Murphy saw the stasis field dissipate, a crackle of electricity passing from top to bottom as it did. The door of the casket _popped _slightly, causing a flood of dense white gas to spill out over the floor as the cryo wore off, and then, with a scraping of metal on metal, the door slid around to one side, leaving the pod's contents exposed for all to see.

The geth _tumbled _out, dropping to one knee, several joints still thick with ice. After a moment, it stood up, ponderously, eye shrinking and expanding, the ice on its joints _crack_ing loudly as it shattered. There was silence for a moment, and then:

Alarms began to blare. Flashing red emergency lights popped up across the ceiling, and Andersen began to jab _very _frantically at his omni-tool.

"Breach in the firewalls!" the engineer cried out. "He's transmitting!"

_Thud. _Distracted for a moment by Andersen's warning, Murphy snapped back to attention as Zel went down. The geth had closed the gap between them with astonishing speed – Murphy noted that it didn't accelerate gradually, like organics, it just went from standing to a full sprint. The advantage of synthetic muscle, he supposed…

"Klara!" he yelled, but he needn't have bothered – the quarian was already darting forwards, swing her wrist-

A _jolt _issued out from her omni-tool, hitting the geth and causing it to jerk back as golden electricity rippled over its steel hide. Seconds later, it fell still, head bowed, arms limp.

"Zel, are you alright?" the captain called out, instantly.

"Fine…" the turian nodded, clambering to her feet. "_Please _tell me that thing's disabled?"

"Until the adaption protocol kicks in," Andersen affirmed.

"Adaption _what?_"

"Geth software rewrites itself to counteract hacking attempts."

"And how long does that take?"

"About thirty sec-"

"Watch out!" Rilum interrupted, catching everyone else in the room off-guard. The geth's head had just snapped back up, it powered forwards towards Zel's turned back-

And the turian wheeled around at the last moment, delivering a haymaker to the flashlight eye approaching her. The geth's reaction, Murphy noted, was much the same as the reaction of more organics to being punched in the face by an angry turian. It _somersaulted _backwards, and crashed to the floor.

With surprising presence of mind, Andersen lunged forwards, going for his own omni-tool and sending a cryo program at the downed geth. It connected with a flash of white, and the geth's head and chest snap-froze in an instant. It stayed frozen just long enough for Zel and Andersen to drag it to the back of the room and cram it back into the pod.

"Well that was… unpleasant," Murphy groaned, as Zel slammed the door shut.

"Not _entirely_ unexpected," Lynus shrugged – off to one side, Klara had folded her arms, and he was damn sure she was wearing a 'told you so' smirk beneath her mask…

"Akito, are our systems intact?" he called, over the radio.

"No geth programs in the system, if that's what you mean," the co-pilot replied. "Firewalls took a hit, though."

"It broke through our firewalls, but didn't access our systems?" the captain frowned, confused. "What the hell was it doing, then?"

"Transmitting," Andersen muttered, pacing back towards them. "Geth operate on a network. That one was isolated."

"It was trying to access the consensus," Klara surmised.

"Did it succeed?" was Murphy's first question.

"Doubtful. But even if it did, there was no reply. It's safe, and we can always repair the firewalls – just a matter of a quick rewrite."

"You'd best get to work, then."

"Aye aye. But, ah… what do we do about the geth, sir?"

"Keep it locked up for now, and make sure C-Sec Customs doesn't get a _whiff _of it while we're docked."

"Understood. Recommend we don't activate it again until we've found out how to make it safe."

"_Agreed_."


	322. Downtime 28

_**Shalta General Hospital, Shalta Ward**_

_**Day 5, 1740**_

"Out of the way, got a critical incoming!"

"Get her into room four, and get the life support running!"

As the two EMTs wheeled Vanyali's bed along the hospital corridor, Ria was following close behind, eyes flitting over every little detail to make sure they weren't _screwing it up_. The Cambrai had docked on Shalta Ward some twenty minutes ago, and their first order of business had been to make contact with the hospital, to arrange the latest batch of patient transfers. Vanyali had been rushed off the ship, and the two turian medics had met them on the dockside…

"We've got it from here," one of them called, turning to Ria as the other swung Vanyali's trolley into the adjacent room.

"Do you need any help?" she replied, rather hoping that they did…

"No, ma'am, we can handle this. I'll get you an update as soon as possible, I promise."

With that, he disappeared into the room after his fellow – through the little glass slit next to the door, she could see them lifting Vanyali onto the bed, prepping an intubation tube and a life support machine. It wasn't that she didn't trust them to succeed, per se. It was just that she trusted _herself _more…

She was distracted a moment later, however, as a familiar voice echoed down the corridor, and quick footsteps began to clatter across the floor:

"Ria!" the human cried, in happy surprise.

"Gina…" the asari replied, smiling weakly.

"What are you doing here?" her old colleague frowned – then, she realised exactly what Ria was doing there, and the smile dropped from her lips. She continued, rather meekly: "Who?"

"Vanyali," Ria admitted, sadly. "Double shot to the chest, she's comatose."

"Shit…"

"Quite. Gina, could I ask a favour?"

"Anything."

"I don't suppose you could pull some strings so that you're the one looking after her? I'd appreciate having someone I trust on her case."

"No string-pulling necessary," Gina murmured. "Doctor Malin lets me handle all the military inpatients – she says I'm 'used to the mindset', or something…"

"Military medicine _is _different," Ria admitted. "First time in my life I've ever had to fix up patients who didn't _want _to be treated. And the kinds of injuries they bring in… goddess…"

She paused for a moment, before her second order of business sprang back into mind, and she added:

"Speaking of which, how's Vor? I got a message from a Doctor – Rensel, is it? – asking me to come and check up on him."

"Rensel? Ah, yes, Malin's colleague from Bachjret. He's quite an amazing surgeon, you know, even for a salarian. I was actually on my way up here to meet him… ah, there he is!"

Gina pointed off up the corridor, and as Ria turned to follow her finger, she saw a grey-skinned salarian pacing towards them, along with-

Her jaw dropped as she saw Vor. It was rather hard to reconcile the last time she'd seen him – limp, bloody and altogether rather _broken _on Cyone – with the tall, strong figure now striding towards her. His face was grim as ever, with a few new scars, but the physical therapy actually appeared to have _added _some muscle compared to before. The only flaw in his strong façade was the slight rigidity in his gait, which she knew belied the cybernetic parts inside his legs – what they lacked in mobility, however, they would probably make up for in sheer stamina.

"Doctor Rensel," Gina called, as the two of them drew near. "I'd like to introduce my colleague, Doctor Ria O'Leiph. Ria O'Leiph, Adari Rensel."

"A pleasure," the salarian nodded. "Doctor Campbell talks about your work together quite often. It is quite… fortuitous that you're here too. I was supposed to update Doctor Campbell on the status of our patient – given his remarkable progress, I thought she might benefit from a demonstration."

"Remarkable is the word," Ria observed. "Patients in his condition should still be wheelchair-bound at this stage."

"What can I say?" Vor interjected, before the doctor could reply. "I'm stubborn."

"He spent the first four days _crawling _rather than use the wheelchair," Adari frowned, disapprovingly. "But, I can't deny the results. He's completed a six-week physical therapy program in half that time. Quite astounding, never had a case like it. Might write up the notes, submit to Sur'Kesh Journal of Medical Science…"

"Write it up as what?" the asari muttered, eyebrow rising. "The effect of being a stubborn ass on surgical recovery times?"

"Perhaps. Maybe in more… _flattering _terms, though."

"If you've _quite _finished discussing me," the batarian scowled. "Can I leave now?"

"_Leave?" _Ria replied, stunned. She turned to Doctor Rensel, and continued: "He's not ready to _leave _yet, is he?"

"I see no reason why not," the salarian shrugged. "Like I said, he has made an astonishing recovery. The metrics from his physio sessions meet medical discharge _and _military service standards. I've already signed the discharge papers – if Doctor Campbell does the same, he's free to go."

"I'll get right to it, then," Gina smiled. "Get you back to the fight, hey Vor?"

"About time," the batarian grumbled.

She nodded at him, then turned and departed with Doctor Rensel, off towards the administration desk at the far end of the room. Ria and Vor were left alone, and the batarian turned for the first time to look at the adjacent room, where the two turian EMTs had just finished hooking their patient up to life support, and were standing back, observing her carefully.

"Is that Vanyali?" Vor muttered. "What the hell brought her down?"

"Cerberus," Ria replied, practically _hissing _the name.

"Been missin' those bastards," the batarian rumbled, cracking his knuckles.

"I'm sure they've missed you too…"


	323. Downtime 29

**A/N: Bit of a rushed chapter, but never mind... enjoy!**

* * *

><p><em><strong>Presidium Commons, Presidium<strong>_

_**Day 5, 1750**_

"Tenement Four," Alicia murmured, as they reached the top of the stairs. "This is the place…"

She ran her hand over the console by the door, and as it slid open, the little group shuffled inside.

"Wow…" Erika murmured, looking around at the clean, rather expansive apartment.

"Pretty nice…" Alec nodded, behind her. "Still don't see why we're here, though."

"You're _here_," his sister glowered, "because in your state, another blow to the head could kill you, not to mention the fact that you'll be too disoriented to shoot straight for the next few days. You need time to recover, you all do…"

They stepped out into the middle of the apartment, and Alec quickly took stock. The place certainly wasn't _cheap _– the smooth, white-washed walls and the plush furniture gave an impression of modern expense, and the location wasn't exactly low rent. The far wall was entirely occupied by a larger, rectangular window, which peered out over the lush Presidium Commons, a view not dissimilar to a postcard. The large, square room they had just entered seemed to combine living room and kitchen, and four doors, one in each corner, presumably led off to bedrooms and bathrooms.

"What _is _this place?" Sarah piped up, dropping her bags at her feet as she too looked around. "It doesn't look like any hospital I've ever seen…"

"It's a private facility," Alicia replied, "set aside for soldiers recovering from surgery or brain injuries – anyone who'd need R&R. According to Ria, some rich benefactor bought the whole building and donated it to Sirta Foundation after his son went through the same thing."

"Well, he didn't spare any expense…" the lieutenant observed.

"Then I'd say enjoy it. Most concussions resolve after nine or ten days, so you'll be here for at least that long. Sarah, you'll probably be here even longer…"

"What, and we're just left to our own devices?" Alec frowned.

"No," Alicia replied, shaking her head. "There are Sirta volunteers on the ground floor, working in tandem with the hospital nearby. They'll pop up every hour or so to check on you and take your vitals, just in case."

"Just in case?"

"Concussions come with all sorts of after-effects – most them are minor, but patients still need to be monitored. Prior warning, you'll probably have headaches and bouts of dizziness for the next few days, and there's only so much medication can do. Admittedly, they'll be more concerned with the lieutenant – she needs regular checks after the surgery, to make sure her other kidney's still functioning and her stitches haven't ruptured…"

"So what do we do in the meantime?" the marine muttered, dubiously.

"_Relax_," Alicia said, in a firm tone that was utterly _un-_relaxing. "Try not to exert yourself physically or mentally. Rest up, go for walks, watch the holonet – don't read, though, it prolongs the symptoms."

"And what about-"

"No drinking," she scowled, presciently.

_Damn it_.

His sister read his irritated expression all too well, and continued, matter-of-factly:

"Sarah's only got one kidney, and the two of you are recovering from _brain damage_. A piss-up might be your usual fare on shore leave, but you're here to _recover_, not cut loose…"

"Gee, how cheerful," he scowled.

"You're quite welcome," she retorted, with that sarcastic little smile she had perfected as a girl… "Look, it's only a week or so, Alec. I'll come check up on you all once we're back from our next op."

"Don't even get me _started _on that…"

"On what?" Alicia frowned – by now, Sarah and Erika were left standing awkwardly in the background, as the two siblings butted heads.

"You, being on the battlefield while I'm stuck here…"

"I'm not on the battlefield, Alec, I'm several hundred miles above it in a bloody big ship! You need to stop worrying about me…"

"Fat chance."

She smiled a little at that – genuinely, not sarcastically. Then, with a sigh, she turned to leave, nodding to Sarah and Erika as she did. The door slid shut behind her, and they were left in silence, save for the occasional _thrum _of a skycar whizzing over the Commons.

"Well, that was awkward," Erika muttered, bluntly. "Do you two make a habit of fighting like that?"

"Only since she grew up…" Alec grumbled.

Left to their own devices, the three of them set about dividing up the rooms, and five minutes later, Alec found himself dumping his footlocker beside a clean, single bed, in a surprisingly spacious bedroom replete with mirror and dresser… He didn't need the latter – popping open his locker, he realised the contents were barely enough to fill a drawer. None of his belongings had made it off Earth with him, so all he had was a handheld PDA, two spare sets of Alliance casual dress, and tucked underneath them…

He grinned, as he plucked the Valkyrie out and held it up to the light. Alicia wouldn't have approved, but he didn't care – with his gun to hand, he kept some semblance of being a soldier, and that was what mattered.

"Alec!" Sarah called, from the room behind. "We're going to check out the area, do you want to come with?"

"I… nah," he replied, dropping the rifle back into his locker. "I'm good. Might try to get some shuteye. You know, doctor's orders and all…"


	324. Downtime 30

_**SSV Cambrai, Shalta Ward Docks**_

_**Day 5, 1800**_

"Captain, are you busy?" the yeoman chimed, over the intercom.

"No, Sally," he replied, looking up from his desk to listen. "What is it?"

"Two things, sir. Doctor O'Leiph says she and Alicia have completed their business on the Citadel. Corporal Carter, Lieutenant Jade and Flight Lieutenant Solov have been booked into a long-term recovery suite, and Vanyali is in Shalta General. Also, Vor Hebat's been discharged – he and Doctor O'Leiph are on their way back to the ship as we speak."

"Understood," the captain nodded, eyebrow rising in surprise – he hadn't expected Vor to be out anywhere _near _this soon. "What's the second thing?"

"Incoming message. Tight-beam, sender unknown."

"Patch it through," Murphy muttered, with a hint of trepidation. In his mind, there were two options, good or bad. If he was lucky, it would be Kayla, returning his own message – he had tried to get in contact when they docked, but she was out on patrol. If he was _unlucky_, it was Drake, with a taunting message of the kind his late predecessor so enjoyed…

It was neither. To the captain's surprise, he instead found Admiral Hackett's grizzled form popping up on the corner of his desk, hands folded behind his back, uniform neat as ever.

"Captain Murphy," he nodded.

"Admiral," Murphy replied, throwing a quick salute. "We couldn't get a fix on your ID…"

"I'm afraid that's as intended," Hackett murmured. "I'm broadcasting from a classified location, so these transmissions have to be impossible to trace."

"If it's so important you can't be tracked, why are you sending this message at all?"

"I wanted to touch base. Councillor Sparatus briefed me after Menae, but since then, the official reports on your missions haven't been reaching my desk..."

"That… would be because I haven't been writing them," Murphy admitted, guiltily. "Sorry, sir, we've been a bit preoccupied of late."

"Exactly my reason for getting in touch. What's going on, captain?"

"Cerberus trouble again, sir."

"Oh?"

"We uncovered an initiative called Project Phoenix, sir. They were experimenting on biotic volunteers to produce some kind of super soldier."

"The name's crossed my desk," Hackett mused, scratching his bearded chin. "Several Cerberus defectors have mentioned it, but we've never had anything to go on."

"We recovered a data archive from a Project Phoenix station over Illapa," Murphy informed him. "I'll forward it to the Alliance embassy with strict orders that it be passed on to you personally."

"Much appreciated, captain. I'll make sure you're informed of any progress we make."

"Thank you, admiral. But, I'm afraid that's only the half of it. We've been uncovering Cerberus operations left, right and centre, whether we wanted to or not."

"How so, captain?"

"Creed kidnapped two of our operatives while he was escaping from the Illapa raid – Lieutenant Jade and Gunnery Chief Wolfe."

"Do you need our help to affect a rescue?" the admiral asked, instantly. Murphy couldn't help but smile a little at that attitude – it was _exactly _why Hackett was such a respected man among the ranks.

"Thanks, admiral, but that ship's sailed. We took the matter into our own hands."

"I'd expect nothing less. I assume there were complications, though, or you wouldn't be mentioning it."

"Not _complications_, per se, but definitely something you should be aware of – Cerberus operatives Reach and Jackal were left dead after the exchange."

"You mean…?"

"Nick Shelton and Christopher Creed," Murphy nodded. "Both deceased."

"That's very good news, captain… which begs the question, why do _you _still look upset?"

"We ran into Admiral Singh out in the Horse Head Nebula-"

"I know," Hackett interrupted. "Nitesh already filled me in on your joint operations. He said you were quite helpful on Noveria…"

"Glad he thinks so. We helped take out a Cerberus double agent within Binary Helix, and the piracy ring he was using to steal goods for them."

"I'm still not seeing a problem here…"

"Cerberus sent someone to kill him too, presumably trying to silence him before we got there. We succeeded in our mission, but the agent shot and wounded one of ours. She's currently comatose in Shalta General."

"Ah. My condolences… have you got any plans to strike Project Phoenix further? Or the agent, for that matter."

"We've got no leads on either," Murphy admitted, frustratedly. "If we find something, we'll chase it down, but Cerberus has gone to ground. The only time they make contact is when they _want _to."

"That seems to be the pattern," Hackett sighed. "But on the plus side, they don't seem to be a military threat any more. We can dedicate to our fleets to fighting the Reapers while our special forces teams hunt for Cerberus."

"Is that what you want us to do, admiral?"

"Negative… leave the double agents and the front companies to intelligence. Cambrai's better spent on strike duty."

"Understood…"

Murphy hesitated for a moment. Then, finally, he spoke his mind:

"You didn't call me just to check in on our missions, did you admiral? You could have requested them through official channels, or a holo…"

"Perceptive as ever, captain," Hackett frowned. "No, the real reason I called is to inform you that the Cambrai has been reassigned."

"_What?" _Murphy hissed, standing bolt upright out of his seat and going very red, outraged. "Admiral, I thought this had been settled already! We're better spent as spec ops, the ship's wasted in fleet-to-fleet-"

"Captain Murphy!" the admiral barked, catching him off guard and silencing him rather… "I'm afraid that was a poor choice of words. The Cambrai will be running special operations, but she will no longer be running them for the Fifth Fleet."

"Why, sir?"

"Because, captain, I have a classified project nearing completion, and it's been requiring my full attention of late. I can no longer oversee the Cambrai's operations personally, and there are very few others I trust to."

"Who _do _you trust, then?" the captain muttered. "If we're being transferred, it must be to someone else's command…"

"You're being transferred to the Third Fleet, under the command of-"

"Admiral Singh," Murphy surmised, hesitantly. He wasn't quite sure whether he liked the idea, or hated it…

"Exactly. Nitesh is crying out for a special operations group – he saw how effective your men could be on Noveria, and given his rather _aggressive _ambitions, he has most use of one."

"He's the only one taking his fleet against the Reapers, I'll give him that…"

"Quite. Second, Fourth and Eighth fleets are gone. First and Fifth are committed to defensive duties across allied space. Sixth and Seventh are trapped in the Exodus Cluster, evading Reaper forces for all they're worth. Only the Third is free to take the offensive."

"And you want us spearheading that offensive?"

"No, Admiral Singh wants you spearheading that offensive. If his brief was to be believed, he's moving on Terra Nova within the week."

"Christ…"

"Exactly. Breaking ground on an occupied world – that will require your team's _specialist touch_. I want you back out there ASAP, captain. Rendezvous with the Logan again, and do whatever you can to help Admiral Singh. If his campaign is successful… well, I hardly need to tell you how important these victories could be."

"First time we'd ever have succeeded in taking the fight to the Reapers ourselves," Murphy nodded.

"Exactly. With the turians about to make a bid for Palaven, and Thessia besieged… this might be the kick up the ass allied morale needs."

"We'll get it done."

"Not alone you won't. Your crew's strong, but you can't retake a _planet_, Murphy. You'll need Singh, and every ship he can muster behind you."

"Noted, sir. Refuelling sequence finishes in an hour. I'll recall the crew, and we'll be in the Horse Head by midday tomorrow."

"Understood. And good luck out there, captain… it's been an honour."


	325. Downtime 31

_**Level 21, Bachjret Ward**_

_**Day 5, 1900**_

There was no weather on the wards, but it _felt _like evening was falling over Bachjret Ward. The streets outside had thinned, and many of the shops, especially those run by humans, were shutting up. As he stepped into the small, one-room workshop in front of him, however, Tyco noted that his target was still at work – _of course_ he was, he was a salarian…

The grey-skinned figure was standing over a computer terminal on the far wall, and barely heard Tyco enter – at any rate, he didn't look up from his work… The bounty hunter had learned over the years, though, that salarians were never truly off-guard. More to the point, the object of his attentions had a pistol slung through his belt – it was just an old Predator, but knowing the owner, it had probably been modded well enough to ruin Tyco's day.

Sure enough, he got mid-way across the room before:

"I'm not deaf, you know."

Tyco froze.

"I'm afraid we're just closing for the day," the salarian muttered, over his shoulder. "Come back tomorrow and we'll talk."

"Come off it, Kass, I ain't got long…"

As expected, the bounty hunter's voice triggered something in the salarian's memory, and his head snapped upright, before he wheeled around to face the new arrival.

"Tyco!" Kass exclaimed, brows rising in surprise. "What are you doing here? It's been a while."

"Aye, it has," Tyco nodded, avoiding the first question for the moment. "How's business?"

"Better here than on Omega…" the salarian shrugged.

"I'll bet."

"Look, Tyco, I was just on my way out," the little man murmured, nervously. "Can we, err… have this reunion another time?"

"I'm sure you can spare a couple of minutes," the bounty hunter rumbled, threateningly. "Not like you've got anyone to be getting back to…"

"Curious way of asking for my help," Kass replied, sarcastically. "Fine, what do you want?"

"What do you think? Information…"

"Care to be more specific?"

"Information about _this_," Tyco muttered. He reached into his pocket, withdrew a slim holo, and tossed it casually to the salarian. Kass caught it deftly, and frowned:

"Information on the picture, or the subject?"

"The subject."

"Alright…"

He studied it closely for a moment, big grey eyes flickering over the image even as the visor on his right eye continued to roll a ticker of information through his field of vision. Tyco could practically _see _the cogs working in his old acquaintance's head, until finally, the salarian concluded:

"Shift of about twelve pixels due to motion blur, evidence of… _sixteen _times optical zoom… taken from a guncam?"

"Yeah, mine."

"And I assume you're interested in the man with the gun, not his victim?"

"Yes," Tyco nodded again. Then, he frowned, and added: "Whaddya mean _you assume?_"

"You'd never be interested in anyone who wasn't _armed_," Kass pointed out, with a sardonic smile. "What do you know about him, besides what's in the picture?"

"Nothing that'd help me track him. I know that that armour came from a Cerberus initiative called Project Phoenix – they select, train and augmenttalented biotics from within Cerberus' ranks-"

"_Augment?_" the salarian interrupted.

"Implants, cybernetics, Reaper tech…"

"Nasty stuff. What else do you know?"

"I know that Project Phoenix is supplied and funded by a front company called Poseidon Technologies, out on Trident. I know that I took that image on Noveria, and judging by his conversation with the victim, he'd visited the planet before and had previous dealings with one Friedrich Holstein. And I know that his name's Drake."

"Drake?"

"That's what Holstein called him. Might be his real name, might be his codename, might even be a pseudonym, but one way or another, he goes by it."

Kass paused, biting his lip and examining the image again.

"That's still not much to go by," he murmured, pacing to the far side of the room with the holo in his hand. "Not sure my resources could stretch to something like this, not without putting everything else on hold. Even then, it's a bit of a… what do you humans call it, a wild goose?"

"I didn't come for _your _help," Tyco muttered. "No offence, but I've got bigger favours to call in. I know you still work for our _mutual friend_. I want you to pass this up the chain."

Kass froze mid-step, and the bounty hunter could practically _see _his shoulders tense up. He span around on his heel, staring at Tyco incredulously, and replied, rather sharply:

"The Shadow Broker wouldn't give this a second glance. He deals with corporations, planets, entire _races_. Why would he deal with some little vendetta of yours?"

"He owes me."

"Interesting… and how _exactly _do you plan to collect on that? You can't exactly knock down his door, can you?"

"Then let me rephrase," Tyco growled. "You _both_ owe me. Remember Heshtok?"

The salarian gulped.

"I remember…" he sighed. "Damn it Tyco, I'll _try_, okay? But I can't guarantee the Broker's going to care…"

"Then _make _him care," the bounty hunter rumbled. "This 'Drake' took a good friend from me – I'll do whatever I have to to make him pay. If the Broker won't repay a favour, I can pay for one – I've got blood money saved away, a fair bit of it... Or, you could point out that killing this guy is going to hurt Cerberus – I hear the Broker hasn't been getting on with them too well lately."

"I'll do what I can," Kass murmured, again. Then, his features twisted into a good-natured scowl, and he continued: "Now get the hell out of here, will you? Trouble follows you round like a stray dog, and it's bad for business."

"Good to see you too," Tyco muttered, sarcastically.

"Always a pleasure," the salarian smiled back, with equal sarcasm. "Don't worry. I'll be in touch…"


	326. Operation Wolverine Briefing

_**SSV Cambrai, Horse Head Nebula**_

_**Day 1, 1400**_

"Team's ready and waiting, captain," the yeoman reported.

"Send them in," Murphy called, over the intercom.

The war room doors slid open, and having spent the last hour putting the team together, Murphy felt rather proud to watch them filtering in. A brief conversation with Admiral Singh upon their arrival had specified the need for a group that could "deal with anything", and with as little to go on as that, the captain had taken particular care in covering all the bases… For biotic support, he had co-opted Saffiya, Aeryn and Maelar, for tech, Andersen and Klara. Kan was in to provide sniper support, and for outright firepower, Murphy was relying on Kamur, Irving and Vor. Those last two made for a volatile combination, and the batarian had only just returned from hospital, but Murphy didn't have much choice – the krogan were better spent as shock troops, and lacked the versatility needed for a drop into the unknown; furthermore, Alec was on the Citadel, out of action, and he wanted to keep Victor back for reliable reinforcements.

As the team assembled in front of him, he merely stood at the head of the table, nodding approvingly at them until they were all inside – he couldn't help noticing that Vor and Irving made sure to stick to opposite sides of the war room.

"Afternoon," he muttered. "Good to see you're all in fighting shape. Admiral Singh's going to be briefing you today – listen to what he says, and listen good, because he's in charge here…"

He brought up his omni-tool, tapped at it for a moment, and then stood back, as Admiral Singh's hologram burst into life on the end of the table.

"They're all yours, admiral."

"Thank you, captain. Right then you lot, listen up! Your objective for today… is Terra Nova."

That caused a stir. Murphy had been expecting it, but the crew hadn't been told where they were going yet. Klara and Irving in particular stood a little straighter at the announcement, and though he couldn't see beneath the quarian's visor Murphy could see Irving's face – it was lined with a mixture of concern, and exhilaration…

"Terra Nova was bypassed in the initial Reaper invasion, but that didn't last long," Singh continued. "A week after Earth fell, the Reapers hit Terra Nova, and the Sixth Fleet wasn't there to soften the blow – they'd already evacuated most of the civilian population, and left the planet. Whatever was left on Terra Nova… was hit hard. Recon probes have spotted whole cities burning, and barely a trace of resistance on the ground. Alliance and militia garrisons were obliterated, and the last QEC-linked outposts went dark several weeks ago. To all intents and purposes, Terra Nova was lost some time ago."

The admiral paused, as if words were dancing on the tip of his tongue, and then he continued, with a grim smile:

"Time to take it back."

"We can't hope to take the planet back from the Reapers entirely, or for long," Murphy interjected, before anyone got _too _excited, "but we can give them a bloody nose, and we can help the people still left on the ground…"

"Exactly," Singh nodded. "We're going to launch an assault on Terra Nova's capital, the city of Scott. Marine teams will land, secure the spaceport, and prep the way for a real landing – and I want your team on the bow wave, leading us in."

"This is exactly our kind of op," the captain continued. "Lots of unknowns, mixed urban environment, enemy presence guaranteed. Go in, kill any hostiles you find, and assign objectives on the fly – the general plan, though, is to neutralise any enemy defences that might hinder an orbital drop, and secure the city's spaceport as an LZ. Third Fleet marines will take care of the rest, we just need to open the gates for them."

"Sounds like a straight-up combat mission," Irving piped up, frowning as he did. "No offence" – he was looking at the asari, and Klara – "but why don't we just send in the rifles? The krogan, Lisk, Kamur… we'd tear them a new one."

"Like I said, you're dropping blind," Murphy explained. "Biotics are perfect for defending a choke point, or civvies. Techs might be necessary to get through the city, and to deal with enemy tech – jammers, artillery, and so on… Victor and Ethan are going to be standing by as reinforcements, but the recon party itself needs to be capable of dealing with anything."

"Understood," the gunnery chief muttered, nodding and falling silent.

"Shuttle's going to move out via FTL once we're done with this briefing," the admiral concluded. "Estimated time of arrival is oh-nine-hundred."

"Kamur, you're in command of the team on the ground," Murphy added. "Primary objective is to secure an LZ for the marines. Secondary objective is to keep communications with the fleet open."

"Understood, captain."

"Everybody make final checks on your gear, and prep to move out within the next ten minutes. Dismissed…"


	327. Operation Wolverine Part 1

_**Scott South Approach, Terra Nova**_

_**Day 1, 0930**_

"Three minutes to drop zone," Kamur reported, stepping back into the troop compartment from the cockpit. "Pilot says we're dropping in farmland – very little cover, so keep your heads down. Pilot wants minimal time sitting on the ground, so we're going to jump from about five feet instead of touching down – anybody got a problem with that?"

Nobody did. Irving couldn't say he was _thrilled _about a combat drop into an area devoid of cover, but at least they had the darkness to hide them… Truth be told, he was more nervous about seeing Terra Nova again – after seeing the effect Palaven had had on Zel, revisiting his homeworld was something of a daunting prospect, now it was officially 'occupied territory'.

He swallowed down his nerves, and looked around at the rest of the squad. They were gripped in the same tense silence as him – every one of them was hunkered down, clutching their weapons, riding out the bumps and jolts as the shuttle descended…

"Clear route to LZ," the pilot reported, "descending… wait, movement left. Can't get a visual, just something-"

_Whoosh. Boom! _The compartment lights blacked out, and the shuttle _lurched _violently, hurling Aeryn out of her seat next to the gunnery chief, and sending Kamur toppling to the floor. Irving just gripped his seat _very _tightly. As the little craft swung around, he met Andersen's gaze – with memories of Menae springing to mind, they exchanged a look which said all too clearly, _"not again…"_

"AA fire!" the pilot barked, over an intercom that was filled with the sound of crackling fire. "Taking evasive-"

_Whoosh. Boom! _A second round struck in the air outside, deafening the shuttle's occupants and causing them to pitch over to the left. This time, Irving found himself flung forwards, out of his seat properly, and had to swing out an arm to stop his face cracking into the floor.

"Can we still make the LZ?" Kamur bellowed, staggering to his feet and grabbing the overhead rail.

No reply.

"Damn it!" the turian swore. "Everybody, brace for impact!"

Mere moments after he said that, the shuttle gave a great, creaking _moan_, and then-

_Whump._

Everything went black, and the next thing Irving Wolfe saw was the steel floor of the shuttle, bathed a flickering crimson by emergency lighting and lashes of flame…

There was a heavy weight pressing down on his legs, and as he kicked slightly, testing it, a little squeak emerged – looking round, he saw Aeryn T'Rel draped over him, having been thrown to the floor by the shuttle's impact. She wasn't the only one. Everyone was out of their seats, and only Kamur had managed to stay on his feet – the turian was already taking charge of the situation, pacing over to the shuttle door and testing it.

Surprisingly, it fell aside at a sharp tug, the mechanisms apparently undamaged despite the crash. It was rather hard to ignore the little plume of smoke billowing in from the far corner, however, and a section of the roof had been knocked away, leaving electronics to dangle dangerously out of it, swinging and sparking…

"Everyone alright?" Kamur muttered, holding the door for a moment, and yanking his helmet over his crested head.

"Fine," Irving replied, sliding his legs out from beneath Aeryn before clambering to his feet, helping the asari to hers once he was up. "What the hell _was _that?"

"Reapers must have set up anti-air guns to stop us landing," the turian scowled. "Guess it worked…"

"We need to get moving," Saffiya piped up, from the far end of the shuttle.

"Could be hostiles outside," Kamur protested. "Keep your heads down, and get your helmets on. Irving, on my six, we'll sweep the exterior."

The gunnery chief nodded, recovered the standard N7 breather from beneath his seat, and slipped it on, as he moved to join the turian at the door. Kamur shot him a brief glance, and as Irving grabbed his Valiant, the hastatim pulled out his own Phaeston, before flinging the door wide open.

They leapt down together – the shuttle had buried itself in the earth at an angle, leaving the door a foot or two off the ground – and dropped low as they hit the ground, sweeping around with their rifles for any _hint _of movement.

After a moment, the turian tapped Irving on the shoulder, before whispering:

"Check the tail section. I'll get the cockpit. Stay quiet."

He nodded, and turned, heading for the rear of the shuttle, which was now pitched up in the air. The left side thruster was a twisted mess – that explained why the pilot hadn't been able to keep control – and judging by the deep furrow that had been ploughed into the field, they had ground along for about twenty feet after impact before finally coming to a stop.

There were no hostiles, though, and he quickly turned tail, making his way back towards the door. Kamur was pacing towards him, equally empty-handed, and as they met in the middle, Irving muttered:

"No sign of hostiles."

"Same here," his colleague sighed. "The pilot's dead, though. Cockpit got crushed on impact."

"Why is it _always_ the pilots?" the marine frowned. "I swear, they should get more hazard pay than us…"

"You get _hazard pay?_" Kamur gawped, business-like façade breaking for a moment. "Remind me to bring that up with turian command…"

_Snap. _The sound of a dry twig breaking pierced the silence, and somehow, they both heard it, even over the crackling of fire from the shuttle's cockpit. Irving wheeled around, bringing up his rifle as Kamur did the same-

And he was rather disconcerted to see black forms emerging from the fields, half a dozen rifles pointing toward their heads…


	328. Operation Wolverine Part 2

_**Scott South Approach, Terra Nova**_

_**Day 1, 0940**_

Inside the shuttle, the others were, for the moment, blissfully unaware of the silent standoff developing outside. Andersen was swiping his omni-tool over his armour, checking for faults – luckily, his visor hadn't cracked, and somehow, the major plates of his suit had survived impact.

The others appeared to be alright, too – they were checking their weapons, their armour, their breathers, prepping up to move out. On either side of Andersen were the two quarians: Kan was flushing his rifle, recalibrating the sights, but Klara was still sat down, in tense silence, clutching her pistol _very _tightly.

"Are you alright?" he murmured, leaning down towards her.

"I… yeah, fine," she nodded, not sounding fine at all. "It's just hitting home. I spent a while on Terra Nova. Some good years…"

Quite suddenly, something struck Andersen, and he frowned:

"About that, Klara… listen, a while ago, Thorne asked me to look through Terra Nova's records. I think you should know-"

_Bang! _The unmistakeable sound of a shotgun blared out, and buckshot rattled against the shuttle's side, sending at least half of the occupants diving to the floor. It was followed by the _click _of a rifle being brought up to fire, and the unmistakeable sound of Kamur's voice:

"Hold your fire!" the turian was bellowing, with a worrying note of _panic _in his sub-harmonics.

Instinctively, Andersen dashed over to the door, drawing his pistol, and found Vor doing the same, the batarian slinging his formidable harpoon gun off his shoulders – the two of them reached the threshold at the same time and peered down, guns at the ready...

Irving and Kamur were backed up against the shuttle, just beneath their feet, and surrounding them in a rough half-circle several feet away were half a dozen black-armoured figures, all holding sleek rifles – Avengers, as best he could tell through the darkness – save for one, who was a little way ahead of the others, and had a shotgun levelled towards Andersen's two colleagues. He hadn't noticed the engineer, or the batarian next to him, as he growled:

"Warnin' shot. Drop your weapons."

"Hell no," Irving piped up. "We don't answer to you. Drop _your _weapons."

"Oh, sure, yeah. I'm just about to drop my gun because a Reaper's bitch told me to."

"What the _fuck _are you on about?" the gunnery chief retorted, angrily.

"He thinks we're indoctrinated," Kamur interjected, before the man could reply.

"Admission of guilt?" the stranger snapped.

"No…" the turian growled. "Statement to the contrary."

"Everyone on this planet who ain't us, is _them_, and you, boy? You dun' dropped out of the sky in a fireball, just like them… Now drop your weapons, or I fill you with lead."

"Just try it," Irving snarled, edging forwards – the shotgun was turned to face him, perhaps as intended, and his opponent muttered:

"Bad move..."

The standoff endured for one more terrible moment, but then it broke, to the noise of a shot blaring out – not from the shotgun-wielder below, but from the batarian at Andersen's side.

_Thunk. _Vor buried a harpoon in the earth just inches from the stranger's foot. He leapt aside with a startled yelp, before-

_Crack_. Irving lunged forward with surprising speed, taking the opportunity to _batter _the man across the visor with a thunderous left hook. He followed it up with a short punch from his rifle-stock, a kick that sent his opponent's shotgun clattering across the ground, and as the man staggered away from the dazing blow, the big gunnery chief swung his gun up and latched it around the man's throat, pulling him down as a human shield before his fellows could react.

"What are you waiting for?" the struggling man choked, to his squad. "Open fire!"

Quite suddenly, rifles were swinging in all directions. Two were trained on Irving and his captive, a third on Kamur – who was aiming right back at them with his Phaeston in one hand, a Carnifex in the other – and one more apiece on Vor and Andersen. Fingers were moving quickly to triggers, and Andersen brought his own gun up, aiming for the nearest aggressor's head-

"Hold fire!" another voice interrupted, furiously. The two sides _froze_, more out of surprise than anything else, and Andersen's forefinger stopped to hover mere millimetres over the trigger of his pistol.

Off to the right, a new figure was emerging from the dead stalks that filled the field. Andersen's first impression was that he was a very _big _man – he had a good inch or two on everyone save for Kamur, and his shoulders were almost impossibly broad. In his arms, he was carrying a hefty Argus rifle, and his helmetless face was stern, a rather foreboding expression crossing his features…

"Lower your weapons," he muttered. "All of you."

"Az, they're indoctrinated!" the loudmouth shotgun-wielder blurted out, angrily. "Gun 'em the hell down!"

"That's an Alliance shuttle, Clay," the newcomer pointed out. "We should give them a chance to explain, at least…"

"Very smart, Adam," Andersen called out.

He didn't know what had possessed him to say that, but there really was no mistaking that face – it was the same one he'd been studying in the Alliance data archives that had been broadcast off Terra Nova when the satellite network fell. The silence that followed his words was palpable, and the man's eyes bulged in a mixture of surprise and alarm.

"How the hell do you know my name?"

"I pulled your file…" the engineer murmured. "For a friend. Klara, come on up here, will you?"

"Klara?" Adam frowned – as Andersen stepped aside, however, and the quarian appeared in the doorway, his jaw dropped.

"Adam…" she said, rather shell-shocked beneath her visor. Then, more quietly, so that only Andersen could hear, she hissed: "Why didn't you tell me?"

"I was a bit distracted," the engineer whispered, in reply. "We _were _being shot at…"

"Lower your guns!" Adam barked suddenly, to his men. "We're heading back to the Farm. Double time, people. Alliance…" – he paused, looking at Irving, and his struggling captive – "could you let him go?"

"Sure," Irving growled – with a grunt, he released his former assailant, shoving him away none too gently.

"Much appreciated. Now if you want to live, follow us…"


	329. Operation Wolverine Part 3

_**Scott South Approach, Terra Nova**_

_**Day 1, 0955**_

"I'm sorry for the trouble Clay gave you…" Adam was sighing, as they traipsed through the fields. "He's… had an unfortunate time of it."

"Must have been rough, to make him that kind of bat-shit paranoid," Irving muttered – he still hadn't quite forgiven their assailants, if his sullen disposition was anything to go by.

"His whole family save for him and his sister was killed when the Reapers hit. And his sister… she was captured a while back," he replied, grimly. "Indoctrinated. We had to… put her down."

"Keelah…" Klara grimaced.

They had been on the move for about ten minutes, ducking through the dead and battered farmland that surrounded their impromptu landing zone, with Adam in the lead and their assorted company trailing off behind… There had been no hostile contact yet, but they were all too aware of the hideous screeching in the distance, of the vague rustling in the night which could well have been wind, although the alternative was so worrying it was worth keeping in the back of your mind…

As for Klara, she was pottering along on Adam's heel in something akin to awe. It was still quite hard to believe he was actually _here_, and she was so stunned she had barely said two words to him since they left the crash site. Irving, who was up front with them, was left to fill the void, chattering away in that brief, blunt manner that human males seemed to have down to an art form.

"The Farm's at two o'clock!" one of Adam's black-armoured men called out, from the middle of the column. "Two hundred metres!"

"The Farm?" Irving frowned.

"You'll see…" the other man replied. "Everyone, double time it!"

Quite suddenly, the column was moving forward at a light run, jogging through the dead stalks of the fields and twisting to the right – a grey complex hove into view ahead of them, two stories high and utterly _ruined_. The windows had been blown out, the roof caved in, and the entire right-hand side had _slumped_ to the floor in a heap of rubble.

Just as Klara began to wonder _why _they were heading for some bombed-out farmhouse, Adam stopped dead, holding up a clenched fist and barking:

"Hold!"

The whole column ground to a halt – each man rather comically bumping into the one in front of him – and Klara looked up at her old friend, as he peered out over the skeletal building before them. Finally, after what seemed to be an eternity of waiting, he called out, rather randomly:

"Bowman!"

Silence.

"Clear!" a second voice replied – to Klara's surprise, it seemed to have rung out from the top of the structure, and as the clouds above them shifted, the moonlight _glinted _off a sniper's rifle, protruding out from the crumpled roof.

"This is 'the Farm'?" Irving frowned, as they paced forwards once again, heading for the front of the farmhouse. "Boy, you guys have got a good imagination…"

"Funnily enough, the Reapers don't care if we're subtle or not," Adam retorted. "Just follow me, and save the sarcasm for later…"

He led them through what had once been the farmhouse's front door, into the remnants of an entrance hall, through a burned-out living room replete with scorched furniture and covered in a fine layer of rubble… finally, they turned into a small room, the ceiling of which had been torn wide open, and Adam crouched down, fumbling with _something _on the floor.

Klara's jaw dropped open beneath her mask, as a square panel came loose at his fingertips – it had seemed at first to be part of the floor, but now it came free to reveal a small aperture, just wide enough for the average human. Klara was suddenly _very _glad they hadn't brought the krogan, as she realised there was a rusty ladder leading down into the earth…

"Come on, quickly now," Adam muttered, lowering himself into the hole. As he descended, he called out, to the back of column: "Clay! Come down last, seal her up!"

With that, he disappeared out of view, scrambling down the ladder with surprising dexterity. There was a moment's pause, and then:

"What are you waiting for? Get down here!"

Klara met Irving's eye, nervously – the big marine just shrugged, and smirked:

"Ladies first…"

She scowled at him, and gingerly shuffled over to the edge of the trapdoor, before crouching down and grabbing hold of the ladder, lowering herself into the gap.

A quick slide down, and she found herself descending into a dimly-lit room with the feel of a cellar – or more accurately, a _cavern. _Adam was waiting at the foot of the ladder, a tense expression on his face as he looked back up to the top – Irving was already clambering down, with an equal sense of urgency.

Moving off to one side, Klara took another look at her surroundings – the room was low, but expansive, with blank stone walls that appeared to have been hewn out of the earth itself. The room was _packed _with clutter of every kind, all illuminated by a flickering, orange-y glow that came from a series of rather archaic torches hanging at intervals along the wall, and it cast shifting, shimmering shadows over the sacks heaped against the near wall-

"Keelah!" she exclaimed, as realisation hit her.

They weren't sacks. They weren't rags. As she stared at the nearest ragged form, a pair of green eyes was staring back.

They were people, and as she looked around, she realised that were dozens of them, dotted throughout the room between crates and battered possessions… in the far corner, a couple of men in black armour like Adam's were leaning over what appeared to be a family of five, all ragged and dishevelled… more passageways led off from the room into seemingly labyrinthine tunnels, and she could only assume there were similar scenes beyond…

"There are about three hundred of them down here," Adam murmured, answering her unspoken question – behind him, Irving and Kamur had dropped into the room, and they too were staring around, aghast.

"What _is _this place?" the quarian asked, weakly.

"Well, it _used _to be a farmer's way of hiding his stock from the taxmen," he replied. "Now, though? It's a sanctuary. Every free man, woman and child left on this continent is in these tunnels."

"Then who exactly does that make you?" Kamur frowned, curiously.

"The resistance."

"I see… then we might be able to help each other out," the turian mused.

"If you're really Alliance, then I imagine so. Carlos!" – he had turned to one of the resistance men, who had just jumped down behind them – "Show them through to the armoury. We've got a lot to discuss."

"Aye aye," 'Carlos' replied. He beckoned to the commandoes, and marched off towards one of the tunnels leading out of the room, with Kamur and Irving in tow. Klara made to follow, but as she did, she felt a firm hand close over her shoulder.

"Klara…" Adam murmured.

"Adam…" she replied, turning to face him.

"You realise the whole reason I sent you off-world was to get you _away _from this, don't you?"

She nodded. He was silent, stern-faced. And then, quite suddenly, he swept her into a great bearhug, big arms practically _crushing _her skinny quarian form.

"It's bloody good to see you," he whispered, in her ear.

"You too…" she murmured. For once, she was quite glad of her suit – at least behind her mask, he couldn't see the tear trickling defiantly down her cheek…


	330. Operation Wolverine Part 4

_**The Farm, Terra Nova**_

_**Day 1, 1010**_

"So, what the hell do we do about those guns?"

Kamur – flanked by Irving and Andersen – was engrossed in war talks with Adam Zivas, but he had to admit, it was the most _bizarre _location he'd ever held a briefing in. They were sitting either side of an old steel drum, poring over a battered map of the surrounding area – which was largely useless, given how most of the city it displayed was now in ruins – while doctors, refugees and resistance men flitted all around them. To one side, Aeryn was crouched down, talking sympathetically to a family of refugees, while in the far corner, Maelar and Kan were exchanging war stories with a couple of Zivas' men.

"They're not _guns_," Kamur sighed. "They're Hades cannons. I'd recognise the sound anywhere, after Menae."

"What's the difference?" Zivas scowled.

"The difference is, most AA guns aren't the size of a tower block."

"A Hades cannon is basically a _massive _directed energy weapon," Andersen added, "mounted on the chassis of a Destroyer-class Reaper."

"So taking them down requires the same kind of firepower as taking down a _Reaper?_"

"Not quite. They've got no barriers – power core's completely devoted to fuelling the gun. In theory, we could bring one down with a small tactical nuke or a mid-size airstrike."

"Neither of which is a possibility," Adam groaned. "Funnily enough, we couldn't fit nukes or bombers down here in the tunnels…"

"What about an orbital strike?" Kamur suggested. "Cambrai couldn't do much, but if we brought in the Logan, her main gun could cripple those things."

"High error margin…" Andersen sighed, "but I don't think we have much choice. We can't ask their bombers to make a suicide run on AA guns, and the odds of finding a nuke down here are… pretty minute, let's be honest. There's just one problem."

"You can't make contact," Zivas interjected.

"How did you know?" the engineer frowned.

"Reapers have been jamming our comms for weeks. We have to do everything by word of mouth."

"Do you have any idea where the jamming's coming from?"

"I… possibly. A recon party a couple of weeks ago got right into the centre of the city – they said they saw a Reaper construct inside the city's broadcast tower. If I was a betting man, I'd say that was your jammer."

"Then we need to get to it," Irving muttered, speaking up for the first time, with his usual disregard for hell and high water.

"My men aren't a professional army," Adam muttered, shaking his head wearily. "They're militiamen, security guards and ex-servicemen, using whatever weapons and armour they could salvage from militia stocks and their own possessions. But we know the city, and we can take the fight to the Reapers for a short time, at least."

"Taking the fight straight to them isn't going to cut it," Kamur frowned. "You've got twenty, maybe thirty men, and our squad numbers less than ten. Whole _regiments _struggle to take on Reaper legions – a few dozen men won't last long at all…"

"What do you propose instead, then?"

"Punch through on a small front – we can't take the Reapers on across the city, but a quick strike could break their ranks long enough for us to reach this jammer, destroy it, and drop the hammer on those guns. Once the AA's down, we use whatever momentum we've got left to push through to the spaceport, and secure an LZ for marine landing."

"Marine landing?" Adam murmured, curiously.

"Our primary objective before we were shot down was to forge a beachhead for the marines," Andersen explained. "The Logan's got a full battalion ready to drop in and begin evacuating civvies."

"Civvies?" the resistance man echoed, sadly. "How long do you think it's been, kid? The Reapers struck here _weeks _ago. We got three hundred survivors down into these tunnels… and the rest of them went into the factory ships. They're gone. No-one left to evac…"

"Christ…" the engineer murmured.

"That doesn't change anything," Kamur interjected, firmly. "Civvies or no civvies, the marines are coming down. At the very least, they'll get your three hundred out of here – we just need to clear the way for them."

There was a pause, before the turian continued:

"What do you say, Zivas? Lightning strike, into the heart of the city..."

"Sounds worryingly like death or glory," Adam frowned.

"What's so bad about that?" Irving rumbled. "If you don't fight, it's not worth living."

Hesitation was etched over ever part of the militiaman's face, but after a moment, he sighed, and nodded.

"Alright…" he agreed. "But I've got a better plan than charging in headlong. It's high-risk, but if it pays off, we'll stand a much better chance of winning this thing."

"Go on, then," Kamur prompted.

"There's an Alliance depot to the east of here," Adam began. "Used to be the base of an armoured division. We've been raiding militia stockpiles to equip ourselves since this thing began, but we've never been able to crack Alliance security protocols – the automated defences killed one of ours guys when we tried to breach them last time. Think you could get us in?"

"I don't have the codes, if that's what you're asking…" Andersen murmured. "But I could get you in. Give me ten minutes with my omni-tool and a network node."

"Alright then… here's what I propose. The area to the west is a no man's land – the buildings have been deliberately levelled, and the Reapers send out regular patrols. But, if we time it right, I reckon a small team could punch through to Scott. They map out a route to the broadcast tower, mark the locations of the AA guns and any other Reapers that might be skulking around, and stick to the shadows. Meanwhile, the rest of the team pushes east to the depot – they acquire vehicles and ordnance, and push into the city at speed. A lightning-quick offence, backed by the kind of tanks and heavy ordnance an Alliance armoured division usually brings to the fight."

"That… might just work," the turian admitted. "Pathfinders mark the trail, then armoured teams blaze it."

"Who goes with which team, though?" Irving frowned.

"I'd say we're better spent on recon," Andersen volunteered. "We're used to operating in urban environments, at least…"

"Right. How about this?" Kamur suggested. "Adam, you know the city. You come with me and the bulk of my team on pathfinder duty. The rest of your men head for the depot to mount up, along with Andersen, and Kan."

"Suits me," Zivas nodded, "but I'm keeping a small team back here to guard the civvies."

"Understood. When do we move?"

"Immediately. I'll brief my men, you brief yours. Meet you topside, turian…"


	331. Operation Wolverine Part 5

_**Scott South Approach, Terra Nova**_

_**Day 1, 1030**_

The pathfinders had gotten moving within five minutes of Kamur and Adam reaching their agreement – they allowed the main team to set off east, before forging their own path out west, through the battered farmland to the arid, scorched earth of the 'no man's land' Adam had described. As he peered around, Irving found it… rather saddening, truth be told. The verdant grasslands he remembered had been reduced to ash, colonial homesteads and family farms razed to the ground. It was a small mercy that they were operating at night – the moon cast enough light to navigate by, but the darkness shrouded them from the usually omnipotent Reapers. The disconcerting cries were still there, though – shrieks and unearthly screams, ever-present in the background…

"Keep low, and keep close," Zivas muttered, as he ducked off the road, nimbly clambering down into the dried-up irrigation channel on their right. The rest of the group followed suit – Klara was practically _stuck _to the militiaman's heel, Irving noted – and they set off at a rather brisk pace, boots crunching over stones and baked-dry mud.

Tense silence hung over them for the next ten minutes or so, as they continued to march along, occasionally stopping to duck low at a flare of light from the city, or freezing dead when a Reaper patrol came too close. There were a few narrow escapes, but they proceeded unhindered along the road for at least two miles, according to Irving's HUD.

Then, quite suddenly, they were hindered. The irrigation channel took a sharp right as the road they were following met a crossroads, but the city wasn't _to _the right – it was still dead ahead, which left them with the unenviable prospect of climbing back up into the open air…

Zivas pressed himself into the lee of the bank, and poked his head up just enough that he could see over the edge.

"Farm complex," he muttered. "I see a main house, and a couple of outbuildings, half a klick off to the right. Bombed out, a few walls still standing. Watch your corners, there could be Reapers lurking in the shadows…"

With that, he slung his rifle onto his back, and launched himself at the side of the channel, scrabbling up the bank with ease. Without waiting for the others to follow, he set off for the remnants of the farmhouse, peering around with a sense of urgency.

Klara followed him, and was swiftly followed herself by Aeryn and Maelar, the three of them all setting off across the road after Zivas. Then, it Irving's turn – he hurled himself up the side of the ditch, keeping a tight grip on his rifle as he did, and broke into a stooping run as he climbed up onto level ground – there was a dangerous feeling of exposure on the road itself, and he was keen to make for any semblance of cover…

Adam had dug in behind one of the remaining walls of the farmhouse, flanked by Klara and the two asari, and Irving fell in behind them rather gratefully – his hard-wired instincts were screaming at him to find some shelter, as per Combat 101. When he finally stopped to catch his breath, however, the experience was more nerve-wracking than being out in the open – you could see for miles over the desolated no man's land, and off in the distance, a bright scarlet beam was sweeping over another colonist farmhouse, reducing it to dust with the tell-tale _skree _of a Reaper's cry.

"How far to the city limits?" Kamur asked, as he, Saffiya and Vor caught up to the rest.

"Still an hour or so's trek," Adam answered, reluctantly. "I'm afraid it's going to be hard going for a while yet…"

"Just get us there in one piece," the turian frowned.

The militiaman nodded, braced his rifle, and rolled out around the corner to check their path ahead. No sooner had he done so, however, than-

_Crack! _A golden round shot through the air, bouncing off Zivas' helmet and causing his shields to flare. He reacted with impressive speed, snapping his Argus up and rattling off a quick _crack crack crack _of shots, but judging by the _gasp _he also let out, the damage was done…

"Marauder," he muttered, anxiously. "They've _bloody _found us!"

"What do we do?" Maelar piped up, from next to him – Irving wasn't sure about the others, but a rare jolt of panic had just run down his spine, as the baying howls began to increase in volume around them. He had a horrible feeling they had just kicked the hornets' nest.

Adam paused for a moment, paralysed by inaction, but even as his body froze, he was muttering frantically to himself. After a few seconds' deliberation, his brows knitted into a firm, decisive frown, and he replied:

"Scatter."

"What?"

"Works for the resistance. Reapers are going to swarm us, bombard us – best if they can't hit all of us at once. We split up, make for the city, and rendezvous at the broadcast tower."

"You sure about this?" Irving murmured.

"Yes, I'm sure-"

_Skree!_

"Shit! Scatter, _now!_"

"You heard him!" Kamur bellowed, at the top of his lungs. "_Move!_"

The gunnery chief didn't need telling twice – with hordes of enemies swooping down in his imagination, and an ominous red glow building on the very _real _horizon, he turned, and set off at a thunderous sprint. For a moment, Kamur was alongside him – then, the turian ducked aside, and he was running alone. The scorched road _crunch_ed beneath his feet, and the air felt _hot _in his lungs, but he kept running, as behind him:

_Skree! _A scarlet lance ploughed through the building they had been sheltering in not a moment prior, spitting hot ash and molten steel through the air, and reducing what remained of the walls to dust. The red _blast _lit up the very air around them, casting a glow and a shadow on the road in front of Irving.

The radio had gone silent, crackling with static, and he was vaguely aware of someone else running the road behind him. At present, none of that mattered. All that mattered was _scattering_. Irving just put his head down, and ran.


	332. Operation Wolverine Part 6

**A/N: Kudos to anyone who spots the thinly-veiled reference in this chapter...**

* * *

><p><em><strong>Scott South Approach, Terra Nova<strong>_

_**Day 1, 1050**_

Several miles to the east, the main party had no idea of the pathfinders' predicament. They were just trudging up the road towards this 'depot' – they were tense, but untroubled thus far. The Reapers didn't roam this far past no man's land, it seemed, and that went some way to explaining why the Farm had been safe so far…

Andersen and Kan had gone off ahead of the pack, along with a few of Adam's troops – Carlos, one of the resistance men who had picked them up, and a couple of snipers who had volunteered to go ahead as recon. The snipers had disappeared into the night a while back, leaving Andersen, Kan and Carlos to traipse on alone. They had been silent for a while, but suddenly, Carlos broke the silence:

"Why's the Alliance here?"

"Why do you think?" Andersen frowned. "To save people."

"Bit late…" the resistance man replied, bitterly.

"Yeah, well… that's not unique to Terra Nova, Carlos."

"Huh?"

"The whole _galaxy's _under siege. The Reapers are landing on Thessia, they've _already _taken Palaven – we're losing entire fleets to them. We couldn't save everyone – at the start, we could barely save anyone…"

"You're not exactly filling me with confidence, Mr Andersen."

"You want confidence?" Kan piped up. "We're turning the war around. Sure, they're attacking Thessia, but it hasn't fallen yet. They've taken Palaven, but the turians are about to make a counterattack, kick 'em back off it. And we're going to do the same on Terra Nova."

"Now _that _gives me some confidence…" the man laughed weakly, hefting his rifle. "We're with you, Alliance. Been running for weeks – time to take the fight to them."

"My point exactly- hey, movement, twelve o'clock!"

The trio stopped dead, rifles raising - a thin, vaguely humanoid form was crossing the road in front of them. After a moment's hesitation, Carlos barked out, by way of a challenge:

"Bowman!"

There was a pause. The figure stopped.

"Fifty-seven!" a female voice shouted back. Carlos' shoulders slumped, and the two commandoes took that as a cue to relax.

"Good to see you, Rae," the resistance man nodded, as the figure sprinted up to approach them – sure enough, it was a slight young woman, one of the two snipers who had accompanied them earlier. "What have you found?"

"Depot's about five minutes up the road. Still can't get through the defences…"

"Any Reaper troops nearby?"

"Negative. They're not straying out this far."

"Alright… Andersen, what are you thinking?"

"Well…" the engineer mused, "If it's an Alliance depot, I assume there are automated turrets on the exterior door."

"Yeah," the sniper nodded. "When we tried to get in before, one popped out over the door and shot our guy in the head."

"Then we need to disable it, or circumvent it. Otherwise, I'm not going to be able to get into their systems."

"Would a sabotage program work on an Alliance turret?" Kan asked – it sounded like he had a plan brewing…

"Briefly. Depends how good the tech who installed it was."

"I'd only need a few seconds."

"Why, what are you thinking?"

"Spike program. I run in, sabotage the turret, install a spike into the door console, then cloak before the gun comes back online. Could you get into the system that way?"

"Probably… small outpost, I doubt they'd have set up a separate network for the security systems."

"Sounds like a plan, then," Carlos nodded. "Rae, go with him, and get back here as soon as you're done."

The sniper girl nodded, as did Kan, and the two of them disappeared off up the road, rifles in hand. Carlos and Andersen just kept trekking slowly along. After a few minutes, the steel grey roof of a bunker hove into view over the ridge ahead – it was well-buried in the side of a ridge, the only chink in the great façade being a small tunnel on the left-hand corner, with a door set at the end of it.

There was no sign of the snipers, though. Carlos held up his free hand, and the two of them paused, far enough away to observe without being in the potential firing line. It was quite silent – the rest of the party was far enough behind that they couldn't hear them, the base ahead was devoid of noise, or even activity, and the radio was horribly quiet, a tense reminder that they were currently being cut off from any kind of reinforcements…

Then, quite suddenly, a familiar form popped up around the corner of the bunker – the black-armoured figure of Rae, swiftly followed by Kan's familiar exosuit, the two of them _crackling _back into view.

Kan shot him a thumbs up from afar, and Andersen went for his omni-tool. Despite the situation – and the Reaper in the city, which chose that moment to send a lance of scarlet _screaming _over no man's land – he grinned a little, as his friend's spike popped up on his interface. Perfect.

"Can you crack it?" Carlos frowned, shuffling up next to him, and clutching his rifle in a defensive stance.

"Sure. Give me five minutes. Ten, tops."

His companion nodded, and the engineer set to work, expanding the interface out from his omni-tool and beginning to swipe away at the various panels and functions. Hacking was an art like any other, and it was _painfully _easy to play with the data streams at his fingertips. Compared to Cerberus or Noverian systems, the Alliance network was rather easy to break – he made a mental note to bring that up next time he saw an officer, as, with a flick of his finger:

"Done. Sort of. Turrets are disabled, anyway…"

"Good timing – rest of the gang's here."

Sure enough, looking over his shoulder Andersen saw roughly two dozen resistance soldiers traipsing up towards them, led by the volatile character who had nearly killed them at the LZ – Clay, was it?

"We clear to break in?" he frowned, as he reached them.

"You're clear to approach…" Andersen nodded, not looking up from his work. "Turrets are disabled. Just give me a minute or two to open the door."

"Why are we doin' this?" Clay asked, frustratedly. "What kinda score does Adam think he's gonna get out of this?"

"Well, if the base really was home to an armoured division, quite a substantial _score_," the engineer mused. "For a start, their vehicles – trucks, IFVs, maybe even Makos, if you're lucky. Also, armoured divisions tend to be thrown at _other _armoured divisions, so any self-respecting commander would have given them anti-tank weapons – grenade launchers, missile launchers, and so on…"

"Tanks and rockets?" the other man echoed. He let out a low whistle of appreciation, and continued: "Might just be worth goin' in the wrong direction after all."

"My point exactly. Now get up there and get ready to grab whatever you can – sooner or later, the pathfinders are going to need our help…"


	333. Operation Wolverine Part 7

_**Scott South Approach, Terra Nova**_

_**Day 1, 1100**_

Irving wasn't sure entirely how long he had been running, he just knew that his legs were beginning to _burn _with exertion, and the shrieks in the fields around him weren't dying down at all as he continued to thunder along the road…

_Crack crack crack!_

"Shit!"

He dropped to one knee, shields flaring, as a couple of Marauders _charged _out of the fields to the right, suddenly appearing from the darkness as their rifle fire lit them up. The gunnery chief swept around, took aim, and pulled the trigger, shrugging off the Phaeston rounds rattling toward him-

_Crack crack. _Two rounds from his Valkyrie _bit _into the first Marauder's chest, and it crumpled to the floor, legs running out a little way ahead of the body as it did. The second creature paused, taking proper aim now, and-

_Crack crack. _He dropped that one too, with a burst to the head. Everything went silent again, save for the Reaper's screaming as it continued to bathe vast tracts of farmland in livid scarlet.

He knew, however, that the silence was deceptive. Somewhere, off in the field in front of him, there was the tiniest of rustling noises, and the _snap _of a twig breaking…

_Whump. _There was a blue flash, in the depths of the crop field. Then, a few feet closer:

_Whump._

_Whump, whump, whump _– the flashes were getting closer, and quicker, and louder, zigzagging towards him across the field. Then with one final _whump _and a flash that was _far _too close for comfort… a skeletal form appeared on the edge of the irrigation channel, _just_ obscured by the crops beyond…

Irving could see pale skin, and lithe arms pushing the dead stalks aside as the creature rose to its feet with a sinuous kind of grace. A crested head rose up into view, soulless black eyes staring down at him, a gaping maw of a mouth opening wide as a _horrible _scream tore out into the open air.

The Banshee crossed the ditch in a single step, still screaming as biotic fire welled up around its taloned hand. A moment later, with a broad swing of its arm, it sent a _fireball _racing towards Irving, and before he could react:

_Whump! _It exploded a foot or so in front of him, knocking him off his feet and to the ground, hard. The Banshee's screaming was ringing in his ears – or maybe his ears were just ringing from the impact anyway – as he staggered to his feet, ran a little way down the road-

And realised, to his dismay, that a trio of husks were darting out of the field, ploughing towards him at the command of the asari monster's outstretched arm.

_Crack crack. _A quick burst hit the frontrunner in the head, and it tumbled to the ground on the far side of the ditch, quite dead. Its two fellows came charging on, though, bounding over the channel with surprising dexterity – Irving knelt low, braced his rifle, took aim, and-

_Whump! _Another biotic cannonball came roaring in, quite suddenly, smashing down to his right and knocking him sideways, to the floor, his rifle skidding a few feet away…

By the time he managed to recover it, the pounding in his head was all-consuming, and the husks were almost on top of him – he rolled over, gun in hand, and managed to get off a quick _crack crack!_ One of the two creatures dropped, hitting the ground dead, but the last one was too close now, and as he tried to get to his feet, it crashed into him.

They rolled to the side, tumbling, and as Irving's rifle went skidding away for the second, he felt clawed hands _tearing _at his armour – it held, for the most part, but one swipe across his helm left three vivid gouge marks in his visor, and as they came to halt, the gunnery chief found himself lying on his back, the husk's head an inch from his face, screaming and spitting…

He took immense satisfaction, therefore, in flipping out an omni-blade and plunging it into the husk's flank. It moaned in pain, recoiled slightly, and he took that split second to stab again, right through what once been the creature's heart.

A quick shove knocked the husk off his chest, limp and dead, but the Banshee was skulking towards him now, and somehow, he doubted an omni-blade would be of much use. He did the only thing he could, reaching for the sidearm on his belt, bringing it up to bear on the monster now looming over him:

_Crack, crack, crack. _Three quick rounds from the Predator found their way to the Banshee's chest, spattering silver blood over Irving's armour and causing the hideous creature's barriers to flicker and die, dissipating with a flash of blue. It was still very much alive, however, and the _crack crack _of two more shots, to the neck this time, only seemed to enrage it. That screaming face, so clearly the remnants of an asari, was craning down towards him, jaws wide, eyes shining black…

_Thunk._

The Banshee paused, stock still, and it seemed to be just as surprised as Irving to see a harpoon buried through its skull. With a low groan, the creature pitched to one side, hit the ground… and began to dissolve to ash right in front of his eyes.

Irving watched the Banshee die with morbid fascination, and as it crumbled away, he was left staring up the road… at the batarian with the harpoon gun in his hands.

Silence followed. Then, reaching over to recover his rifle, Irving called out, with a note of undue annoyance:

"Were you following me?"

"You're welcome," Vor scowled, lowering his gun and sliding a new round into it. "And I was following the _road_, not you."

The gunnery chief nodded brusquely, and clambered to his feet, reloading first his pistol, then his rifle.

"We need to get off it," the batarian rumbled, as he approached.

"Off what?"

"The road. We can't kill a legion of Reapers, and we can't outrun them – we'll tire before they do."

Irving had to admit, his legs were burning from the last half hour's exertion – the batarian was probably doing a little better, with those steel replacements of his, but even he couldn't run forever…

"Where do we go, then?" he asked.

"Down here," the batarian shrugged, simply, pacing over to the irrigation ditch and testing the bank with his foot. Turning to see Irving's frown, he added: "What, you got a better idea?"

The gunnery chief just sighed – as Vor jumped down into the ditch, he trudged over to the side of the road, and slid in after him. This was going to be a long night…


	334. Operation Wolverine Part 8

_**Scott South Approach, Terra Nova**_

_**Day 1, 1110**_

"Wow…"

"Yeah… I knew they kept Terra Nova well equipped, I didn't expect _this_."

Andersen and Kan stared at the Hammerhead for a moment more, just… _admiring _it.

"What _is_ it?" Carlos interrupted, bluntly.

"M-44 Hammerhead," the engineer explained. "It's a Cerberus vehicle-"

"_Cerberus?_"

"Well, sort of. Alliance drew up the original blueprints, but Cerberus took them and made them real. As far as we know, there was only one original prototype, and they recovered that with the Normandy SR2. Human and turian militaries both made efforts to reproduce the prototype – guess they succeeded."

"What are they doing _here_, though?" the resistance man persisted, gesturing around the dozen or so Hammerheads scattered across the main garage.

"This is an important world," Andersen shrugged. "Largest human colony in the galaxy. Before the war, the Alliance's best resources were usually split between here, Earth and Eden Prime – there was a whole _fleet _dedicated to Terra Nova, for God's sake! A lot of Alliance commanders were secretly bolstering garrisons for a Reaper attack, even if the 'official line' supported the Council's version of event. On top of that, Scott's the _capital city _– not too surprising for some of our top-line tech to be spent defending it."

"Well, they did a great job of _that_," Carlos scowled, sarcastically. "Why weren't these things used to fight the Reapers?"

"I don't know for sure, but according to their databanks, the staff of this facility were quartered in the city, not on-site. Given the prototype nature of the depot's contents, access would have been split between three or more senior officers. If any one of them was killed – which is extremely likely in a Reaper attack – the others would be locked out, and the regiment wouldn't be able to access their vehicles. That's assuming _any_ of them made it out of the city…"

"I see… does this help us?"

"What?"

"We were expecting trucks, or conventional tanks. Are these 'Hammerhead' things better?"

"Well, the Normandy's report admitted they didn't have the firepower or survivability of our old IFVs… but what they lack in armour, they make up for in speed and manoeuvrability."

"They wouldn't last as long as a Mako in a pitched battle," Kan nodded, comprehendingly, "but we're not aiming for a pitched battle."

"Exactly. We're making a hit-and-run strike, and these things are perfect for that."

"Fair enough," Carlos muttered. "But you realise my men aren't trained to operate these things?"

"They should be fairly intuitive," Andersen mused. "Not too dissimilar to a skycar, really, just limits on the vertical axial movement, a slight inertial-"

"He means they're easy to drive," his quarian colleague interrupted.

"Err… yes," the engineer murmured, embarrassed. "The onboard VI's got an instructional program – boot it up, and it should take your men through the basic controls."

"Alright then… how do we do this, then?"

Andersen paused a moment, looking around the room at the resistance soldiers now searching every nook and cranny for equipment. He quickly ran through the maths in his head, them nodded to himself, and finally answered:

"Six of your biggest, toughest men grab missile and grenade launchers from the lockers over there" – he pointed to a row of wall-mounted ammo cabinets that Clay was in the process of breaking open – "and that leaves twenty of us, for ten tanks. Two per vehicle."

"Can two people operate one of these things?"

"Well, they're designed for a crew of three, but the third crew member works the auxiliary systems – comms, radar, mineral surveys. All of those systems are useless or unusable out here. If one person drives, and the other operates gunnery, it should work alright."

"What about the men with the missiles?"

"They ride shotgun on a tank's skid. Could provide some extra firepower in a pinch…"

"Alright. So, we just divide up into pairs?"

"Yes, and each pair… err, _pairs _with another."

"Why?"

"We won't have comms or radar out there, the Reapers are jamming both. So, we won't be able to maintain a full formation, especially once we hit the city. Much more efficient for the tanks to work in pairs – maintain visual, stick to your partner, and each pair makes its way to the target independently."

"The target being the broadcast tower?"

"And then the spaceport," the engineer nodded.

"Andersen…" Kan interjected, sombrely. "You realise we won't be able to attack until dawn?"

"Well, I admit, operating at night would be a bit _risky_."

"It'd be _suicidal. _These things don't even have kinetic barriers, and we'd be moving in pitch darkness – one impact with a building, and it's wrecked."

"It's still seven hours to dawn," Andersen observed. "We can't wait that long to reinforce the others…"

"Pathfinders'll be fine as long as it's dark," the quarian pointed out. "Besides, they'll need time to tag our targets – crossing an occupied city takes time, I imagine…"

"He's right," Carlos nodded. "Adam's survived in the city longer than seven hours, and if your men are as good as you think, they can too. Better we wait, and help them properly, instead of rushing in and getting us all killed."

"I… alright," he relented. "Instructional program will take an hour or two anyway. We should get our teams sorted out now, though, so we can move at short notice. Kan, I want you shotgun with me."

"Wouldn't have it any other way," his friend grinned.

"Carlos, can you cover our backs?"

"My pleasure. I'll grab Rae and get to work on this training program."

"Alright. We need everyone getting to grips with their vehicles by midnight, and a full inventory of the heavy weapons Clay's team's carrying. Let's get to work…"


	335. Operation Wolverine Part 9

**A/N: Sorry the updates are a bit thin on the ground at the moment, guys. Been pretty ill recently, and haven't had much time to write. Anyway, enjoy!**

* * *

><p><em><strong>Scott South Approach, Terra Nova<strong>_

_**Day 2, 0000**_

"Midnight…" Klara murmured, checking her omni-tool.

"Well, this plan went to hell rather, didn't it?" Adam laughed, mirthlessly.

"Just a bit…" she nodded, breathlessly.

They were sheltering in the basement of a battered old farmhouse, weapons half-ready just in case the door – now barred by a fallen steel girder – gave in to a passing Reaper patrol. The only sources of illumination in the room were the tiny lights on Adam's armour, and the gently-glowing HUD beneath Klara's visor…

"Alright," he muttered, finally. "I have to ask… what on _earth _are you doing here?"

"I already told you… we're here with the Alliance, to get people off the planet…"

"Pull the other one, Klara. I gave your friends the benefit of the doubt because you were there, not because I really bought that Alliance crap. I mean, a turian, three asari, two quarians and a _batarian?_"

"What about Irving? And Andersen? They're human…"

"They weren't wearing standard gear, though. And your engineer friend was using a turian rifle."

She scowled through the darkness. Adam always had been observant…

"It's the truth, Adam. I'm not enlisted or anything, but I _am _working for the Alliance. It's a special operations group. Multi-species."

"Hmm…"

"Come on, have I ever lied to you before?"

"Yeah, plenty of times… _but_, never about anything important," he relented. "Fine, I believe you. Besides, even if you're not Alliance, we need all the help we can get."

Not the most _unanimous _vote of confidence, it had to be said. But it was something, at least…

"What about this resistance of yours?" Klara continued, turning the conversation back towards him. "Who exactly _are _they?"

"A bit of a mixed bag, that's who they are…" Adam replied. "Most of them are militia, like me. Carlos – you remember Carlos? – fought with me all the way from the spaceport. Never left my heel. Good man…"

She nodded. She did indeed remember Carlos – he had been Adam's partner on patrols and on watch duty, when he was with the militia. He'd been to their shared apartment a couple of times for a beer after work, and he'd always been kind enough to the little quarian girl who Adam insisted was 'just a friend'.

She also remembered the spaceport, remembered him _throwing _her onto a ship and running off to fight the Reapers after a particularly heartfelt goodbye. The quarian did her best to swallow down the lingering tinge of anger that memory conjured, as her old friend continued:

"We held at the spaceport for about an hour after your ship flew the nest, but the Reapers kept pressing and most of the squad was dead. Once all the evac birds were away, we figured we'd be better off punching through their lines and falling back into the city – live to fight another day and all that… We picked up stragglers from other units as we went, and a team of Alliance sharpshooters that got left behind – that's where Rae and her buddies came from. But then… well, we realised what was going on in orbit. Saw the Montreal go up in flames, and realised the rest of the fleet wasn't coming back."

"Admiral Hackett ordered the Sixth Fleet to evacuate and then wait in reserve…" Klara nodded, sadly. "They would have been chewed up if they tried to take on a Reaper force that size."

"They could have at least _tried _to evacuate civvies," Adam frowned, bitterly, "but… that's done now. Point is, once we saw our ships were gone, we knew we were going to be in this for the long term, and we knew we'd have to get out of the city. We grabbed every civilian we could, and hauled ass out to the farmlands, seeing as the Reapers weren't there in force. That's where we found Clay and his sister – they were a couple of ranchers, and they led us to the Farm. We've been there ever since. Sometimes we move through the tunnels when the heat gets up, sometimes we use other temporary shelters, but the Farm's always our last line of defence."

"Where did the civilians come from?"

"Two dozen or so came with us in the initial invasion," he explained. "The week after, we saved a hundred or so from one of the Reapers' camps. After that it was just dribs and drabs – people came in from the surviving farms around us, or our patrols pulled a family out of the rubble in the city… tell you the truth, I don't quite know how they got to three hundred strong. Guess we've been here a while."

They lapsed into silence. There was something nagging at her mind, but it took her a moment or two to extract it from the mess of information he had just thrown at her.

"Adam?" she began, finally. "You know the rancher? Clay? He was…. he was awfully keen on shooting us when we arrived…"

"Of course he was," Adam replied, gruffly. "After what happened to his sister, he's been a little beyond paranoid."

"You mentioned that before… what _did _happen to his sister?"

Az sighed, as if reliving a painful memory in his head, and shuffled a little closer, as he began to explain:

"Anya was… captured, on one of our raids into the city. Ever since the Reapers caught on to the fact there was a resistance, they've liked taking people alive and sending them back into our ranks indoctrinated. The first guy they did it to, an Alliance sergeant, he came wandering back in three days after we lost him on patrol. We welcomed him back, of course we did, what else would we do? Then, a day later, he flipped. Shot two of my men and blew himself up in the middle of the tunnels. Caused a collapse that we _still _haven't cleared and killed a dozen civilians in the process. After that, we knew that anyone who was captured wouldn't be friendly when they came back. So, when Anya went MIA on a raid… we knew she was gone. And when she stumbled into one of our patrols…"

He tailed off, sadly. Klara, however, was experiencing one of her moments of naivety, and pointed out the obvious flaw:

"What if she really just went missing?"

"You think we didn't consider that?" he snapped, with a rare note of anger in his voice. "Look, Klara, I don't know how much you've dealt with indoctrination on your little task force, but we deal with it daily. Indoctrination… _changes _you. And who better to notice that change than your twin brother? When Clay challenged her on it, she opened fire on him – caught him two shots in the flank before he fired back. Blew her away with his shotgun – not dead, but dying… we sent the rest of the patrol on ahead, and I stayed back with him. Told him either he'd put her out of her misery, or I would. He did it, in the end…"

"Keelah…"

"I know your lot think he's an ass," Adam continued, steely-eyed. "I know some of them might even think he's indoctrinated. But trust me, Klara, Clay hates the Reapers more than anyone else."

"So he's just crazy, then?"

"He had to euthanize his own _sister_. You can't come through something like that a sane man. Besides, we're all a little crazy – we have to be, to be out here doing this. Logical option is to roll over and die quickly, but we're still out here fighting. So, yeah, he's crazy… but he's loyal to the hilt, and everybody needs one guy like that on their side."

"I suppose so…" Klara nodded. What she failed to add was the thought running through her own mind: _"We've got a whole crew of guys like that…"_

They were silent for a while after that, just sitting in the dark, trying not to listen to the dreadful soundtrack all around, the screams of the Reapers and the burning roars of their weapons… Finally, after what felt like an eternity, Klara spoke up again.

"I still remember it, you know. You pushing me onto that ship, telling me to go… why'd you do it?"

"Because everything I said that day was true," he replied, suddenly looking her full in the face. Well, visor… In the dim glow of her HUD, she could see a lopsided smile crossing his features. "I knew I was going to fight, but I didn't want to risk your life too."

"But I _wanted _to risk it!" she protested, quietly. "Keelah, I'm doing it now! And you clearly didn't mind if Carlos and the others risked theirs – you took _them _with you…"

"And why the hell do you think that was?" Adam sighed, still smiling good-naturedly. "I didn't care about them as much as I cared about you…"

"What about now?"

"Klara, I've lived and died in a_ hole_ with these guys for months now… We've been through hell together. We've been beaten, shot, starved, and they've stuck with me through all of it…"

Silence, for a brief moment.

"…and it's still not even close."

They went quiet again after that. He kissed the top of her visor, she let her head slump down onto his shoulder… the two of them just sat there, waiting out the night as the shots continued to fall all around them.


	336. Operation Wolverine Part 10

_**Scott South Approach, Terra Nova**_

_**Day 2, 0010**_

"Patrol up ahead! Count one turian, half a dozen batarians, two humans! Catch!"

A pistol came soaring back through the dead stalks, and Saffiya caught it mere inches from her face, but took it gratefully nonetheless.

She couldn't help but be _impressed _by the turian. A little over an hour prior, as they scattered away from the Reapers' assault, he had advised that they 'keep pushing' – and he'd been pushing ever since, dragging the justicar along behind him.

"Contact in ten metres!" Kamur bellowed. "Engaging!"

Up ahead, she saw him _dive _out of the far side of the field, vault the irrigation channel, and set upon the patrol, claws glinting, weapons flashing. He had slammed into one of the Cannibals and dragged it to the ground before Saffiya was even out of the field, and as she hopped over the ditch herself, she saw her colleague _tear _the thing's throat open with a clawed hand. He rolled over, went for his rifle-

And the chaos began, as shots filled the air around them. Kamur was in his element, ducking and diving, firing madly amidst the frenzy, but for the justicar, it was rather harder to _focus _on her biotics. Eventually, however, she picked a target – the two Cannibals lagging at the back of the patrol, now sending red shots _ricocheting _towards them – and lunged forward.

A quick swing of her arm sent a _furious _biotic wave at the pair, hurling them off their feet with a dull _whump. _A moment later she sprang into the air, blue fire welling up about her fist once more as she sent a fireball racing earthwards – it struck between them, exploded violently, and the two monsters crumbled to ash.

Behind her, Kamur was wrestling with the two husks, which had been sent forward like attack hounds by the Marauder. He dispatched the first with a quick swipe of an omni-blade, then sidestepped, avoiding a flailing swing of the second's arms before retaliating, driving his other blade through the creature's throat in a rough uppercut. With the husk still skewered on his arm, he rocked back, then pitched forward, _hurling _it bodily at the Marauder, which had just been preparing to take aim.

The dead turian stumbled back, knocked off its aim by the husk, and then, quite suddenly, the _live _turian was upon it. Kamur growled and slashed away, taking two chunks out of the Marauder's grisly face before wresting away its rifle, spinning it round, and-

_Crack crack crack. _Blue blood and silver flesh exploded outwards as the creature's head _popped_, and Kamur rolled away, still wielding the liberated rifle as he turned to the two Cannibals now advancing on him…

Speaking of which, the other two were advancing on Saffiya as she watched the turian's antics, and she was only snapped back into reality as one of the batarian creatures, just a foot or so away, sent a round crashing against her barriers.

They held, and on instinct alone she wheeled around, bringing up the turian's pistol and opening fire with a single, deadly shot:

_Bang. _The round whizzed over the shooter's shoulder, but by luck alone it caught the second of the creatures in the face as it advanced, spattering blood into the air and causing the loathsome thing to crumple to the floor.

She had no time to watch it fall, however, as she turned her attention to the other one, the one now _inches _from her face – a quick pistol whip around the jaw deterred it somewhat, before she bounded back, buying space and time-

_Crack! _Out of nowhere, a rifle round crashed through the side of the Cannibal's head, killing it instantly even as the asari readied biotics to do the job herself. Looking across, she saw Kamur's rifle still smoking. He had dispatched one of his two assailants, but in taking down _hers_, he had run out of time – the last of the Cannibals thundered into him, knocking him to the floor and his rifle a few feet down the road…

Saffiya took that chance to repay the favour – as the creature bayed in Kamur's face, she darted in, arm ablaze, and _hurled _it off him with a flurry of biotics. It soared through the air a moment, then crashed down in the ditch to the right with the _crunch_ing soundof breaking bones.

"You alright?" she panted, as the turian scrambled to his feet and grabbed his rifle from where it had fallen.

"Never better…" he rumbled. "You?"

"Sick of this planet already."

"Glad to hear it… the more you hate it, the harder you work to finish up and get off it."

She rolled her eyes, and sighed, but popped the heatsink on her pistol nonetheless, before looking around, curiously.

"Which way?" she frowned, having lost her bearings rather in the fight.

_Skree!_

"Follow the Reapers…" Kamur replied, as a scarlet lance billowed into life over the rooftops, and tore over a swathe of farmland to the east.

"_Brilliant_," Saffiya scowled. "Follow the Reapers, that's always a good plan…"

"Never failed me so far," the turian shrugged.

"Yes, but you're a crazy person."

"Says the woman following me. C'mon, justicar, we need to move…"


	337. Operation Wolverine Part 11

_**Scott South Approach, Terra Nova**_

_**Day 2, 0020**_

"Aeryn, are you alright?"

"Fine, considering…"

"Radio's still dead."

"Of course it is. They're jamming everything – that's why we're here, right?"

Maelar nodded, grimly, and peered out of cover a moment, cautiously. The two asari had run for an hour after the original plan went to hell – no mean feat in armour – before hunkering down in a steel shed that had somehow survived the destruction of the adjoining farm. There was no more than a quarter-inch of metal between them and the front, and through it, Aeryn could hear every damn detail – the roaring of the Reapers in the background, the baying and screeching of the husks rather more near at hand…

"Movement," her colleague reported. "Platoon strength, at least. Think they're searching for survivors."

"Keep your head down, then!" Aeryn scowled, pulling Maelar back down behind the wall of the shed.

"What _else _could I do?" she retorted.

The two of them were silent a moment, pressing themselves very firmly up against the front wall of the shed. Aeryn went for her rifle, checked the scope, counted her ammo. Five magazines. More than enough in a regular firefight. In this kind of situation… maybe not. That said, the floor of the shed was lowered ever so slightly – subsidence had caused it to sink a little into the earth – which gave them _some _protection, at least. Maybe the Reapers wouldn't spot them…

"All units, this is Operative D'Taran…" her friend jabbered, for what felt like the hundredth time. "Can anyone hear me?"

"You said it yourself, Mae, the radio's out. That means procedure is too. We just have to wait until _they _leave" – she jabbed a finger behind their heads, in the direction of the Reaper troops – "or someone friendlier arrives."

Maelar nodded, and sank down further, popping down the scope on her rifle – if anything stumbled across them at this close range, it would be useless…

_Skree…_

The two asari sat bolt upright, as a bloodcurdling scream – no, a _shriek _– rent the air. It wasn't the din of a Reaper, but a far more ominous one, belonging, she knew, to a skeletal form stalking over the wastes toward them.

"Banshee…" Aeryn whispered.

_Skree…_

"Alright, make that _two _Banshees," she gulped. "Cries sounded like they came from different directions, or was that just me?"

No reply.

"Mae?"

Looking across, she saw that her colleague had blanched, white as the grave, and her eyes were wide with fear. Suddenly, and rather eerily, she was reminded of Asteria, of a stricken Maelar collapsing to her knees when a Banshee attacked. How the _hell _had she forgotten about that?

"Hey, stay with me," she murmured, softly but sternly.

"I hate those things…" Maelar replied, somewhat disjointedly.

"Me too," Aeryn nodded. "It's not nice, knowing they're… knowing they _were _like us."

"S'not just that."

"Come on, Mae, we need to be quiet…"

"I… I got wounded by one on Hyetiana. You know it? Colony world, edge of the Traverse, fell to the Reapers about a week before we came aboard…"

"I know it, now-"

"We were… evacuating. Kalin and me, and some… some friends. Grabbed our arms, got to the spaceport, tried to clear a path to the shuttle for civilians. Reapers started dropping in. Through the roof, the walls… Banshee came out in front of us. Stepped up, leering. Stabbed me, right through the stomach, right through here-"

She jabbed a frantic hand at her midriff, and she was jabbering now, almost _fevered _in ranting as words continued to trip and tumble out of her lips, eyes welling up at the same time.

"It lifted me up. Slashed my head. Almost killed me. Friend of mine, a turian, Drahk – he stepped in, chopped its arm, saved me. He killed it… and it killed him."

"I'm sorry, but-"

"I still get flashbacks, Aeryn. Every time I see one – claws _burning _in my stomach, Drahk's face, just before he…"

"Maelar!" Aeryn hissed, panicking now. "_Shut… up!_"

_Skree!_

"Argh!"

The Banshee's cry was much louder that time… and so was the yelp that tore itself out of Maelar's lungs. Aeryn stared at her for a moment, and she stared back, both pairs of eyes bulging wide as a sinking sensation filled the former's gut.

_Skree!_

In hindsight, Aeryn would realise that _that_ was a command, and sure enough, a moment later, the world descended into maddening chaos:

_Crack crack crack crack… _

The very first round in the deafening chorus whistled over their heads, effortlessly punching a hole through the steel wall and leaving a single shaft of moonlight to filter through between them.

It was followed by others, though – from the deafening crescendo, Aeryn knew that a legion of unseen foes was pouring shots down all around them, shredding the two asari's erstwhile shelter in the crossfire. Her barriers flared as a round bounced off her armour, another one whizzed a fraction of an inch from her visor… The world was awash with hissing, screaming, baying, the chatter of guns and the sound of tearing metal behind their heads…

And then, just as suddenly as it had started, it stopped. The slightest echo reverberated off across the battlefield, but the rifles went quiet, and the baying became a low, persistent rumble, a growl in the background.

If the Reapers had any shred of arrogance, her brain told her, they wouldn't check. They'd assume the crossfire had killed whatever made the noise, as long as it didn't make any _more_. But then, they were synthetics, so why the hell should they have a shred of arrogance?

She only plucked up the courage to lookwhen she heard the dull _crunch _of a heavy foot on broken ground. Peering out around the corner, she saw the Reaper troops skulking back across the wastes, the twin, lithe forms of the Banshees leading them away. It seemed they were arrogant after all…

As Aeryn leant back into the shelter of the shed, however, she felt a burning sensation beneath her arm. Looking down, she saw a trickle of purple blood flowing down the grey breastplate of her armour. Her barriers had given way, and one of the Reapers' shots had torn through just below her shoulder. An inch or two further over, and it would have been her heart – that thought sent a shiver down her spine.

"Mae, you got any medi-gel?" she murmured, weakly. "One of them got me."

Silence.

"Mae?"

She looked across – and stifled a little yelp. Maelar was still sat next to her, rifle in her lap as before… but there was a stream of blood trickling out of her helmet and down her neck. The inside of her visor was bloody, too, and her head was hanging forwards. On the wall behind her, right where her head had been, there was a puncture wound in the steel, a little shaft of moonlight marking the shot's trail – right through the back of her helmet.

Maelar pitched sideways, head lolling as she fell into Aeryn's lap. With the baying of the Reaper troops still ringing in her ears, echoing over no man's land, Aeryn could do little more than stay silent, shivering ever so slightly in the night…


	338. Operation Wolverine Part 12

_**Scott South Approach, Terra Nova**_

_**Day 2, 0030**_

"I was born here. On Terra Nova, I mean."

"I don't care."

"Lived right there in that city for eighteen years of my life."

"Still don't care."

Irving scowled at the batarian, and peered over the top of the ditch once more. Between the dead stalks, he could just make out the dark silhouette of Scott, framed every now and then by a flash of scarlet, and an eruption of red fire over the battlefield. Well, _battlefield _– more like a playground, for a monstrous game of hide and seek.

He and Vor had been sat in this god awful ditch for the last hour and a half, watching and waiting, and popping the skulls of any husks that wandered too close. The batarian's harpoon gun was silent, unlike an assault rifle, which gave them a unique capability to remain undiscovered while still discouraging the curious…

"Do you care about _anything?_" Irving snapped, ignoring the voice in his head – the one vaguely shaped like Sarah – which warned him against it. "Besides yourself, I mean."

"Not recently," Vor grunted, speaking through half-closed lips – he was smoking one of those damned cigarettes, casting a little red glow in front of his face and illuminating it through the night.

"Figures – and put that bloody thing out!" the marine muttered, swiping the cigarette out of Vor's mouth and into the stagnant water at the bottom of the ditch.

The batarian shot him an ugly glare, and he stared right back, before grumbling:

"They'll see the light and come running, you idiot…"

"We've got guns, haven't we?" the batarian growled, hefting his Kishock demonstratively.

"Hope you've got a few hundred harpoons, then, because that city's full of Reapers, and they'll all come running."

Vor didn't reply, he just grunted again and went back to staring at his boots. It had been like that for the last ninety minutes. Tense, awkward silence, then a pointless argument over some petty detail. Rinse and repeat. Still, it killed the time…

"Hey, got one," Vor muttered. "Husk, up the road."

"Range?"

"I dunno… twenty metres? Thirty?"

"You never did time in the military, did you Vor?"

"Hell no."

"Any other hostiles?"

"You tell me…"

Irving scowled, and peeked up, over the side of the ditch. The shadows were flickering through the field, but movement… no, he couldn't see any movement. Nothing nearby, anyway. Good enough.

"Take the shot."

_Thunk. _Almost before he'd finished speaking, a single round erupted out of the batarian's rifle to his right. Up ahead, the husk fell to the floor with a choking sound, Vor's shot buried in the side of its head.

"Way ahead of you…" he rumbled.

They slumped back down, as the moment of action passed, and the batarian snapped open his harpoon gun, sliding a fresh round into the breach as Irving took another cursory glance over the bank. Still nothing, just crimson fire in the background, the Reapers' fury scorching the wasteland up ahead…

"We need to move," Irving muttered, suddenly.

"What?" Vor scowled.

"Six hours to sunrise, batarian. This ditch only covers us in the night – once the sun's up, we might as well be sitting in the middle of the road for all the bloody good it does us…"

"What are you saying to me, human?"

"We need to go over the top. Push into the city, find some solid cover. Link up with the others if possible – we can't finish the mission by ourselves."

The batarian looked him dead in the eye for a moment, his own four bulbs not so much as blinking. Then, finally, he replied – and Irving had to admit, the words that came out of Vor's mouth caught him by surprise somewhat:

"About time. Let's get moving…"

"I thought you didn't care about this city?" Irving frowned.

"I don't. I couldn't give a rat's ass what happens to it," Vor replied. "But we've got a job to do, and the sooner it's done, the sooner I can get off this shithole of a planet."

"_That's _more like it…" the marine sighed. "One thing before we go, though."

"What?" his colleague snapped, irascibly.

"I know you don't like me, batarian-"

"Wow. What a genius."

"And I sure as hell don't like you…" he continued, forcefully. "But if it's anything like Vancouver, that city gives hell a new definition. If we're gonna survive, we need to be tight…"

"I'm listening…" Vor muttered. "But can you make it sound a _little _less like you're coming out?"

Irving glared at him, but the Sarah-voice overcame his temper just long enough to force the necessary words out of his throat:

"Truce, batarian. We hate each other. You know it, I know it. But we both know damn well we hate the Reapers more. Whaddya say?"

Begrudgingly, he held one hand out towards the batarian. Vor eyed it suspiciously, grinding his teeth ever so slightly before he finally grumbled:

"Temporary, right?"

"Sure. You can go back to hating my guts once we're done here."

"Well, that's alright then," he snarked, shaking Irving's hand in a vice-like grip which the marine made sure to return. "After you, _buddy…_"


	339. Operation Wolverine Part 13

_**SSV Cambrai, Exodus Cluster**_

_**Day 2, 0100**_

"Akito, what's our sitrep?"

"Silent running, captain. All unnecessary systems are down to nominal load, stealth systems are engaged."

"What about our guns?"

"Hot, just in case. Shaves an hour off our effective stealth time, but I'd rather be ready for the Reapers."

"Good call. Any sign of our backup?"

"None yet. Admiral Singh's still out of contact."

"I hope he knows what he's doing with this… what about the ground team?"

"Comms are still dead, but… no sign of the shuttle, sir. I've been reviewing the scans – confirmed radiation bursts, consistent with Hades weapons, about ten minutes after they dropped."

"You think they were shot down?"

"All I know is, the shuttle didn't come _back_," Akito sighed. "Our people have survived worse… but they've also died for less. And we can't send a second team in – not in good conscience, anyway."

"How could we even send them down?" Murphy frowned. "The shuttle's gone."

"I made sure we picked up one of the Logan's bugs before they left," the co-pilot explained. "It's waiting in the hangar, but that's not the point. We sent the first team in, not knowing they were going to get shot down. But if we send a second in, we know damn well they _will_. It'd be a suicide run, and we both know we can't sanction that."

"So we have to wait until the guns are down?"

"Yes, sir. That's assuming our team did make it out of the crash alive."

"And if they didn't?"

"Then we're in trouble… Theoretically, the Logan could bring down those Hades units with her own guns, but they'd be attacking blind, and it'd be a risky venture – Hades guns can take chunks out of capital ships as well as shuttles. Besides which, we _still _wouldn't have radio coherence on the ground, because our team wouldn't have disabled the jammer…"

"So, all our bets are riding on the first team making it out of a shuttle crash, limping into the city through Reaper resistance, and blowing those guns to hell?"

"Pretty much."

"I can think of worse things to bet on… keep me informed, Akito."

"Will do, sir."

Murphy made to leave, but hesitated, and turned back as something else occurred to him.

"Do you need any help up here?" he asked. "I could get the yeoman or one of the gunnery officers to come and assist, if you need it-"

"I'm fine, boss," the co-pilot smiled back. "Bit weird having the cockpit this quiet, but… yeah, I can manage on my own."

The captain nodded succinctly to him, turned on his heel, and swept out of the helm. He was in a rather restless mood, one that hadn't overtaken him in a while – he'd been at the front of the Cambrai's last few ops, but now, stuck waiting in orbit, he found himself wishing he was in the midst of the action…

As he emerged into the CIC, however, there was a handy distraction waiting – Lynus Rilum was leaning against the railing around the galaxy map, arms folded, watching Murphy intently as he approached.

"You wanted to see me, captain?" the salarian murmured.

"Yes," he nodded. "Need your help to put together a team."

"What's the objective?"

"Reinforcement. All signs indicate the first team's shuttle went down over the target zone."

"Need a team to replace first? Think they're dead?"

"No, I doubt something as mundane as a shuttle crash'd finish them off," the captain sighed. "And knowing the guys I sent down, they'll still be pushing on towards the objective. But without that shuttle, I doubt they've got an exit strategy. Once the jammer goes down and they make contact, they'll be improvising."

"Need a team ready on our end," Rilum nodded. "Quick response, quick evac."

"Exactly. When they come through – and they will – they'll need a ride out of there. Rendezvous would be somewhere in the city, close quarters, almost certainly a hot LZ."

"Evac under fire… need suppressing shooters, biotics capable of barrier support, possibly a medic, too."

"I take it you've got ideas already?"

"Naturally. For suppression, can't do much better than the krogan. Yui, Dax, with Revenants – enough crossfire to deal with any pursuer."

"Agreed. I've had them on standby since we got here – they're armed, and ready to go. What about biotic support?"

"Hmm… need a tested barrier-caster, capable of shooting too. Araya? Dax says her training's going well."

"Works for me."

"Worth noting both our doctors are biotics too – should send one to back up Araya. Two birds, one stone, as you humans say. Carter's case file said she used barriers to impressive effectin Vancouver."

"Send her, then. She needs the combat experience, quick drop's the perfect chance."

"Understood. Assume you want me with the team too?"

"I didn't think that was up for debate."

"It's not."

Murphy grinned for a moment, and the salarian grinned back.

"Your team needs to be ready to go at a moment's notice," the captain nodded, finally. "If our ground team's sensible, they'll try to get the jammer down before the sun comes up and they're exposed. That means a night drop is a real possibility."

"Need specialised equipment, then," Rilum murmured, taking a mental inventory. "Usual combat gear, supplement with nocturnal optics, emergency medical kit…"

"Right. I'll leave you to it, Lynus. Outfit them as you see fit, and make sure they're ready to go in the hangar within twenty minutes."

"Understood, captain. Ready in ten."


	340. Operation Wolverine Part 14

_**Scott South, Terra Nova**_

_**Day 2, 0200**_

"City limits," Irving called, stepping over the corpse of a Cannibal as the battle quietened down for a moment. "Welcome to hell…"

"Incoming on the right," Vor replied, emotionlessly. "Three of 'em. First one's mine."

_Thunk. _The Marauder in the middle of the trio dropped, a harpoon punching between its eyes. A moment later, two quick bursts from Irving's rifle mopped up the others – _crack crack, crack crack_.

"Ammo's not gonna last all day," the marine shouted, advancing a little way to catch the batarian's attention. "We need to find some cover, move through the buildings!"

"Make your mind up! First you want us to charge in here, now you want us to hide!"

"It's not _hiding_, it's fighting with a few brain cells, you idiot! We can't kill every husk in the city…"

"Maybe not, but we can give it a damn good go…"

"Oh, just shut up and follow me!"

Vor growled, but Irving was already making a beeline for the edge of the road, shouldering his rifle. Somewhere in the distance, a Banshee was screeching, and the Reapers towering over the city skyline – barely visible in the darkness – were giving off an ominous drone which had just become part of the world's soundtrack by now, interspersed by flashes of red which arced out into no man's land, far behind the duo now…

"In here," Irving grunted, as they approached one of the shop fronts on the side of the road. The window had been shot through already – as had ever window in the bloody city – and the shelves within demolished, contents scattered all over the floor, mostly charred to a crisp. The marine clambered through, wielding his rifle close, and cursed under his breath as broken glass cut across the soft joint where his leg met his waist.

"Nice going, genius," Vor frowned, spotting the blood Irving had left on the glass as he waded through after him. He looked like he was about to continue with the mockery, but instead he froze, mouth open, staring across the room. After a moment, he simply muttered: "Yikes…"

Irving followed his gaze… and had to concur, as he spotted the emaciated form on the far side of the room, slumped against the wall. Human male. Late twenties, early thirties. Pistol dropped at his side, two husks dead on the ground in front of him – neck torn open, presumably by a third. Putrefaction… starting to set in. He looked away in disgust, taking stock of the rest of the room. Door behind them, caved in. Solid wall to the left and ahead…

"Window on the right," he murmured. "Out into the alley."

The batarian nodded, and followed him over to the precipice. There was a crackle of firelight peeking through it, which had to be recent – the fires of the initial assault had burned out long ago. Irving took particular care not to slice his leg open again – it was already beginning to sting – as he climbed through, and looked around. Empty. Fire burning from a tenement further down. Splash of blood on the grou-

Blood on the ground. Crimson. Quite suddenly, Irving's mind was racing back to years gone by. A flashback, a distant memory…

"I've been here before."

"Course you have, you daft bastard," Vor scowled. "You said you were _born_ here…"

"No, I mean _here_," Irving continued. "This alleyway, this bloody spot! I was… face down, right here – that was _my _blood on the ground!"

"Rough night on the town?" the batarian smirked.

"Rough night on the streets. Got shot up in a… a gang conflict."

"_You _were in a gang? I'm impressed… what went wrong?"

"Ha-bloody-ha. I almost died here – the guy who saved my life pointed me to an Alliance recruiting station. Never looked back."

"Shame… you might have been a bit more interesting as a criminal."

"And turn out like you? God forbid…"

"Nothin' wrong with me, human."

"Are you kidding? You're a violent, chain-smoking, xenophobic, borderline-sociopathic _bastard_."

"My point. Take up the ciggies and we'd be bloody identical, human."

That put Irving's hackles up, and Vor knew it – it was the only reason he said it at all. They glared at each other for a moment or two, but the short-lived standoff was interrupted by a baying call from the street. A grey-blue form came hurtling around the corner, just as the two of them wheeled around.

_Crack crack. _It dropped, silvery blood spurting from the side of its head. A second came rushing in after it, but he took its legs out from underneath it with another burst, before-

_Thunk. _The batarian finished it off with a shot to the head, and the street fell quiet once more.

"We need to keep moving," Irving muttered, reloading. "Back alleys should give us some cover through the undercity."

"Are you kidding?" Vor scowled. "This place is a bloody maze!"

"And I know it like the back of my hand…stick to the alleyways, and we can be half a click from the broadcast tower inside an hour. Move in the open, and we'll have to fight street by street. It'd take an infantry squad six hours at least, how long do you think it'd take the two of us?"

"Where do we go, then?" the batarian rumbled, relenting slightly.

"We stay low, cut across the shops and the factory floors, and head north. C'mon, follow me…"

"Fine. But if we see any Reapers on the way, I'm killin' them."

"When the hell did I say _not _to?"

"Dunno, but it seems like the sort of bastard-stupid thing you'd say!"

"Oh, screw you, batarian, just start running!"


	341. Operation Wolverine Part 15

**A/N: So, been a while since we had a Double Monday. Enjoy!**

* * *

><p><em><strong>Scott South, Terra Nova<strong>_

_**Day 2, 0220**_

To the west, traipsing down a deserted street, Saffiya's nerves were on edge. In part, it was due to the sheer emptiness of the area around them – the other streets had been dotted with bodies, dead husks, and so on, but this one was utterly deserted, like it had been _emptied. _Kamur's caginess didn't help, either – the turian's shoulders were raised high, his talons were gripping his rifle _very _tightly…

"I don't like this," he announced, wheeling around to face her. "Something happened here."

"I agree," the justicar nodded, stoically. "Month-old signs of battle… but no bodies. No fires. No patrols."

"Why would they patrol it?" Kamur rumbled. "They already cleared everything out of it."

"_It?_"

"The camp."

Her eyes widened a little, as her companion fixed her with a hawk-eyed stare. There was a storm of emotions barely contained beneath his grim visage – anger, sorrow, disgust a hint of… denial?

"Look around," he continued, with a growl. "No life, no bodies. No exits, though – they've blocked out the streets, caved in the buildings… Might as well have built a bloody wall round it."

He was right. On closer inspection, the road to the right was blocked, not by debris, but by a metal construct of that deep obsidian colour the Reapers were forged from, _surrounded _by debris. In that light, it became far more sinister, for the burned out cars, the broken poles, the rubble of bricks and mortar… they had all been piled up deliberately, not scattered by a blast.

"I'd stake good money that they've cut off the whole block. That roadblock we climbed through? Their work too. Levelled those residentials" – he pointed to a collapsed block of tenements off to the left – "to create an open, level space."

"Why?" was all the asari could manage to ask. She had a fumbling idea already, but goddess, she hoped she was wrong…

"They need people alive," Kamur grimaced. "We've always known that."

"I… I suppose so," she nodded.

"That's what these places are. We, ah… we documented this stuff, from Menae. I'm willing to bet it played out the same way here as it did on Palaven. Reapers go on the offensive for the first couple of days after they launch their attack – they destroy fleets, raze military compounds, cripple centres of political and logistical control."

"Leave the people isolated and defenceless."

"Exactly. Then, they start taking _control_. They start with the major urban centres, then the smaller towns and cities, then rural settlements. Anywhere there's a significant population, they round up collaborators, captives and surrendered parties, and concentrate in these camps. Takes a few weeks, but once it's done, the factory ships move in."

_Factory ships _couldn't be good, Saffiya decided, but she didn't interrupt, she just sat back and continued to listen to the turian's words:

"We never got close enough surveillance to see what happens on the ground – we were watching from a moon in orbit, for spirits' sake, we could only see the big things – but we know this much: once the factory ships move in, nobody's left alive on the ground."

"And you think that happened here?"

"I know that happened here. You heard Zivas – 'the rest of them went into the factory ships, they're gone'."

"Horrific…"

"You know what the worst part is?" Kamur spat.

"What?"

"You wouldn't know this was the Reapers, to look at it."

Well, _that _caught her off guard, to say the least. Kamur's eyes were shining – no, _burning_, as she rather meekly replied:

"You wouldn't?"

"No, you wouldn't," he growled, firmly. Then, he sighed. "Look, justicar, I can't shoot _laser beams _from my eyes, and I can't turn men into husks. But I can build a death camp. Have done, a dozen times. Built them, consigned people to them… cleared the corpses out."

"Death camps? I thought hastatim camps were built to _protect _people?" she frowned.

"They are," the turian grunted. "Doesn't work out that way too often, though. Agitators are just as likely to sneak inside and start riots as they are to resist arrest. Plus, you cram people in together, and disease spreads, so does petty crime. And all it takes it one petty officer with a clipboard for food rations to start turning up late, for people to start starving… Every hastatim knows that once the camps are built, the bodies are going to pile up. Why do you think we've got own _crematoriums_?"

"You've always defended the hastatim, though…"

"Of course I have. I'm one of them."

"You said they were a _necessary evil_."

"They are… it's just… it's much easier to fight when the enemy's completely alien to you. This? This is way too familiar. I hate that I understand this, understand the _mechanics _behind it. Hate that I admire it, from an objective point of view."

"They are… efficient," Saffiya admitted, distastefully.

There was a pause, an awkward silence, and she was almost grateful for the roar of a Reaper's gun overhead, racing out into no man's land.

"Come on," the turian rumbled, finally, hefting his rifle. "We've got a job to do."

"How far's the broadcast tower?" she asked.

"Well, assuming _that's _it" – he jabbed a finger at the dark spike rising out of the skyline, helpfully illuminated by another blaring shot from the Reaper – "I'd say about two klicks."

"Two klicks? Do you think we can make it before dawn?"

"Depends how fast you run," Kamur grinned, back to his old self for a moment. "Three and a half hours to sun-up, call it three to be safe… yeah, I reckon we can make it, if we move fast and hard."

"After you, then, hastatim…"


	342. Operation Wolverine Part 16

**A/N: Damn it, put this on Document Manager but forgot to actually add it to the story. Oh well, enjoy Wednesday's slightly belated update!**

* * *

><p><em><strong>Scott South Approach, Terra Nova<strong>_

_**Day 2, 0300**_

"I'm still not sure about you coming with me, Klara…"

"You really think I'm giving you the _choice? _You're not leaving me behind again, Adam."

"Technically, I didn't leave you behind – I _stayed _behind."

She shot him an ugly glare through her visor, and checked her machine pistol one last time, setting the sights with a little _click_.

"Alright, fine…" he relented. "But keep your head down, alright?"

"I can take care of myself," she retorted, smiling reassuringly nonetheless. "I've had a lot more… _experience _since the last time you saw me."

"Against the Reapers?"

"And Cerberus," she nodded. "They trained me up pretty well."

Klara wasn't sure if that reassured him, or worried him even further. Either way, he stopped protesting, and set his mind to the matter at hand, advancing across the room and reaching for his own rifle.

"Broadcast tower's quite a trek away," he muttered, "and we lost a good few hours hiding out here. If your friends made it through the attack, they'll be heading there too. Probably have a good head start on us."

"Can we catch them up?" Klara frowned. "Come on, you must know _some _shortcuts…"

"Of course I do. What kind of resistance leader would I be if I didn't know the city?"

"Resistance _leader?_" she smirked. "Look who's getting big for his boots."

"No sense in denying it…" he sighed. "Didn't ask for the job, it just sort of… happened, what with one thing or another. Could just as easily have been Carlos, or Clay…"

"God forbid," the quarian shuddered, borrowing a human phrase she'd learned from Adam himself. "For the record, I think you're wrong."

"Oh?"

"It couldn't have been anyone, it had to be you. You're a good leader. You fight well, you're smart, and you care... perfect combination. No wonder they follow you."

"I wish I had half your faith in me…" he grinned. "Now come on, we've lost enough time already. Need to get moving."

She nodded, and followed him across the room, the both of them crouching low with weapons drawn. He shifted the bar – a collapsed steel beam from the ceiling – which they had used to block the door, and then ushered Klara through, following close behind, scanning the surroundings…

"No hostiles," Adam muttered, from behind her. "I don't know whether to be relieved, or suspicious…"

Klara laughed quietly at that, and asked:

"Which way?"

"Right, and around the corner. Road leads all the way up to the city."

She nodded, and slunk over to the corner of the building, peering quickly around it, ducking back, and then, when shots singularly _failed _to come racing at her head, stepped out.

Here, too, the landscape was conspicuously free of Reaper troops. No Marauders or Cannibals patrolling the wastes. No Banshees, stalking after prey in the fields. Just them, and the open air…

And the rumble in the Reapers in the distance. The night was still thick enough to hide them from view, but she knew they were there, and that somehow made them even more terrifying. It was bad enough to see them looming over you, but for them to be towering over the buildings _invisible_…? That sent a shiver down her spine.

They advanced down the road, slowly and cautiously – Klara in front, scanning with her omni-tool and sweeping around with her pistol, Adam behind, hovering cautiously at her heel. The barrel of his rifle was dancing over her right shoulder, flickering in and out of sight.

"Still nothing," she muttered, frustratedly. "Nothing in the fields, nothing on the road… nothing for half a kilometre."

"You can _scan _for those things?" Adam murmured. "How? They don't give off thermals!"

"Really? _That's _what you're concerned about now?" Klara snapped. She took a deep breath, however, and added, by way of explanation: "Husks give off an electrical charge. Tiny, but obvious if you know what to look for."

"And you don't see it?"

"No, not a damn thing. I don't understand this. They were all over our position, why would they just-"

She stopped dead, but a moment later, Adam _thumped _absent-mindedly into her back, sending them both stumbling. As she regained her balance, however, the quarian wheeled around, an urgent tone in her voice:

"Why would they just pull out?" she asked, meaningfully.

Adam's eyes remained blank behind his visor for a moment, but then, oh-so suddenly, realisation seemed to hit him, just as it had her, and those astonishing bulbs _popped _wide for a moment.

"Oh, shit," he rumbled.

_Skree!_

Klara whipped back to twelve o'clock just in time to see the world turn crimson. A maelstrom of red light was building over the skyline of the city ahead, illuminating the monstrous form of the Reaper casting it. Quite suddenly, a great pillar of flame was descending over no man's land, hurling up smoke and dust and debris, carving a path along the road towards them. It got within a hundred metres, and Klara felt the air around her swell, an overwhelming sense of heat and pressure building, before-

_Wham! _The Reaper's shot seemed to _explode _in front of them, sucking the air out of Klara's lungs. She crumpled to the floor, and in truth she couldn't tell if the shot had knocked her down, or if Adam had _dragged _her down, because she could feel the weight of his hefty form on her side. A deafening roar filled her head… and everything went, not black, but a _blinding _white…

When Klara's vision finally returned, she was spread-eagled on her back, with a hefty arm around her midriff and a ringing noise in her ears.

"Adam?" she whispered, nervously.

"I'm here," he murmured, in reply. "Are you alright?"

"I… I think so. Are you?"

"Yeah. Everything's still attached…"

The arm wrapped around her waist shifted off her as Adam rolled away, and they sat up in unison, to see a scene of utter devastation before them.

The Reaper had blitzed the road, heating what remained of the concrete surface until it blistered and cracked, leaving deep fissure wounds across the path. To either side, the crops in the fields had been set alight, dead stalks burning an eerie crimson, while steam rose in thick veils from the irrigation channels, the last of their contents literally _boiled _in the attack. In the distance, Scott was visible only through a veil of red, still shimmering like heat haze…

"Well, that answers _that _question…" Adam coughed, clutching his winded chest.

"You're awfully calm about the fact we almost just _died_," Klara hissed.

"Klara, please… I've been here for months, you think that's the first time a Reaper shot at me? They can't shoot for shit."

She scowled at him.

"Sorry…" he chuckled, looking down. "Not appropriate. It's just a-"

"Coping mechanism," she interjected, smiling too now. "I know. Now come on, we need to move."

"Should be easier now," Adam grunted, clambering upright and offering her a hand.

"How do you figure _that?_" Klara frowned, as he pulled her to her feet.

"Reapers just burned this whole tract of land. They won't be sending soldiers in to patrol it, will they? They'll just assume every living thing inside's dead…"

"We've got a clear route to the city."

"With any luck, yeah… shall we?"

"After you," she smirked.

"Whatever happened to ladies first?" he sighed, in mock frustration. Nonetheless, he hefted his rifle, and set off up the road, with the quarian close at his side…


	343. Operation Wolverine Part 17

_**Scott Central, Terra Nova**_

_**Day 2, 0350**_

"'I know these streets like the back of my hand', you said. 'We can be there inside an hour', you said… It's almost been two, human."

"Yeah, well it wouldn't have taken so long if you hadn't alerted that patrol! We spent half an hour fighting our way out of that _bloody _factory!"

"You said to take them down!"

"I also said to do it _quietly_, not with a shotgun!"

Irving and Vor glared at each other for a moment more, before a crunch on the street outside tore them back to the matter at they, and they ducked either side of the window between them as a Marauder passed them by.

The pair had carved a path through the undercity, finally coming to a deserted factory in the city's more metropolitan centre. Behind them was a workman's floor littered with deserted machines and abandoned tools; ahead, through the window and across the street, Irving could see the broadcast station. It was a familiar old building, two stories of concrete topped by a now rather rickety-looking steel tower, which disappeared up into the night. Frankly, Irving wasn't surprised it had survived the Reapers' assault – it was one of the first permanent buildings the settlers had built on Terra Nova, a sturdy build originally operated as a last line of communication between the Alliance garrison and the fleet in orbit. Irving vaguely remembered the day, when he was a child, that it had been turned over for civilian use, retaining its original purpose only in the most serious of emergencies. Like now, as it happened…

"We need to dig in, and wait for the others to arrive," Irving whispered.

"You have _got _to be kidding me," Vor hissed in reply. "The others are prob'ly dead by now! If we dig in, it should be over _there._"

He jabbed an adamant finger over the road, at the broadcast tower, and continued to glare in the marine's general direction.

"And what do we do there, exactly?" he growled. "We don't know _where_ the jammer is, we don't know _what _it is, and we don't know how to get rid of it!"

"We can shoot it, can't we?"

"Sure," Irving scowled, sarcastically. "The solution to every problem: shoot it."

"My point exactly."

"You realise I was being sarcastic, right?"

"Aww, don't spoil it. For a moment I thought we were agreeing again."

"Don't count on it…"

They lapsed into silence, both watching the street intently. The Marauder was coming back the other way, and certainly seemed to be patrolling. That suggested they knew what was inside the building- wait, of course they did, they _put_ it there in the first place…

"Guard in the street, one more on the roof," Irving observed, nodding at another Marauder's head, just visible over the top of the building. "Almost certainly more inside. They know exactly what's in there, and the moment we hit it, every Reaper for a klick around comes down on our heads."

"Then grow a pair, human. I say bring 'em on."

The batarian hefted his Kishock demonstratively, and nodded through the window, towards the outside world. Irving hesitated a moment, chewing his lip and letting his fingers tighten around the handle of his own rifle.

"_The batarian's a psycho,"_ the voice in his head chimed in, _"but then, so are you. That's the point, isn't it?"_

"Alright," he agreed at last, pulling off his helmet. If he was going to die, he wanted to go out instantly, not through a curtain of his own blood. As that thought crossed his mind, he added: "But if you get shot, I'm not carrying you out."

"Likewise."

"On three?"

"Hang on…"

Vor reached down, rummaging in his belt a moment before pulling out one of those god-awful cigarettes, and a lighter. He popped it into his mouth, casual as anything, and lit the end, blowing out a _puff _of smoke before packing the lighter away once more.

"Really?" Irving frowned.

"Not much use for _subtlety _now," the batarian retorted. "Want one?"

"I'm fine…" the marine muttered, shaking his head.

"Suit yourself."

Vor went back to nursing his rifle, and took a cursory look around the window frame as Irving reached for his knife, sliding it into his off hand, rifle still clasped in the other. They exchanged a glance, a nod, and then, quite suddenly, they were hurling themselves through the window. Irving went first, and the instant he stepped out onto the street, two shots _ping_ed off the road by his feet, as the Marauder on the roof spotted his approach. The other Marauder wheeled around-

But Irving had already closed the gap, and was going in for the kill. He lunged in, slashed the Marauder's wrist as it tried to bring up its rifle, then flipped the blade around and plungedit through the creature's brow, producing a horrible _crunch_ing noise as the bone shattered.

On a whim, he tucked his knife back through his belt – no time to find the scabbard on his shoulder – and stooped down, snatching up the dead turian's rifle in his now-free hand. Phaeston, unmodified mag half-empty. Not bad.

As he straightened up again, a rifle in each hand, he saw Vor sweep across the street, a flicker of red emanating from the corner of his mouth, a little trail of smoke following his course. Rather casually, he ducked beneath a burst of fire from the watchman on the roof, brought up his trusty Kishock, and:

_Thunk. _A single harpoon punched through the bottom of the Marauder's jaw, spattering whatever passed for its blood up into the night air. It slumped forward, limply, and tumbled over the edge, crashing down onto the pavement below. Vor stepped around the broken corpse, and reached for his shotgun as he approached the doors to the broadcast centre…

_Crack crack crack._

"Shit!"

Irving saw the batarian dive aside, cigarette tumbling down into the gutter as a burst of fire erupted out of the window to his left. A third Marauder had just appeared beyond the edifice, rifle jutting out into the open air. It shifted forwards, trying to get an angle on the batarian, but in doing so gave Irving all the opening he needed:

_Crack crack crack crack crack! _He swept the window with his 'borrowed' Phaeston, drowning the Marauder in rifle rounds and watching with no small amount of satisfaction as the monster fell back, tumbling into the shadows once more.

"Inside!" the marine barked, rushing to the window and putting two more rounds through it, just in case the Marauder wasn't _quite _dead. He clambered in as Vor barrelled through the door, and the two of them were presented with a decimated reception room. The desk in front of them had been riddled with bullets, there was a smear of blood across the floor by their feet, and the far wall had been knocked through to reveal the workstations behind, also shot to pieces. A couple of Cannibals were crouched on the far side of the room, picking through debris, but they pitched upright, snarling, as the two entered.

_Thunk. _The first Cannibal barely managed to stand before Vor pinned it to the wall with a volley of darts from his Graal.

_Crack crack crack! _Irving mowed the other down with a burst from his Phaeston. Easy.

"Upstairs?" Vor frowned, gesturing towards the staircase in the far corner.

"Check it," the marine nodded.

As the batarian rushed off across the room, Irving settled for switching on the flashlight attached to his Valkyrie, sweeping it around the four corners of the room. No side doors, no adjoining rooms – just more wreckage, debris heaped up in the corners.

With a sigh, and a little groan of frustration, he looked down at the desk beside him, sifting through its contents with the nose of his rifle. A couple of stray datapads, a shattered desk light… the broken frame of a holo.

He paused a little at that, and laughed wryly to himself. What had that been? A family photo? A souvenir? It was starting to sink in just where he was, and just what he was seeing. It was-

"Oi!" Vor called irascibly, as he reappeared at the top of the staircase. "Nothin' up there but a Cannibal."

"You took care of it?" Irving frowned.

"Smashed its skull against the wall."

"Good for you."

"There's no sign of the jammer, human!" the batarian continued, scowling.

"What?" the marine snapped, wheeling around to face his companion properly.

"You heard me. Didn't see anything that looked like a Reaper put it there."

"Check again!"

"I already bloody checked! Dead computer, couple of offices, toilets. That's all!"

"Well, it has to be there somewhe-

_Bang!_

"Shit!"

A glowing red round had just come racing through one of the windows behind Irving's back, hurtling across the room before _exploding _against the far wall and punching a smoking hole in it. One quick glance out of the window showed Irving the hideous form of a Ravager scuttling down the road towards them, flanked by Cannibals and Marauders who began to _pour _rifle rounds through the broken-down door, the windows, the walls – any opening they could find.

"Get down!" Irving hollered, sliding into the cover of the wall as Vor _dove _from the top of the stairs, rolled across the floor, and slammed into position beneath one of the windows.

"Bring 'em on?" the batarian called.

"Bring 'em on!" the marine roared, in reply. "Take this!"

With that, he took the turian Phaeston he'd stolen and chucked it across the floor – it bounced down by Vor's hip, and he examined it in confusion for a moment, before Irving explained:

"Graal won't take anything down at close range. Kishock will, but it's got a small ammo capacity. Phaeston's got a machine-gun magazine – lots of staying power!"

Vor nodded, and snatched up the rifle, checking it for a moment before leaning into the window:

_Crack crack crack._

No sooner had he begun firing than he fell back, as two rounds _ping_ed off the window frame, close to his head.

"Bloody 'ell…" he heard the batarian mutter.

"Lots of contacts…" Irving called out, over the din of gunfire. "Keep your head down unless absolutely necessary! Conserve your ammo, and just make sure they don't cross the threshold!"

"Hold the line?" Vor replied. "Fine by me... Rest of those useless buggars better get here soon, though, or we're dead."

"Yeah? Well, just so long as you die first…"

_Crack crack_ – he felled an approaching Marauder with two rounds under the chin.

"Fat chance."

_Crack crack crack crack _– Vor sent out a matching burst from the stolen Phaeston, mowing down one Cannibal and forcing another to stagger back.

"Twenty credits?"

"Fair enough. I'll collect it at your funeral."

"Game on, batarian. Game on."


	344. Operation Wolverine Part 18

_**Scott South, Terra Nova**_

_**Day 2, 0445**_

"Patrol!" Adam hissed, practically _dragging _Klara aside, into the alleyway. "In here!"

Sure enough, as she looked back, a pair of Cannibals came lumbering past, oblivious to the two interlopers now hiding in the alley, not ten feet away from them.

"How did you know they were there?" she frowned, once the hideous forms had passed.

"Are you kidding me? Cannibals make a racket – rasping and moaning and groaning…"

"I don't hear it."

"Spend a few months hiding from 'em. Then you will."

There was a short, slightly awkward pause, before Adam muttered:

"Come on. This way."

He led her off along the alley, deeper into the back streets, the both of them still clutching their weapons. It had been just under two hours, and they had made it into the undercity, although by now, Klara was just traipsing along after Adam following his lead. He seemed far more in tune with the city, far more alert to the Reapers, and most important of all, he knew every nook and cranny of the urban jungle. He'd led them on a twisting course through the streets and alleys, ducking away from Reaper patrols and winding their way oh-so-gradually towards the centre of the city. Thus far, they had just had to put down the odd sentry, or a husk that came sniffing too close, but as they got further into the metropolis, the Reaper presence got larger and larger, until they were basically running wherever the patrols herded them, instead of where they _wanted _to go.

"Eyes front," Adam whispered, interrupting her thoughts as they approached a corner leading off to the right. "Cover me…"

The two of them pressed right up against the wall, shuffling towards the corner, and Adam peered around it _very _cautiously, before snapping his head back into cover, and reporting:

"One hostile up ahead. Looks like a Marauder, from the ridges."

"Can you take it down?" Klara replied. "Quietly, I mean?"

"Not in one shot," he muttered. "I see shields, rifle won't go through them so quickly… how about your tech?"

"Possible…" the quarian nodded, biting her lip beneath her helmet. "It wouldn't be fatal, but a large enough jolt from an Overload program… that could knock out the shields and stun it for a moment or two."

"Time enough to put a bullet through its head, I suppose. Do it."

Dutifully, Klara drew up her omni-tool, somehow managing to flick through the displays with two spare fingers while still keeping a grip on her pistol. She selected her most potent Overload program, loaded it to a finger-pull trigger, then nodded to her companion. He shifted back slightly, flattening against the wall to let her through, and Klara _lunged _into the opening, swinging her omni-tool in a broad but controlled arc.

A single, snaking bolt of electricity shot through the air, rippling out from her omni-tool and making contact with the back of the Marauder's neck a split-second later. Its shields flared, breaking instantly, and the shadowy form twisted awkwardly, jerking around and collapsing to the floor.

"Argh!"

Hang on. Since when did Marauders _yell?_ Scream, maybe, or screech… but _yell?_

Adam was already advancing past her, rifle drawn, closing on the figure as he took aim at its head. He was halfway down the alley when Klara finally caught sight of the downed Marauder's visage – it rolled over, spotted the rifle coming, and its eyes bulged… looking remarkably _alive _as they did.

"Wait!" she called, but she was rather too timid – for fear of alerting the troops around them – and Adam didn't hear. He stopped at the creature's feet, braced his rifle, and-

"Stop!" another voice interjected – female, coming from above. Adam hesitated, and looked up, just as a blue cannonball came hurtling down from the overlooking rooftop.

_Whump. _Adam's rifle went clattering out of his hands, smashing against the far wall of the alley, and he stumbled a moment, giving the figure on the floor plenty of time to swing out a powerful leg:

_Crunch. _The kick caught Adam right in the gut, winding him and dropping him to the floor in an instant. Klara's first instinct was to go dashing off up the alley towards the two downed forms, and as she approached, both Adam and the 'Marauder' were struggling to their feet…

"Spirits, what the _hell'd _you do that for?" Kamur growled, breaking the silence.

Adam's jaw dropped as he dragged himself upright against the wall, and caught sight of the turian's now-furious face.

"I… ah… I thought you were…" he stammered.

"A Marauder?"

"Well, _yeah_. Where's your helmet?"

"Visor got shot through," Kamur muttered, matter-of-factly. "Dropped it back in the street."

"Are you alright?" the female voice interjected, again. Looking skywards, Klara saw Saffiya appear on the edge of the roof above, and the justicar gave a visible sigh of relief as she saw everyone below was distinctly _alive_.

"Fine," the turian grumbled. "No thanks to this idiot."

"You had your back to us!" Az protested.

"I'm sorry, next time you sneak up on me I'll try to be more accommodating!"

"Will you two _quiet down?_" Saffiya hissed, as she jumped down next to them, softening her landing with a rush of biotics. "You'll bring the Reapers running."

"What are you doing here?" Klara frowned, in a hushed tone.

"Came to finish the mission," Kamur explained, hefting his rifle. "Started running right after we all split up."

"But that was…" – she checked her omni-tool – "… six hours ago, at least!"

"Huh," the turian grunted. "Guess it was. So what?"

"So _we_ only set off twohours ago. How did we catch you up?"

"Well from the looks of you, I'd say you didn't have to _fight _your way here," Kamur observed, looking her up and down.

It was true. She and Adam were nearly spotless – by contrast, Kamur and Saffiya looked like they'd been to hell and back. The justicar had a long cut across her brow, curving around her left eye, but it was the turian who appeared to have taken the brunt of it all – his armour was pock-marked and even _burned _in places, and there was a splash of blue blood on the side of his jaw plate…

"We got to the broadcast tower," Saffiya continued, "but the Reapers pushed us back. They're there in force."

"What?" Adam frowned, with a slightly panicked expression.

"It's true," Kamur chipped in. "There's a bloody army of them, and one hell of a firefight around the tower itself. Not sure if some of the garrison survived, or one of our other teams made it through, but _someone's _in there, and they're fighting like hell."

"We need to get to them," the resistance leader muttered, instantly.

"Glad we agree…" the turian smirked. "How, though? We couldn't get within a hundred metres before the crossfire got too thick."

"Rooftops? You were scouting them out, weren't you?" he asked, turning to Saffiya.

She nodded.

"There are a few lookouts, but nothing more than that."

"What are you thinking?" Klara murmured, as Adam stared at the floor, contemplatively.

"We move fast and low across the rooftops," he began. "Drop into the alleys to avoid marksmen, if we have to… if I'm remembering the route right, we can get onto the rooftop opposite the radio tower. From there, it's just a matter of dropping down and crossing the street."

"Under fire from a horde of Reapers…" Saffiya pointed out, drily.

"You fought your way _here_, didn't you?" Adam retorted. The justicar just nodded silently at him.

"I'm game," Kamur rumbled, rifle slung casually against his shoulder. "After you, Zivas…"


	345. Operation Wolverine Part 19

_**Scott Central, Terra Nova**_

_**Day 2, 0520**_

Half an hour and a few close shaves later, and the team was closing on the broadcast station. The rickety steel tower rose up out of the inky blackness, as gunfire and screaming drowned the night.

They were creeping slowly but deliberately over the roof of a one-storey building across the street from the broadcast tower. Up ahead, there was a steel sign which had _somehow _survived the siege – albeit with a few bullet holes – and off to the left, a pair of Marauders, pouring rounds into the firefight below…

Adam looked across at Kamur, put a finger to his lips, and then drew it across his throat. The turian nodded, grimly, and Klara too understood the message – _quick and quiet_. She and Saffiya hung back, squaring their pistols at the two Marauders – just in case – as the boys advanced. Adam drew out a battered combat knife that had been looped through his belt, while Kamur just slipped his rifle onto his back, and flexed his talons.

There were a few tense moments as they drew in closer, and Klara half-expected their targets to wheel around, or another Reaper in the street to look up and spot their advance, but _somehow_, they made it all the way to the edge, paused a moment-

And struck out with deadlyprecision. Kamur reared up, latching his arms over the left-hand Marauder's shoulders, reaching round… and snapping the creature's neck with ease. To the right, Adam lunged up, slipped his free arm around the other one's neck, and drove his knife in between the Marauder's neck and collarbone. A quick twist, and it slumped lifeless in his grip.

Kamur and Adam stepped back in unison, dragging their dead charges away from the edge to stop them tumbling into the melee below and alerting the rest. Instead, they laid them down as quietly as possible, and crept over to the sign that represented the only semblance of cover on the rooftop, waving for Saffiya and Klara to follow.

As the quarian rushed up to join them, crouching behind the middle of the long, steel rectangle, the din below got, if possible, even _louder_. The steady _thump, thump _of Ravager cannons pounding away at the walls of the broadcast station, the chatter of rifle fire shredding through the air…

"Still signs of resistance," Kamur muttered, barely audible over the fighting as he peered out around the corner. "Reapers are pressing hard, though… we still doing this?"

"We came this far," Adam shrugged. "Hey, give me a hand with this, would you?"

He shuffled over to the far end of the sign, and his three companions watched on in confusion as he applied his knife to the small metal strut that held it upright. Comprehension seemed to dawn on Kamur first of all, and Klara only realised just _what _they were doing when he moved over to the other end, and clamped both taloned hands around the rusted steel…

"We may want to stand back…" Saffiya whispered, in her ear. "I've a feeling they're going to _show off _again."

Sure enough, there was a great _heave_, a creaking of metal, and the two men rose upright again… with the sign aloft between them. It was a rather impressive sight, to be honest, and whether or not it alerted the Reapers didn't matter, because a moment later, with a growl from the turian and a yell from the human, the sign was flyingover the edge, plummeting down into the street below. There was a horrible _squelch_, followed a split-second later by a _clang _as the sign hit the road. Reapers or not, Klara didn't envy whoever had been underneath the thing…

"Move!" Adam bellowed, breaking her reverie as he plucked his rifle from his back once more and turned towards the edge.

_Crack crack crack. _He sent a lone burst into the haze of fire below, and quite suddenly the four of them were sprinting towards the edge, weapons drawn, shots racing up to greet them…

And then, with a great leap, Klara found herself airborne. Kamur and Adam were ahead of her, Saffiya was at her side, biotics flaring, and the floor was rushing up to greet the lot of them as a stray shot went whizzing past her head.

Klara hit the floor and lunged into the neatest tuck and roll she could manage, before setting off at a run once more. Some kind of instinct at the back of her mind _dragged _her in the right direction, towards the broadcast station, and ahead of her, she saw Kamur and Adam bolting forwards too, rifles blaring. A Cannibal closed the gap towards them, but Kamur took it down with a swing of an omni-blade – a second tried to approach too, but was cut down not half a second later by a burst of fire from the window beside the door. Then, the turian and the human disappeared from sight, plunging through the empty doorway and veering off to either side.

The quarian wheeled around, checking for the last member of their team amidst the chaos – Saffiya was a few feet behind her, summoning up a barrier with one hand and lashing out with a fireball from the other, as she backed up towards them. Klara hesitated just outside the station doorway, raising her pistol in an effort to cover the justicar:

_Crack crack_. She managed to fire off two shots, clipping a Marauder's skull and bringing it down, before out of the corner of her eye, she noticed the grey form mere yards from her flank, closing fast…

Before she could even _think _about reacting, a tight hand gripped the back of her hood, and she was _yanked _backwards through the doorway, landing roughly on the floor beyond. A burly figure stepped over her, into the doorway, and half a second later the husk was flying back through the air to the sound of an almighty _bang_, with three steel darts lodged in its chest.

"Bloody hell, quarian," Vor cursed, pulling himself back behind the doorpost. "Eyes open!"

"Less talking, more shooting!" Irving admonished, from the adjacent window.

If Klara thought Kamur and Saffiya had had it bad, it was _nothing _compared to the two men now stood above her, pouring shots out of the windows. Irving's face had been slashed by shrapnel, cutting livid red marks across his now-grimy skin, and he had two bullet wounds punched into the chest of his armour. At his side, Vor was faring equally poorly – there was a trickle of blood bubbling out of the corner of his mouth, and the right arm of his armour appeared to have _melted _around his wrist and forearm_. _They were scarred, battered, bloody… and they were still fighting, much to the quarian's amazement. The floor Klara found herself lying on was littered with discarded thermal clips, and judging by the horrible, wetsensation under the soft padding of her glove, she had her hand in a puddle of Vor's blood…

"I've got you covered!" Kamur barked, interrupting Klara's thoughts as he rushed in from the right, tapping Irving on the shoulder. The marine fell back, reluctantly, but even as the turian took his place, _pouring _rounds toward the outside world, all Irving did was retreat to a window further back, and keep on fighting. Vor too was still gunning doggedly at anything that came within range, and Klara had never seen him look _quite _so fearsome.

"Where's the jammer?" Saffiya asked, business-like as ever as she darted inside and huddled on the opposite side of the door to the batarian.

"Couldn't find it," he grunted, in reply. "Just a computer and a shitload of Reapers."

"A computer?"

"Upstairs."

"Check it out," the justicar instructed, turning to Klara. "Adam!"

"Yeah?" he replied – as Klara rolled over, she saw him returning from the battered office space at the back of the room, ducking under a burst of shots that raced through the window.

"Stay with her, keep her alive! We'll hold this position!"

"Aye aye…"


	346. Operation Wolverine Part 20

_**Scott Central, Terra Nova**_

_**Day 2, 0540**_

"Anything?" Adam muttered, not sounding too optimistic.

"One computer and three empty rooms," Klara replied. "Just like they said. No sign of the jammer."

"It has to be here. My scouts said they spotted a Reaper construct being hauled to this building. It can't have just _vanished_."

"Just… let me think," the quarian sighed, frustratedly. "Maybe-"

_Crack crack crack. _The both of them ducked as three rounds came hurtling through the window, bouncing off the roof and ricocheting down to the floor… the firefight was still in full flow beneath their feet, and Adam made his own contribution – he stormed over to the window, poked his rifle through it, and fired off two bursts at the shooter in the street before backing away once more, under a storm of fire.

Klara, meanwhile, clamped her eyes shut and allowed her mind to rove around the building once more…

"It's not in here…" she murmured, half to herself and half to Adam. "Could have been software in the computer terminal, but your scouts saw a physical construct… there's no basement or sub-level, not even an out-building with a generator in it. It's not in the alleyways or we would have seen it when we approached… are you _sure _your men saw it here?"

"Positive," he responded, steely-eyed. "All three said the same thing. Marauders, lugging a big construct of Reaper construction – even it's not the jammer, it must be _something _important."

"What did they say about the construct?" Klara persisted. "Size, shape, parts and pieces?"

"Big, roughly circular… about eight foot in diameter, half that in height. One big metal construction, typical of Reaper materials – dark purple alloy, thick cables, synthetics…"

"Wait," she back-tracked, eyes flickering open as something dawned on her. "_Cables?_"

"Yeah, what of it?"

"Why would they use cables?"

"I was hoping you'd tell me…"

"Alright then. They'd use cables to _attach _the jammer to something. To plug it in…"

"Still not following you, Klara."

"The tower," she hissed, pointing up through the ceiling. "They attached it to the _tower_."

"What?" Adam frowned.

"Andersen told me about an old mission the team went on… colony world, Benning? Cerberus set up a jammer – they filled Alliance frequencies with junk data, stopped any transmissions getting through. What if the Reapers are doing the same thing? It'd explain why they used the broadcast tower."

"Wide range," he nodded, comprehendingly. "Covers the whole city and the surrounding farmland… how did Andersen take down the one on Benning?"

"Some kind of voodoo with signal tech," she sighed. "I couldn't replicate it if I wanted to. I suppose we could wait for him to make it to our position? He should be coming in with the tanks…"

"No guarantee they'll make it through," the resistance leader frowned, shaking his head. "And no guarantee Andersen'll be with them. We need a quick fix, _now_."

"Any other miracles you'd like?" Klara scowled. "Just… give me a minute."

She turned away, ruffling her hood distractedly as her mind began to race once more. The process wasn't exactly _helped _by the vicious exchange of shots going on on the ground floor – Klara could hear yelling, shrieks from the Reapers, the constant _crack crack _of rifle fire, interspersed by the _whump _of Saffiya's biotics, or the _boom _of a grenade going off…

"Explosives?" she suggested, as one of those grenades shook the floor beneath her feet.

"I got none," Adam replied, frustratedly. "And if the others have got any grenades left, they'll be needing them downstairs. Besides, I doubt one grenade would be enough to take it down…"

"Can we cut the cables?"

"You could give it a go with an omni-blade, but it's iffy… besides, you'd be dropping the thing on our heads."

"Whatever we do, we're going to have to go up there…" Klara sighed. "Wait a minute…"

"What?"

The quarian didn't reply – instead, she dashed to the far corner of the room, to the staircase that led down to the ground floor.

"Kamur!" she called, at the top of her lungs.

"What?" the turian bellowed back, above the noise of his rifle chattering away…

"Have you still got the flares for our pickup? The ones for marking the LZ?"

"Just the one!" he replied. "Why?"

"I need it!"

To his credit, the turian didn't ask. There was a slight pause, the din of the fight got a fraction quieter, and then, with a _thud_, a little red cylinder rolled into view at the bottom of the stairs. Klara sprinted down the steps, grabbed it – a round passing worryingly close to her head as she did – then turned and dashed back up with a spring in her step.

"What the hell are you planning to do with that?" Adam muttered, eyeing the flare with a mixture of caution and curiosity.

"Slap it right on top of the jammer," Klara replied, with a roguish smile. "Light up the target. Reapers are jamming our radios, but they're not jamming targeting systems."

"Give the tanks something to shoot at…" he nodded, also breaking into a smile. "Brilliant!"

"As long as they take the hint…" she murmured. "How do we get to the roof?"

"Ladder on the far wall."

"Get up there, I'll cover you…"


	347. Operation Wolverine Part 21

_**Scott South Approach, Terra Nova**_

_**Day 2, 0545**_

"First light!" Andersen yelled. "Move out!"

He slapped the underside of the lead tank, and hopped back as the vehicle pitched forward, thrusters whining and flaring…

The first fiery rays of sunlight were peeking over the horizon to the east, scattering light over the scorched farmlands. As if on cue, the company of Hammerheads that had been lining up inside the garage doors roared out into the twilight, swarming out over the plains like hornets. A mere minute later, there were two tanks left, both hovering impatiently at the back of the garage, waiting for the other halves of their crews.

"Ready?" Andersen called to Carlos, who had been manning the garage door controls while the engineer watched out for first light.

"Been waitin' five hours!" the resistance man called back, as the two of them broke away, dashing towards the waiting vehicles. "About time we got moving!"

"Stick to our wing over no man's land!" the Alliance man instructed. "Once we cross city limits, you take point, get us to the broadcast tower!"

"Aye aye!"

A moment later, the conversation was cut short, as they reached their vehicles. Andersen reached up, yanked the crew hatch open, and clambered inside. The moment he climbed in and pulled the hatch shut, it was like being in a little bubble – the steady _whir _of the instruments, the rumbling of the thrusters, and not a damn sound from the outside world…

Kan was waiting for him, keeping the craft steady as he stepped to the fore.

"You drive," the quarian muttered, standing up and gesturing for him to take the controls. "I'll shoot."

He nodded, and slipped down into the pilot's seat, taking a quick mental inventory of the controls. Steering was damn near identical to a skycar – roll, yaw, thrust, all on a single steering rack. The red buttons under either thumb controlled, he assumed, the jet thrusters, used to provide a little hop, a little extra altitude… The instrument panel beyond showed shield integrity, hull integrity, and radar – the latter was little more than a mess of static at present. 'No satellite connection', the blinking red readout said…

"Ready when you are," Kan reported, settling down into the gunnery station on his left. The auxiliary station, to the right, was empty, but all the readouts were dead anyway…

Andersen pushed forward on the steering rack, and felt a great _surge _of thrust beneath him. The tank pitched forwards, nose dropping a few inches as the craft itself hurtled towards the gap between the doors. They shot through it, and a quick twist on the controls pitched the Hammerhead to the right, swivelling on a dime… the controls were rather intuitive, to be honest – the craft moved fluidly, weightlessly at his fingertips, and after pausing a moment to check the window, and confirm Carlos was on his tail, he _gunned _it once more, feeling a swell of adrenaline as the tank shot off across the plains and up the road.

He had really rather underestimated the _speed _of the Hammerhead in his earlier calculations. It took just a minute to cover the distance they had walked earlier in the night, and after another minute, they were soaring across no man's land. It was even more depressing than he had imagined – their whistle-stop tour was a parade of burned-out farm houses, trenches forged by Reaper lasers, and dead, desiccated wheat fields…

"Wait!" Kan snapped, suddenly. Andersen yanked back on the controls, more on reflex than anything else. Caught unawares, Carlos and Rae _shot _past on the right, before braking hard and swinging around, returning to their tail.

"What?" he scowled, at his co-pilot.

"Movement," the quarian replied, craning his neck to peer out of the cockpit. "Over there. That shed…"

Andersen squinted.

"I don't see i-"

The words had barely left his mouth before he saw a flicker of movement in the battered shed. A small shimmer of grey amidst the barren, shot-strewn field…

"Friendly?" Kan muttered.

"Well whatever it is, it's not shooting at us…" Andersen replied, biting his lip. "Take the controls, I'll check it out."

If the quarian had reservations, he kept them to himself. The tank pitched slightly as Andersen abandoned the controls, but Kan took them up a moment later, levelling the craft as his friend shuffled over to the hatch, kicking it open and climbing down to the ground below…

He slipped his pistol from his belt, and as he rounded the nose of his own vehicle, he shot an open palm towards the other, telling Carlos and Rae to stay put. Then, with an air of trepidation, he set off across the hundred yards or so between himself and the shed.

The ground crunched unnaturally beneath his boots, and looking down, he realised that the topsoil had been _cooked _to a crisp. The Reapers had scorched a vicious scar into the ground itself, baking the earth and razing anything that had stood on it. The lack of bodies was conspicuous. No corpses piled high, no signs of battle – the fire had wiped it clean.

As he advanced towards the storage shed, however, the ground turned from scorched mess to familiar, barren scrub. For whatever reason, by whatever fluke, the Reaper's fire had missed the shed itself.

He squared his pistol, holding it out cautiously as he drew closer, and closer, and closer…

And then in an instant, it dropped away, as his eyes and his brain finally began to comprehend the scene in front of him. The shed had been shot through, riddled by crossfire a hundred times, although the shooters were long gone. The victims caught within, though? They were still there. He was looking right at them…

"Aeryn, Maelar!" he called out, forgetting all sense of caution as he sprinted the last few yards, descending into the rough crater that had been forged around the shed. Even from this distance, though, he could tell that something was wrong. They were far too _still _for his liking – there was no hint of recognition, no cry of relief, not even a glance in his direction.

He didn't spot the blood until he was a few feet away. Aeryn was _caked _in it – there was a dry stream running down from her chest, and her legs were resting in a purple puddle. Somehow, however, he doubted it was _her _blood – Maelar was splayed out sideways, head in Aeryn's lap, unnaturally still…

"Aeryn?" he repeated, rather more quietly, as he drew close. "Maelar?"

"I…"

His chest fluttered in relief at that. Aeryn's head stirred slightly – she turned, looked up, eyes blinking and bulging in the dawn light…

"Goddess, you're real…" she whispered, as the engineer came to kneel beside her.

"Yeah…" he breathed, laughing ever-so-slightly in his relief. "Yeah, I'm real…"

His heart sank a moment later, however, as he looked down. Aeryn was very much alive, but Maelar… there was a faraway stare in her eyes that he recognised all too clearly. She was deathly still, and unlike Aeryn, who sat rigid, paralysed, she was _limp…_

Aeryn followed his gaze, glancing down at Maelar, and gulping, as she murmured:

"She's… she…"

"I know…" he nodded, as soothingly as he could. There was a distant expression in Aeryn's eyes, not unlike shell shock, and he continued as gently as possible: "Aeryn, can you move? We need to get you up. We need to get you out of here…"

"I…"

She tried to stand, but her legs seemed to fail her – as her torso twisted, however, she dislodged Maelar's head from her lap, and the dead asari lolled forwards, rolling onto the ground.

"Come on…" Andersen urged, slipping his pistol away and holding out a hand to help her up.

Aeryn took it, gratefully, and he helped her stagger to her feet – she stumbled once she was up, and he practically had to _catch _her, pulling her upright again, but she was up, at least… He waved a furious hand towards Kan in the Hammerhead, beckoning him to come closer, as Aeryn stared down at the body next to her feet, and murmured, faintly:

"She… shouldn't we…?"

"There's nothing we can do," he replied. "We'll come back later, if we can. Give her a proper burial. Right now, we need to get out of here…"

"I… okay…" she nodded, weakly.


	348. Operation Wolverine Part 22

_**Scott Central, Terra Nova**_

_**Day 2, 0550**_

As she lay on the edge of the broadcast tower's roof, Klara wasn't _quite_ so glad about the coming of the dawn. For a start, it meant she could now _see _the Reapers towering over their heads, and she took back everything she had said about their being scarier in the dark. Looming overhead, higher than the tallest buildings in the city, they were truly terrifying…

"They won't fire," Adam muttered, following her worried gaze. "They fire on us, they bring down the broadcast station, and the jammer along with it. Our tanks'll be moving, though, now they've got some light to fly by. We need to get that flare up on the tower."

"Alright," Klara nodded, nervously. "Let's do it."

"You're sure you're okay to do this?" he asked, for the hundredth time. "I can climb it, if you want…"

"It's fine," she murmured, well aware that as they delayed, their colleagues on the floor below were still fighting their desperate battle with the Reaper mob in the streets. "Just cover me, okay?"

He nodded, biting his lip, and checked his rifle one last time as Klara shuffled back, clambering to her feet while keeping her head low, out of the firing line. Shots were _crack_ing back and forth in the street below, as she paced over to one of the four corners of the tower, and tested her weight against one of the skeletal struts… a small part of her was disappointed that it held, because it meant she had to go through with this frankly _ridiculous _plan. With a great heave, and a level of gymnastics that surprised even herself, Klara lifted herself up and latched her legs around the girder, her whole body now hanging off the underside of the beam. Slowly, ponderously, she began to climb, kicking out with her legs and dragging her hands one over the other, hauling her weight upwards. The strut she was currently clinging to was one of four that formed the backbone of the tower, and ran all the way to the top.

The top, incidentally, was where the large, round form of the jammer rather conveniently hung. Trust the Reapers to be awkward… As Klara set her sights on the top, and continued to shimmy upwards, into the line of fire, Adam opened up with a burst of distraction fire from the edge of the roof. She couldn't see him – in fact, she could see nothing but metal and sky – but she could hear the steady rattle of rifle bursts being fired into the street below…

_Ping! Ping! _Two shots ricocheted off the steel above her head, showering sparks onto her visor and causing her heart to _leap _into her mouth. Below, she heard Adam redouble his efforts, firing again and again and again, and by the sounds of it, the firefight in the street was raging more fiercely than ever, as the team poured the last of their effort and their ammo into pushing the Reapers back. Klara just closed her eyes, and kept pushing upwards, inch by inch.

When she finally opened her eyes again, allowing herself a skyward glance, she realised, with a jolt, that she was already more than the half way up the pylon. Judging by her calculations from the ground, that meant she was… _two _storeys above the rooftop. _Keelah…_

"Adam!" she heard a voice bellow, from inside the building – Irving, or Vor? No sub-harmonics, so it couldn't be Kamur, but it was definitely male… "Down to our last few mags! Tell me you're almost done!"

"Almost!" Adam shouted back, still firing as he did. "Keep them pinned down!"

_Ping! _Another stray round bounced off the beam ahead of Klara, but undeterred, she sped up her ascent, putting every ounce of strength and effort she had into hauling herself upwards.

The jammer was getting closer and closer, larger and larger with each heave of her arms, and she blotted out the burning pain in her fingers, pushing onwards, upwards, until finally, _finally_, she was level with the apparent jammer. The cables, as she had predicted, were woven through the framework of the tower, thick tubes holding the jammer in place, thinner ones apparently _bored _into the metal, tapping the wires which she knew ran beneath.

"Friendlies incoming!" the voice below her yelled up, without warning. "Pop the damn flare!"

She leant back, gripping the beam tightly with her legs and grabbing hold of a support cable with one hand – with the other, she reached for the flare looped through her belt, clutching it _very _tightly for fear of dropping it to the roof below.

As she hung beside the jammer, her eyes strayed over her shoulder, to the street below. Sure enough, two white forms were _exploding _up the street, knocking Reaper bodies to left and right, tearing up the erstwhile battlefield with a stream of shots, missile arcing in all directions, fire and flames ripping through the Reapers' ranks-

Even as she watched, distracted, however, the Reapers were beginning to recover from the initial shock of the charge. The two tanks slowed to a halt, spinning around to search for targets, and as they did, one of them took a shot to the side from a Ravager's cannons – the craft lurched away like a wounded beast, but the burst of fire and smoke now billowing from its side was hardly encouraging.

Klara tore her attention away from the battle in the street, and fumbled a moment with the flare, searching for the ignition one-handed. After a few tense moments, she found it, and with a subtle hiss, crimson smoke began to pour out of her hands. She took aim, pulled her arm back, and hurled it high, heart stopping for a moment as she watched it arc upwards, spin in the air…

And clatter down right on top of the jammer, pouring thick plumes red smoke into the sky.

"It's lit!" she cried, already beginning to shuffle down, hand over hand, legs slipping slightly as adrenaline urged her back towards the ground.

"Hit the flare!" Adam yelled, gesticulating wildly in a somewhat futile attempt to make the tanks hear. Nonetheless, they seemed to get the message as the flare burst overhead, because mere moments after Klara threw it, the first shot came racing upwards with a dull _thunk_. It missed by a matter of inches, skimming off into the sky, and Klara was rather grateful – she would have preferred to have a bit more _distance _between herself and the target before they opened fire…

The tanks were distracted a moment by the firefight in the street, but as Klara got half-way down the tower, one of them broke off to the side, coming around for another go:

_Thunk, thunk, thunk. _Three missiles came hurtling upwards, and this time, they hit their mark. Three explosions in rapid succession ripped chunks out of the jammer, showering charred scrap metal over Klara's head but failing to destroy the construct outright.

"Klara, get down here!" Adam roared, as he fired off another few rounds into the firefight below.

"What do you _think _I'm doing?" she screamed back, nonetheless speeding up her descent, very keen to get back onto a solid footing. She was about one storey from the rooftop now, the foot of the tower was in sight…

_Thunk. Boom! _Another shot ripped into the jammer, sending vibrations rippling through the steel beam that was currently supporting Klara as the construct groaned balefully. She hugged the support tightly, but her hands were shaking along with the tremors in the metal, and a moment later:

_Boom! _A vivid plume of purple flame erupted from the side of the jammer, scattering the device's innards to the wind. The tower it was attached too _shook _violently, and, as if in slow motion, Klara felt her fingers peel away from the metal. She tumbled backwards, her legs were _ripped _from around the beam by cruel gravity, and quite suddenly, she was plummeting towards the roof. She caught a brief glimpse of the rooftop rushing to meet her as she span in the air, and then she was facing skywards again, staring up at-

_Crunch._


	349. Operation Wolverine Part 23

_**Scott Central, Terra Nova**_

_**Day 2, 0600**_

The next thing Klara saw was the dusty grey ceiling of the broadcast station, as a pair of strong arms carried her down the stairs to the ground floor. The din of gunfire was ringing out all around, and shots were whizzing past her head, running the length of the room and ricocheting all around.

"What the…" she mumbled, trying to wriggle free – the arms, however, gripped her tightly, and she shifted around to see Adam's face staring firmly down at her.

"Keep still!" he barked, tensely.

"Goddess…" another voice murmured, from outside her field of vision – Saffiya, she assumed, from the choice of words. "Is she alright?"

"Broken leg," Adam grunted, moving over to the wall and leaning over to set Klara down.

He propped her up against the wall, and as he did, she got her first clear view of the situation. To say it had _deteriorated _would have be an understatement. Irving, Vor, Kamur and Saffiya were still dug in behind the front wall, but they were all looking the worse for wear, and the entire right hand side of the wall had been smashed through, leaving them to huddle on the left. The culprit was immediately visible – a Hammerhead tank was grounded, buried right where the wall had been, its nose buried in rubble and its flank burning viciously. Ducking behind it, she could see Andersen and Kan fighting tooth and nail, with Aeryn between them, clutching her rifle, and two resistance fighters at their side – Carlos was one of them, she noted, on closer inspection. A second tank was ablaze on the far side of the street, and she could only assume the crew had had a narrow escape…

"Andersen!" Adam bellowed, as he rushed up to join the firefight. "The jammer's down! Get upstairs and get on comms to your fleet – we need evac and air support, _now!_"

The engineer nodded, and after firing off a couple of pistol rounds, he dashed back into the broadcast station. Adam rushed forward, rifle in his arms, and slid down next to Aeryn, taking Andersen's place amidst the crossfire.

As the tech sprinted towards the staircase in the far corner of the room, Klara caught his eye, and nodded to his gun. Amazingly, he understood her meaning, and, still running, he tossed the pistol through the air towards her. She caught it deftly, brought it about on the first target she spotted, and:

_Crack crack. _A Cannibal beyond the Hammerhead's tail crumpled to the floor, skull _popping _as her shots hit home.

"Last mag!" Kamur roared, sliding a fresh clip into his Phaeston.

The firing seemed to stretch on for eternity. After a certain length of time, the shots whizzing past just seemed to blend into the background – besides, slumped against the wall, Klara could do little more than point and shoot.

_Thud. _There was a horrible noise of a bullet hitting flesh, and Saffiya dropped to one knee, clutching her gut and summoning up a biotic barrier instinctively.

"You alright?" Klara heard Irving ask, amidst the continuing chatter of gunfire. Saffiya just nodded, dragged herself upright again, and began to fire one-handed, with her other hand pressed to her midriff to stem the bleeding.

"Check, check!" Andersen called, his voice crackling into life on the radio. "This is ground team to SSV Cambrai, do you read?"

There was a pause that seemed to go on for eternity, as static crackled over the airwaves, barely audible over the chaos. And then…

"We copy, ground team! What's your situation?"

Klara had never been quite so glad to hear Captain Murphy's voice.

"We're in deep, sir!" Andersen yelled. "Just took down a jammer, that's why we lost comms. But we're dug in in the broadcast tower now, Reapers are pressing hard! Two severely wounded, everyone else is carrying minors, and we've got one confirmed fatality already!"

_One confirmed fatality. _Quite suddenly, it dawned on the quarian that Maelar was absent. She grimaced, but kept her eye on the fight, as the engineer on the floor above continued:

"We need immediate evac and combat air support!"

"Evac bird's waiting," Murphy replied, "but we can't do shit until those Hades guns are down!"

"Get the Logan to do it, then! We're a little _busy _here!"

"The Logan's not here! We're on our own!"

"_What?_"

"They still haven't arrived. We keep trying to raise Admiral Singh, but there's nothing!"

"Then blow the guns yourself!" the engineer cried, desperately.

"You know as well as I do we'd be shot down before we got anywhere near firing range. You need to dig in, and hold out a little longer!"

"What the _fucking _hell do you think we're doing?" Andersen bellowed – Klara saw Kamur and Irving glance at each, brows rising in surprise at the outburst. Andersen was usually the last to lose his cool, so to hear him roaring at Murphy was… disconcerting, to say the least. It meant things had gone far beyond hell…

"Damn it!" the captain swore, angrily "Akito, get me a line to the Logan! Tight-beam, QEC, _anything!_"

"They're all dead!" the co-pilot replied, bursting into the conversation. "We've got no lines to the Logan, repeat, _no _lines to the Logan!"

_Boom! _Klara's attention snapped away from the tense exchange as a grenade went off on top of the broken-down Hammerhead, hurling Kan'Sura and Carlos to the ground as they rose to fire.

"Get a message out to any ships in the area!" Murphy barked. "Alliance, Council, _anyone!_"

"Sir!" Akito interrupted, suddenly. "Incoming contacts, dropping out of FTL!"

"Shit… Reapers?"

"I don't know. Could be-"

"This is SSV Logan! Cambrai, do you read?"

Klara's heart skipped a beat at that.

"Where the _bloody _hell have you been?" Murphy cursed. "Fire team's made contact: Reapers on the ground, orbital support needed _immediately!_"

"Affirmative. All ships, proceed to low orbit, ready guns and shuttles!"

"All ships?" the captain murmured, clearly confused.

"Captain, multiple contacts dropping out of FTL behind the Logan!" Akito cried. "I see SSV Tai Shan, Nairobi, Trafalgar… it's the whole damn Third Fleet!"

"And most of the Sixth!" Singh added. "Sorry we're late – we were rounding up a few friends… All ships, fire at will! Tai Shan, we're targeting those Hades guns, need them down ASAP!"

"Ground team, transmit evac co-ordinates," Murphy interjected, hastily.

"Transmitting our co-ordinates now," Andersen replied. "And I'm transmitting a civilian evac site too! Three hundred plus civvies inside!"

"Copy that," the admiral muttered. "Murphy, you get your team out. Nairobi, move to the civilian site once the Reapers are down, and evac quick as you can…"

There was a flicker of hope in the air now, but the bullets were still crashing down around them just as they were before… Klara took aim, nailing a charging husk in the leg – it toppled to the floor, and Vor finished it off with a shotgun blast. She saw Kamur mow down a pair of Cannibals with machine gun fire, saw Saffiya _hurl _a Ravager away across the street as fatigue began to strain her powers…

"This is Tai Shan!" a new voice interjected, over the radio. "In position, first one's free!"

_Boom! _The horizon flashed a brilliant white, as a mass accelerator round came hurtling down, landing somewhere on the far side of the city – Klara didn't see the impact, but she saw the result, as a great cloud of smoke _billowed _up over the rooftops, and the Tai Shan confirmed:

"Scratch one Hades cannon. Second one's yours, Logan…"

"Aye aye… weapons free!"

_Boom! _Another shot ploughed down, much closer this time, and Klara saw a tower block come rushing down in a storm of dust and rubble…

"Overshot!" Singh barked. "Adjust and fire a second!"

_Boom! _This time, the Logan's shell came down out of sight, but the noise was just as deafening – Klara actually felt her teeth _rattle _as the ground shook, and another blast rocked the building around them.

"Scratch number two…" the admiral rumbled, sounding rather happy about it. "AA's clear, send in the evac birds!"

"What about the destroyers?" Murphy muttered, warily.

"Destroyers are lifting off!" a female voice interjected, from one of the other ships.

"Bringing the fight to orbit, powering up their barriers…" Singh guessed. "All ships, press them hard! We've got the numbers advantage, and superior firepower – dreadnoughts, cruisers, take them _down! _Frigates, begin marine drops, primary LZ is the spaceport!"

"Commence evac," the Cambrai team's own captain ordered. "Get that ground team out of there!"

"Affirmative, captain," Lynus Rilum's matter-of-fact voice replied. "Launching now. Requesting combat air support. ETA three minutes."

"You hear that?" Kamur roared, with a mixture of jubilance and sarcasm. "Everybody try _not_ to die in the next three minutes!


	350. Operation Wolverine Part 24

_**Scott North Approach, Terra Nova**_

_**Day 2, 0615**_

"Sixty seconds to target zone," Rilum muttered. "Where's our air cover?"

"Right here!" a new voice replied. "Viper Two-One, on your six o'clock. Two-Two on your seven. Gunships, loaded for ground assault…"

"Move ahead," the salarian ordered. "Sweep the road. Then we land."

"Understood…"

The shuttle lurched, and Lynus took a quick look around his team. Yui and Dax were sitting either side of the door, machine guns at the ready, looking relatively calm about the firestorm they were about to enter. It came naturally to them, he supposed. Araya was at his side, nursing a rifle, looking nervous but keen. Alicia was tucked in the far corner – he had ordered her to stay out of the firing line, acting as a medic first and anything else second.

"What's the plan, salarian?" their pilot called.

"Quick drop onto the roof," he instructed. "Five-second touchdown, under the tower, then pull out, circle round, land in the street once Viper clears it."

"Aye aye."

"Yui, Dax," Lynus continued, turning to his team. "Stay here. Suppressive fire from the air. Carter, get ready for wounded. Araya, with me – drop onto the roof, move down, and pull our team out of the front door."

They all nodded and grunted their assent, as the shuttle twisted around and swung through the air – towards the broadcast tower, he presumed. There was a great rush of movement to either side of them, and over the radio:

"Two-One, engaging!"

"Two-Two, copy, engaging!"

Lynus swung the shuttle door open as they circled over the broadcast, just in time to see the two gunships do their work. They lurched in low, the Mantis' thrusters grazing the rooftops, and swung about to strike from opposite sides, left and right. In a matter of moments, the air became a maelstrom of deadly crossfire, white-hot shots criss-crossing the street, tearing through the greyish forms that had been swarming a moment ago… Two-One unleashed a missile into the frenzy, and Rilum saw no less than half a dozen Reaper creatures hurled into the air, blackened and charred…

"Take us in!" he called, to the pilot – the shuttle gave a willing lurch, and swooped down over the rooftops, drawing level with the top of the broadcast building. It was a most intricate effort for the pilot to plant his craft under the legs of the comm tower, but he managed it, just, and with a little _bump_, the lower edge of the doorway touched against the side of the roof.

Rilum dove through the door, Locust in hand, with Araya springing out behind him. No sooner had the two of them hit the ground – running – than the shuttle _swung _skywards again, engines moaning as the pilot swung it up into the air. Glancing quickly over his shoulder, Lynus could see the two krogan taking their places in the doorway, machineguns at the ready…

Their chatter broke out, cutting through the air, just as he stopped in the middle of the roof, scanned around for the stairwell, spotted it, and then jabbed his free hand in its direction.

"Over there!" he barked to Araya. "Take point!"

She nodded, and set off at a run, SMG clutched in one hand as the other welled up with biotics… Rilum followed, hopping over a piece of debris that had fallen from the jammer which was still smoking above their heads. They sprinted across the rooftop, shot through the open door to the stairwell, descended the steps two at a time, and emerged into a single, bullet-riddled room. Staircase on the right, expansive computer terminal in the middle, window on the left, and in it:

_Crack crack._

"Took you long enough!" Andersen shouted, drawing back from the aperture with his Phaeston clutched tightly in his arms.

"Where's the rest?" Rilum replied, tensely.

"Downstairs!" the engineer replied, nodding to the staircase at the far end of the room. "Bird's on the roof?"

The salarian shook his head.

"Landing in street," he corrected.

"Aye aye…"

Andersen swung away from the window – putting a _crack crack crack _of rounds through it as he did – and set off at a jog across the room, with Rilum and Araya in tow. They clambered down the staircase, spiralling round as they did, and emerged into one of the bleakest scenes Rilum had witnessed in all his days of soldiering.

Very little remained of the room the commandoes had started out defending. The front wall had been smashed through in several places, the largest hole of all forged by a crashing tank. The floor was covered in _far _too much blood, and the company was littered around like human detritus. Viper's strike from the air had drawn most of the Reapers' fire, but if the walls were anything to go by, there had been a nightmarish amount of crossfire before that – every nook and cranny bore a bullet scar, and in places, the higher calibre rounds of the Ravagers had punched clean through…

In a habit born of long practice, Rilum's eyes immediately roved over the team in order of their wounds, from the worst to the lightest. Klara was a good candidate for _worst_ – she was sprawled against the wall to the right, leg sticking out at an odd angle and quite obviously broken. Likewise, Saffiya was slouching heavily against what remained of the front wall, keeping herself upright despite the messy wound in her midriff, which was pouring blood. Aeryn was off to the left, rocking slowly and clutching her rifle, murmuring to herself, and on either side of the now-collapsed doorway, Irving and Vor were _covered _in blood, not all of it their own. The rest were less severely injured, but they _were _injured – everyone was covered in cuts and scratches, and everyone on the team appeared to have taken a bullet, or had at least been _grazed _by a passing shot.

"Evac's landing outside!" Rilum called, as he swept into the room behind Andersen. "Severely wounded out first!"

"You heard him!" Andersen shouted. "Adam, you carry Klara out, I'll get Aeryn! Saffiya, you too!"

"I'm not hurt!" she retorted, angrily, much to the salarian's amazement – logic told him that a deep wound to the torso was well covered under the definition of 'hurt'.

"Give over, justicar!" Kamur roared, from her side. As if to illustrate his point, his waist and right side had become covered in purple blood from propping her up…

"Kamur, get her out!" the salarian muttered, cutting short Saffiya's protests. The hastatim just nodded, and stared the justicar down as she tried to argue with _him _instead.

_Crack crack, crack crack crack._ Rilum's eyes shot to the street outside as a new burst of fire came down, killing a couple of Marauders who had survived the initial onslaught, and there was a rather unmistakeable _roar _coming down from the sky above…

"Take that, you ugly fuckers!" Yui was _laughing_, as the shuttle dipped into the view, thrusters whipping up a storm in the street below.

"Shut up and keep firing!" Dax snapped, from the other side of the shuttle doorway. As the craft touched down, _crunch_ing onto a layer of debris and bodies that covered the street, a Ravager scuttled around, searching with its twin cannons for a target – before it could even thinkabout firing, the two krogan had riddled it with bullets, showering gore and acid onto the road.

"Move!" Rilum shouted, tearing his gaze away from the street. "Get the wounded clear!"

With that, they sprang into action. Kamur practically _pushed _Saffiya out of the front entrance, sticking close to her shoulder and wielding his rifle protectively. Klara, meanwhile, had been scooped up by one of the three black-armoured figures huddling amongst their company – marines? No, no markings. No reason for mercenaries… resistance?

His musings were interrupted by a stray shot which came whizzing through the window Kamur and Saffiya had just vacated. It buzzed inches from his head, and he dove forwards, on instinct more than anything. As Andersen rushed up towards Aeryn, gesturing for her to follow him, the salarian ducked low and ran for the front wall, sliding into the empty cover his colleagues had left behind and bracing his Locust. Araya thudded down next to him, also wielding a Locust, and Rilum peeked up over the window sill to check the street.

The firefight had been suppressed, that much was true. Viper flight was drowning the far ends of the street in high-velocity mass accelerator fire, and the two krogan were shredding anything that close to the shuttle doors as the wounded and their escorts stumbled through the street towards them. The Reapers certainly weren't giving up, though – as he watched on, a trio of Cannibals came rushing out of an alleyway on the far side of the street-

_Pop pop, pop pop_. He delivered two quick bursts, felling the two frontrunners, and as he ducked out of the way of a retaliatory shot from the third, Araya popped up from the far side of the window and mowed him down with surprising – not to mention _new _– accuracy.

"Rilum!" Kamur bellowed, from the precipice of the shuttle door – looking over, Lynus saw that the others had all bundled inside, leaving the turian and the two krogan in the doorway. "All in, get moving!"

"You two!" the salarian called, to the remaining pair of black-armoured figures. "Move! Kan, you too!"

Wordlessly, the three of them swept forward through the doorway, and as they did, Lynus spotted something he hadn't before – he scolded himself for that. Kan's cowl and visor were badly scorched, probably by a grenade or an exploding vehicle part. It didn't seem to be affecting his movement, though – he sprinted off across the street after the two supposed resistance fighters, and a moment later the trio was clambering up between the krogan, ducking into the shuttle – Kamur too had disappeared into the compartment, leaving Yui and Dax to gun down anything that posed a threat.

Lynus swept the room, doing a quick mental headcount. Just himself, Araya, Irving and Vor.

"You two, you're next!" he called, to the bloodied pair, who were still clinging on to the fight, firing away from their corner.

"Nuh-uh," Irving grunted, surprisingly. "We'll cover you, salarian!"

"We'll _what?_" Vor snapped, aghast. The marine silenced him with a glare.

"First in, last out!" he shouted. Araya looked like she was about to object, but Rilum cut her off, much to her surprise, with a terse nod in Irving's direction. He could understand the sentiment…

"On me," the salarian muttered briefly, to his companion. Araya just nodded, and as he bolted from cover, she stuck close to his heel.

They shot out through the collapsed doorway – ducking under a fallen steel beam as they did – and erupted out into the open air. The moment they did, they were exposed to the full, furious force of the _deafening _firefight outside. A bullet skidded past the salarian's boot, and he couldn't be entirely sure whether it had been fired by friend or foe – he just put his head down, and ran for the shuttle.

Reaching it, he span around in the doorway, practically _pulling _Araya inside and taking his place between the two krogan doormen, gun in hand.

"Come on!" he bellowed, to the last pair left inside. His keen eyes saw the briefest of nods between the two of them, behind the broken-down wall, and then they _vaulted _over it, running in the clumsy manner of two men who had been dug in tight for the last three hours.

Their charge across the street seemed to take an eternity, as they ducked through the crossfire, Yui and Dax _spraying _the last of their rounds either side of them. They made it safely, however, through some stroke of divine provenance, and Rilum swung up out a helping hand to drag Irving in, as Vor hopped up behind him.

Almost immediately, the two battered men collapsed towards the bench on the far wall, and the others made space for them, standing up or shuffling aside sympathetically. The compartment was crowded, claustrophobically so, and Rilum pitied Carter, who was already trying to deal with Klara's leg amidst the chaotic tangle of bodies. As Yui and Dax stepped back, sliding the door shut behind them, it just made things worse, and Rilum found himself pushed away by Yui's armoured back.

He managed to wriggle free, and stepped into the cockpit to clear some space in the crew compartment. Kamur seemed to have had the same idea, because he was already stood beside the pilot's chair, and a moment later, Andersen stepped through too, pulling off his battered Alliance helmet and throwing it to the floor, mopping at his brow.

"Get us out of here," Rilum muttered, to the pilot.

"Aye aye," he replied. "Hauling jets… SSV Cambrai, do you read? We have the ground team, taking off now!" 

"We copy!" Akito's voice cried back, over the radio. "Keep your distance, evac! Reapers closing on the fleet, orbit is _not _clear! I repeat, take off, but keep your distance. We've got incoming…"


	351. Operation Wolverine Part 25

**A/N: So. Sorry about that. Between my personal life, a good dose of writer's block, and the Citadel DLC (PS. Bioware - I forgive you now), this chapter has been hovering on my laptop for ten days unfinished. Hope it was worth the wait, and with any luck I'll be able to keep the updates regular from now on.**

* * *

><p><em><strong>SSV Cambrai, Exodus Cluster<strong>_

_**Day 2, 0630**_

"This is Canberra! Reapers moving in, pressing the left flank!"

"All three moving together…" Singh observed. "Left flank hold firm – right flank, swing round and catch them. Tai Shan and Logan go up the gut."

The Third and Sixth Fleets moved into place with slick, practised grace. A ripple of shimmering steel was the only evidence of movement as a dozen warships whirled around through space, closing an ever-tightening pincer around the three Reaper destroyers…

"Fire at will!" the admiral continued, with a roar that was half-ferocious, half-jubilant. "Repeat, all ships fire at will!"

_Thunk, thunk, thunk. _To their left, a frigate squadron lead by the SSV Pretoria sent the opening volley hurtlingat the approaching Reapers. Three glistening rounds crashed against the frontrunner, lighting up the pallid atmosphere with a flash of light, and with that the Alliance lines began to belch out round after round, shot after shot…

Strapped into the operator's station, Murphy was quietly_ bricking it_. Akito was at the helm, swiping away at the controls, but as they dangled in space, watching the cruisers on either side sweep forward, there was a sense of foreboding filling the captain's gut.

"They're coming out of the atmosphere," Akito muttered, more to himself than to Murphy. "Not vulnerable, like when they land – barriers are at full strength."

"We've still got the numbers advantage," the captain pointed out.

"Fifth Fleet had a _numbers advantage _over Sovereign," replied the pilot. "Didn't stop it tearing through half their ships."

"Your optimism's _inspiring_, Akito."

He gave an apologetic half-smile, then drew up a comms panel and announced, to the rest of the ship:

"All hands, this is the helm. We're moving to combat footing. Disabling artificial gravity now – non-combat personnel, find a harness and strap in. Gunnery, keep those GARDIAN lasers primed to fire at optimum rate – I'll handle the Thanix."

"Aye aye," the chief gunnery officer replied, briefly.

"Engineering, get ready to deal with some stress on the drive core," Akito continued. "Probably going to be running some hot-burn manoeuvres…"

"Understood."

A dull rumble interrupted the exchange, and for a moment Murphy thought it was their own systems powering up. Then, he saw the great steel prow of the Logan come swelling up beneath their feet, bursting into view from the bottom of the cockpit window. The dreadnought made no sounds of its own in the vacuum of space, but as it passed by, its mass effect core caused a _ripple _to pass through the Cambrai's belly – the ship bobbed slightly, pitching to the side before Akito reined the controls in, and her steel hull gave an almighty groan amidst the silence of the cockpit…

"Logan's moving in." – the pilot looked over to the left – "So's the Tai Shan. Firing range, approaching their minimum turning circle. No turning back now…"

_Whump_. Eerily silent in the void of space, a single round shot out from the Tai Shan's prow, and Murphy found his brain _inventing _a dull rattle to accompany it. It flew towards the advancing Reapers, missed the one in the middle by a hair's breadth, and continued off into the distance…

"Miss," the dreadnought's gunnery officer reported. "Adjust the coils for three degrees starboard."

"Our turn," Admiral Singh rumbled, from the bridge of the Logan. "Fire!"

Another shot rushed across the orbital battlefield, fired by the dreadnought beneath them this time – it hurtled towards the right-most of the three Reapers, and after a moment's flight…

"Hit!" an excited gunner cried. "Repeat, confirmed hit on target!"

"Still moving…" a rather more sceptical voice interjected. "Barriers damaged, but still up."

"Hit 'em again!" Nitesh roared.

A round ricocheted off from the Tai Shan, another from the Logan, and the two shots hurtled through space before slamming home with remarkable accuracy – the Reaper's left side _erupted _with a jet of scarlet… flames? _Thunder _might have been a better word. The fleet's two flanks were closing tight, and the crossfire lit the darkness, rounds bouncing off the Reapers' shields and their forbidding hulls.

"Target breaking," the Tai Shan's gunnery announced, as the left-most Reaper veered away from the other pair, scarred and ablaze. "Focus fire. Cruisers, follow our lead."

_Whump_. _Whump. _Murphy's brain invented another tooth-rattling racket, as the dreadnoughts sent off another volley, together this time. Their unfortunate target swung balefully to one side, as if trying to avoid their fury, but the two shots hit it square in the side, producing another eruption of vivid scarlet…

"Target critical," the monotone voice of the gunner interjected again, as the Pretoria's squadron sent a round of mass accelerator fire ripplingover what passed for the Reaper's face. "Prepare to-"

"Evasive manoeuvres!" a new voice interrupted, quite suddenly. "Targets incoming, ramming speed!"

It was the Canberra – on the left wing of the fleet's pincer movement, Murphy could see the cruiser sweeping gracelessly to one side as an obsidian blur rammed straight through the space it had occupied a moment before. The Canberra's escort frigate wasn't so lucky, and the little ship was torn to shreds as the Reaper smashed into it.

A moment later, the second of the Reaper pair went racing in, and the captain, to his horror, a set of steel arms swinging wide into an inviting grip…

_Crunch_. Murphy's brain invented the soundtrack once again, as the Reaper struck bodily against the side of the Canberra, 'arms' tightening like a vice around it, puncturing the hull, tearing through the barriers-

"Multiple hull breaches!" the cruiser's now-frantic captain screamed. "Systems failing."

_Whump. _Murphy's seat shuddered, as beneath them, the Logan sent off another slug. Unlike the captain, Admiral Singh wasn't being distracted by the scene unfurling on their left – his shot was true, and it slammed head-on into the now-crippled Reaper, producing a torrent of flame, and then-

_Flash. _The sky _burned _red as the Reaper went up, spitting out chunks of red-hot steel and bolts of crimson thunder. There were no whoops or cheers from the Logan, however, as Singh turned business-like to the other two:

"One hostile through the left flank," he muttered. "Squadrons on the left, fall back in order, rally to the Tai Shan. Right, push up with us and pursue the breakaway. And I need a wolf pack assisting the Canberra!"

"On it," Akito replied, almost instantly, and Murphy was almost caught by surprise as the Cambrai _lurched _forward, engines rumbling as if in anticipation.

"Why doesn't he just shoot it?" the captain frowned.

"Error margin's too high," his pilot explained over his shoulder, while simultaneously bringing the frigate up to speed. "And the Canberra's hull's been breached – he doesn't want to catch them with a nuke."

The captain had nothing to say to that – the logic was sound – and even if he _had _had a response in mind, he doubted Akito would have been listening. They were shooting forward at remarkable speed, the prows of cruisers flitting past to one side.

"Cambrai, this is Falkirk," a new voice murmured, over the short-beam comms. "On your wing."

"This is Trafalgar!" another cried. "Second that, we've got your back Cambrai!"

"Tai Shan, need fighter cover," Akito muttered, matter-of-factly, as he tapped away at the controls. "Disruptors."

"Diverting Havoc," the dreadnought replied. "Havoc, do you copy that?"

"We copy!" 'Havoc' answered, over the high-pitched whine of a fighter's engines. "Movin' to you, Cambrai. We got a full payload, ready to go."

"Stay tight to our wing," the Cambrai's pilot ordered. "Move in fast, break on my command only."

"Copy that."

"We copy."

"Gotcha."

They were hurtling forwards now, and Havoc's leader came hovering up into their field of view, while the two frigates hung back to either side. Any further conversation was mooted, because a moment later – Murphy always forgot just how _quick _frigates could move – they were bearing down on the Canberra's side. The cruiser's guns were pounding on the Reaper's shields, testing them, but they had failed to land a knockout blow thus far.

"Missiles away!" Akito barked.

There was a rush of movement ahead and around them, and quite suddenly, two dozen or so missiles were flying free, as Havoc's fighters emptied their entire payload into space. Murphy saw four warheads fly out from the lead fighter's wings, blue streaks that carved through the air in rough spirals, before:

_Whump whump whump... _Two dozen explosions, not unlike a biotic's warp attack, tore into the Reaper's skin. Its barriers flickered for the briefest of moments, then died. Even as Akito went for the gun controls, however, a crimson storm was welling up in the Reaper's maw...

It discharged with a violent – and utterly silent – flash of light. A scarlet beam came thundering towards them at point blank range, Akito swore a _vicious _stream of curses-

And at the last moment, the world shifted. Murphy honestly wasn't sure if the Cambrai had pitched over, if the fighter in front of them had risen up, or if the Reaper's aim had shifted in the last split-second, but the end result was the same. The beam slammed straight through Havoc Leader and speared off past the Cambrai's wing.

Then, everything was speeding up again. The molten remnants of the vaporised fighter bounced off the cockpit screen in front of him, testing the heat shields, and then they were clear – Akito swung the ship away, flipping her upside down and darting under the Canberra for cover. The rest of the pack followed dutifully, and as they dropped, Falkirk and Trafalgar both scored a few hits apiece with their mass accelerators.

"It's firing again!" one of their wingmen cried – the Reaper had passed out of sight behind them, but sure enough, there was a red glow creeping around the edge of the darkened cockpit…

"Break!" Akito snapped. "Take evasive!"

He span the ship on a dime, mass effect core groaning with the effort, and Murphy's stomach lurched as he saw the Trafalgar skim past, missing their port wing by a matter of _feet_. The other frigate's pilot was as good as Akito, however – a moment's manoeuvre later, the two ships were soaring apart in opposite directions. The Falkirk shot through the gap they had left, the remaining fighters whirled apart… and a crimson lance came chasing after them.

It slammed into the Falkirk's tail, and Murphy's heart stopped as the frigate disappeared into a pillar of flame. As the Reaper's shot died away, the little ship was left drifting, gutted from tail to prow…

"Falkirk's down," Akito muttered, in a monotone voice that didn't quite match his angry frown. "Turn, and give them hell."

Another rumble, another groan as the ship span around, and then quite suddenly they were facing the Reaper and the stricken Canberra once again. The pilot slammed down on the afterburners, and as they shot forwards, his hands were working over the controls at an alarming speed.

"Weapons primed," he jabbered, to himself and the radio. "GARDIANs, keep the barriers down. Javelins ready, Thanix… firing!"

A bolt of cobalt blue erupted from beneath their feet, shooting out from the Cambrai's nose to burn a path through space towards the Reaper. It glistened in the pale light of Asgard's sun, shining white as it reached its zenith, and then…

It slammed home, punching right into the Reaper's front leg – even as the monster's talon disappeared in a blaze of blue, however, Akito was going for the controls again:

"Javelins away!" he cried, and a series of dull _clunk_s came rattling through the wings to fill the cockpit. A dozen warhead flew free on either side, not dissimilar to the smaller disruptors Havoc had fired – speaking of Havoc, one of their intrepid pilots was raking the Reaper's eyes with mass accelerator fire in a strafing run as they approached.

If the Reaper's barriers had been anywhere near recovering before the torpedoes were launched, they certainly weren't after they hit. Chunks of steel went ricocheting off, accompanied by plumes of crimson flame, and the towering form seemed to _recoil_, twisting the Canberra around as it did. With the barriers dead, Akito dove for the heavy gun once again – a blue light glowing through the bottom of the cockpit screen was the only evidence of the firestorm building beneath Murphy's feet, but he knew it was there nonetheless…

He was distracted a moment as the Trafalgar crossed his field of vision, swooping in on the far side of the Reaper and delivering a withering volley of mass accelerator fire to one of the monster's remaining legs. It glanced past, wingtip crunching against the Reaper's side, and a bevy of sparks flew off into space, but it passed clear, diving towards the Canberra's tail for cover. Two fighters came rushing in on the Trafalgar's six, raking the wound it had opened with strafing bursts of fire, but as they passed by, and the frigate wheeled away, the Reaper fired again, swatting one of the Tridents like a gnat and reducing it to a lump of molten scrap metal.

"Fire!" Akito roared with unusual gusto, drawing Murphy's attention back to the foreground as the pilot slammed down furiously on his console. The blue storm under the Cambrai's nose became a thunderbolt in the blink of an eye, and a jet of white-hot metal went flying out ahead…

It slammed clean through the destroyer's back leg, severing it at the hip and erupting up into the monster's body proper. Explosions rushed up the Reaper's side, its own red mingling with the blue of the shot, and a jagged steel spar bounced off the Cambrai's helm as they shot past, the world suddenly speeding up.

As they wheeled around, thrusters flaring, Murphy got another look at the Reaper. It was ruined, falling away with a horrible moan – or was that his imagination again? – and leaving one purple talon embedded in the Canberra's aft section. It drifted away, maw glowing as it tried to fire off another shot, but it was clear of the stricken cruiser now, and a moment later-

_Boom! _Murphy almost _yelled _the noise now filling his imagination, as a bright golden shot ploughed into the destroyer's midriff, tearing it apart in an instant.

"This is Tai Shan," the radio crackled. "Target destroyed. Situation on the final tango, Logan?"

"Going to the bottom…" Singh growled – looking across at the fleet for the first since they engaged, Murphy saw the Logan bearing down on the last Reaper, and it suddenly hit him that their dreadnoughts actually _dwarfed _these 'little' destroyers. A golden surge swelled up on the Logan's nose, the surge _erupted _into a lance, and then…

"Hit."

It was a quiet acknowledgement, as the last Reaper destroyer was torn asunder.

"All targets destroyed," the admiral muttered, finally. "Any more incoming?"

"Sensors are clear," one of his crew replied, their conversation carrying over to the fleet's comms – Singh had left them on. "All quiet."

"Losses?"

"Thermopylae and Falkirk destroyed. Canberra's critical, dispatching repair teams."

"What about our evac teams?"

"Nairobi's mission is complete, she's prepping for take-off now. The commandoes' shuttle is already moving to rendezvous."

"Well, you heard him, Murphy," Singh rumbled, and as the captain started with surprise, he imagined Nitesh was wearing a superior smirk to say _'I know you were listening in'_. "Go pick them up. Debrief in fifteen."

"Aye aye…" Murphy answered, slightly dumbstruck as the adrenaline faded from his blood. "Akito, take us to the rendezvous."

"Already on the way, boss…"


	352. Operation Wolverine Debrief

_**SSV Cambrai, Exodus Cluster**_

_**Day 2, 0700**_

Murphy had dismissed the team as soon as they traipsed into the war room. They were far too battered and bruised to be waiting around in a debrief – he had taken a quick statement from Kamur, another from Andersen, and had dispatched them all off to med bay or the mess hall for some much-needed rest.

That left him alone in the war room with Admiral Singh's hologram as the Cambrai dangled in space, humming gently as it always did. The evidence of the battle that had just passed was the temperature – hot-burn manoeuvres, energy weapons and electronic systems all built up heat inside a ship, and Akito had used all three extensively during the fight. Now, the crew was paying for it as the sweltering heat turned the decks stuffy and breathless…

"Captain Murphy," Singh muttered, as a glitch in the comms cleared, and his hologram clarified at the head of the table.

"Admiral," he nodded.

"Your team did good."

That caught Murphy off guard, and his surprise must have shown, because Nitesh broke into a wry smile and added:

"You look surprised."

"I'm not surprised they did good," the captain grinned, recovering his composure. "I'm surprised you're admitting it."

"Credit where it's due…" the admiral shrugged. "They fought like hell down there, by all accounts. And only one fatality in a battle like that? Incredible."

Murphy's smile dropped rather at that, and Singh realised his mistake almost instantly, an apologetic smile crossing his features.

"I'm sorry… Did your team manage to…?"

"No, we couldn't recover the body. Which means we won't have to head for the Citadel, at least – we're still at your disposal, admiral."

"You know I don't give a damn about that, don't you?"

"Whatever you say, sir… I'm sure it was at the back of your mind."

Singh gave a mirthless little laugh, and Murphy got the impression he was right.

"What's our next move?" the captain asked, after a moment's awkward silence.

"We consolidate our gains, and take steps to prevent a Reaper counterattack. The resistance has already given us some good leads. Speaking of which, the ones the Nairobi pulled aboard said a few of their number are unaccounted for – would you know anything about that?"

"Yeah," Murphy nodded. "Three of them were with our squad. According to my team, one of them's the _leader _of the resistance."

"Adam Zivas?"

"Err… yes, sir."

"Good. His fellows were all asking after him. I'll tell them he's safe and well."

"Is there anything else, admiral?"

"Not for the time being, Murphy. Get your team rested up, and I'll be in touch."

"Understood."

Singh nodded, and his hologram flickered out again, leaving Murphy alone in the room. He tugged at his collar a moment, wiped a bead of sweat from his brow, and let out a rather weary sigh.

"Captain?" a small voice called, from over his shoulder. The captain wheeled around in surprise, and spotted Dr O'Leiph leaning against the side of the now-open door.

"Ria…" he sighed. "What's the news?"

"Good…" the doctor replied, then frowned, "considering… Klara's got a broken leg, non-compound – she'll be up again in a few weeks – and Saffiya took a shot through the gut, but I stemmed the bleeding, she's fine now. A couple days' rest and some stitches is all she needs."

"What about the others?" Murphy asked.

"Minor wounds, mostly. Kan and one of the resistance men had first-degree burns, everyone else had cuts and scrapes. Irving and Vor… well, I've got to be honest, sir, I don't know how they were still standing. Significant blood loss, severe exhaustion – they practically passed out in the med bay, but none of their wounds were bad enough to need surgery or further treatment. Just rest and recuperation – I wouldn't recommend sending either of them on the next operation."

"Noted. I'll keep them in reserve. Anything else, doc?"

"Just one thing, captain. It's… Aeryn."

He frowned, and she continued, gravely:

"I'm not sure what happened down there – I've only got Andersen's statement to go on – but she's… almost catatonic. If you pushed me for a diagnosis, I'd say severe PTSD."

"She… cracked?"

"In essence," the doctor nodded. "According to Andersen, they found her out in no man's land, with Maelar. By the sounds of it, she had to sit out in the pitch black for upwards of six hours, under fire, with her friend dead in her lap for goddess knows how long… I can hardly exaggerate the toll that would take on a person, even a seasoned veteran like Aeryn."

"Do you think she'll recover?"

"Hard to say... it's only been half an hour since we pulled her off Terra Nova. She might improve with time and rest. She still responds to all the standard sensory tests, which is promising…"

"And for the time being?"

"Alicia's taken her down to the observation deck. It's quiet in there, and we can observe her more easily."

"Okay. Keep me posted."

She nodded, turned on her heel, and swept out. Once again, Murphy was left alone, with only the gentle hum of the ship for company. Finally, he made for the door-

And yet again, there was someone approaching – barrelling in from the corridor outside, Adam Zivas almost slammed right into him in the doorway.

"Captain!" the resistance man exclaimed, with a note of panic in his voice – as he stepped back, Murphy noticed his right hand and arm were tightly bandaged. "I was just coming to ask you, have you heard about my-?"

"Your men?" Murphy interrupted, a half-smile crossing his features.

Zivas nodded.

"Nairobi picked up the survivors. Apparently, their attack on the spaceport failed, so they pulled back to your base – the Farm, I think they called it? – to defend the civilians there. I won't lie, though, there were some losses…"

"I'm not kidding myself, captain," Adam smiled, sadly. "They all knew what they were getting into. Just glad we weren't the only ones to make it out."

"I understand."

"Thanks… we'll be out of your hair as soon as we can get a shuttle back down to the surface."

"Leaving so soon?" Murphy frowned. "I thought you'd want to spend some more time with our _quarian colleague_…"

"Ah… you picked up on that, huh?"

Murphy nodded, with a sly grin.

"In that case… I guess there ain't much harm in hanging around. Helping out, y'know?"

"Of course. Make yourself at home."

"Will do, captain…"


	353. Downtime 32

_**SSV Cambrai, Exodus Cluster**_

_**Day 2, 0940**_

_Crack crack crack._

"Holy shit…"

_Crack!_

"Oh! That one looked painful…"

"What the hell are you guys watching?" Irving called, as he limped into the room. Andersen, Kan and Ethan were clustered around a small monitor, watching with interest. As he reached them, the marine couldn't help but notice that Kan's arm was bound tightly in a sling – not knowing much about quarian suits, Dr O'Leiph hadn't been able to treat his burns, so it seemed she had just bandaged his arm up out of the way to stop him aggravating them. It reminded Irving of the neck cones they made dogs wear to stop them tearing out stiches…

"We're going over the combat footage," Andersen replied, briefly.

"How?"

"Helmet cam. Kan's, to be specific. I would have used yours, seeing as you were there from the start, but you dumped it in the street." – he frowned – "Those helmets are expensive, you know…"

"It got shot through," the big marine shrugged. "They really need to make those visors tougher."

"Hmm… I'll keep that in mind, see if we can improve it," the engineer muttered, and he got the impression he was actually serious…

"Why are you even watching that shit?" Irving asked, as he shuffled over to join them. "You two were _there_."

"It was a bit of a blur," Andersen murmured, dismissively. "Besides, I'm not looking through it for shits and giggles. I'm trying to gather data – add to our information on the Reaper infantry, see where we could improve our equipment…"

"And these two?"

"Ship doesn't have a cinema," Cash grinned. "This is the next best thing – damn impressive, by the way."

"Err… thanks?"

Andersen had paused the video to explain, and now he set it playing again – almost instantly, their corner of the hangar bay echoed with the sounds of gunfire and yelling, all emanating from the little monitor. The helmet cam's footage was remarkably clear, albeit with a touch of motion blur…

_Crack crack crack. _On-screen, Kan sent a burst of fire at an approaching squad of Cannibals, dropping two of them before slamming back down behind the burning Hammerhead he had used for cover.

"Is that an Avenger?" Irving frowned. "Since when did you use one of them?"

"I'm a fully-trained marine," Kan scowled, "I can handle a rifle, I just prefer a sniper. I pulled that thing out of an emergency locker inside our tank."

"Arms for the crew in case they get stranded in enemy territory," Andersen explained. "And it's standard issue, just like regular Alliance marines use – all the more reason to go through the footage and see what we can improve."

_Crack crack_. Kan rose up again in the recording, putting two shots into an approaching Marauder. Just as the rounds hit, however, Andersen paused the video, and cried excitedly:

"You guys see that?"

"See what?" Ethan frowned.

"Two rounds, right on the throat," the engineer pointed out, "but they deflect instead of penetrating."

"Makes sense," Irving shrugged, jabbing his own finger at the screen. "That's armour plating."

"Yes, but Alliance manuals rate Marauder armour as 'negligible'. A standard-issue round should go straight through it."

"You think the manual's wrong?"

"No, I think the Reapers have upgraded…"

Dull silence met that announcement, as they all stared dumbly at him for a moment.

"What?" he continued. "Is it so unbelievable? Marauders are meant to be command units, we know that already. If we were killing them too easily, why wouldn't the Reapers make an upgrade? Synthetic evolution at work…"

"Synthetic evolution?" Kan muttered.

"Err, sorry… I read a paper from a salarian researcher on Serrice last week" – the bemused looks intensified – "and he postulated that synthetics evolve just like organics. Well, not _just like_, per se, that was a turn of phrase that… The point _is_, he theorised that 'synthetic evolution' – self-improvement by synthetic life-forms – occurs much more efficiently than organic, Darwinian evolution. For a start, they can make upgrades at will, rather than relying on natural selective pressure and random mutation. Moreover, the process takes a fraction of the time, and because they only upgrade when simulations show it would benefit them, negative 'mutations' aren't an issue..."

"In English?" Ethan frowned.

"Synthetics evolve through self-improvement, not mutation like us, but they _do _evolve. This is a perfect example – we apply an artificial selective pressure, the Reapers respond, hence those Marauders had better armour than before."

"If they're upgrading their troops…" Irving rumbled, "why are you _smiling _about it?"

"Err… sorry," Andersen muttered, forcibly suppressing the grin that had passed over his features. "I'm not happy they've upgraded, but I am happy we spotted it – it allows us to countermand it. Besides which, it's just a bit _fascinating_…"

"Whatever you say…" Kan murmured.

"Hey, this has some huge applications!" the engineer protested. "If even the cheapest commercial VIs can self-improve if permitted, then it stands to reason that AIs can too, without the restrictions of organic will. The geth, the Keepers, even the Reapers themselves – studying synthetics could help us understand them all. How they think, how they operate, how they react to us..."

"Don't need to understand them to kill them," the gunnery chief interjected, scowling.

"I beg to differ. Understand them, and we know how to _hurt_ them."

Irving couldn't think of a response to that. The tech had a point…

"Very clever…" he nodded, finally.

"You've got your big guns, I've got this," Andersen smirked, tapping his temple demonstratively.

"Yeah, well, keep at it," Irving chuckled, wryly. "Make sure _this_" – he rapped his own temple – "doesn't get sprayed over the battlefield. I need to get some sleep."

He turned to head for the bunks, but as he did, he found someone blocking his way.

Vor was scowling, as always. His chest was bare, but wrapped so thoroughly in bandages that his muddy-brown skin was hardly visible, and there was a livid gash over his upper-left eye that had been hurriedly stitched together.

"Human," he grunted.

"Batarian," Irving replied, with a quick chin jut. "You look like shit."

"Says you," the batarian growled, eyeing the marine's new scars.

Silence followed, as the two of them stared each other down.

"You fought hard down there," Vor admitted at last, with an expression of supreme distaste.

Another pause.

"The truce is off, isn't it?"

"Oh, hell yeah…"


	354. Downtime 33

_**SSV Cambrai, Exodus Cluster**_

_**Day 2, 1800**_

The Cambrai had cooled down by the time the evening drew in, and the crew had disappeared off to their various haunts – the hangar, the mess hall, or in Murphy's case, his cramped little office… While most of the team rested up, stealing the hours of sleep they had been denied the night before, he was poring over the statements from Terra Nova, trying to piece together in his mind just what had happened in the course of the mission. It was all a bit of a jumble, to be honest…

His studies were interrupted by a _hiss_, as the door to his office slid open, unannounced – the yeoman had gone to sleep too, having been up all night in the CIC. Looking up, he saw a stormy-faced asari charging into the room, a purposeful glint in her eyes.

"Ria?" Murphy murmured, eyebrow rising in surprise. "I assume you want to talk about something?"

"Maelar," she replied, firmly.

"Figures... what is it?"

"Have you read Aeryn's statement?"

"Just. You only sent it over an hour ago."

That much was true – the shaken asari had recovered enough to give a statement by mid-afternoon, and the moment she had finished, she had been whisked off to rest once again. The poor girl was taking it all pretty hard…

"If you've read it, then you know the cause of death was preventable," the doctor said, folding her arms with a rather confrontational air.

Murphy frowned.

"Bullet to the head?" he muttered. "Doesn't seem too _preventable _to me."

"That's what our friend Lynus would call the _proximal_ cause," Ria scowled. "I mean the _distal _cause. Aeryn said Maelar screamed out. Gave their position away."

"Aye…"

"And she _screamed _because there was a Banshee nearby. So the real cause of death would be her fear of Banshees."

"You seem to be getting at a point, doctor. Care to make it?"

"My _point_," the doctor hissed, "is that I should have caught it."

"How d'you figure that?"

"When I came aboard, Colonel Hunter tasked me with giving every commando on this ship a full medical _and _psychological exam."

"I know," Murphy nodded. "I've read them."

"So if we picked up that fear from her interview, why was she still sent out against the Reapers? It was a risk to everyone involved…"

"You know damn well she wouldn't have accepted being sidelined like that. Either she fought the Reapers with us, or with some other unit. Same risk wherever she was."

"Then what about the rest?"

"The rest?"

Ria held up her hand demonstratively, and for the first time, Murphy noticed she was holding a stack of datapads, half a dozen or more. She threw them down on the desk in front of him, and began to list the names aloud, rather angrily:

"Irving, Vor, Thorne – racial prejudice. Victor, Ethan – paralytic fear of leadership. Araya – bi-polar disorder. And Liselle… don't even get me _started _on her."

"You know about that?" Murphy muttered, changing the subject ever so slightly.

"Of course I know!" the doctor snapped. "I did her medical. You didn't think I'd see a mutation like that and not investigate, did you?"

"And you didn't mention it _because?_"

"Well for starters, I assumed she'd told you in the interview – seeing as you already know what I'm talking about, I guess I was right. I deferred to your better judgement in keeping her aboard. Maybe that was a mistake, captain…"

"Alright, listen to me, Ria," he bristled. "What I'm about to say may well rock your world. This isn't. Your. Job."

"It most definitely _is_," she retorted. "Like I said, the colonel assigned me to write the psych reports when I came aboard."

"He didn't assign you to acton them, though…" Murphy frowned. "Look, you're an intelligent woman, but you're not a shrink, you're a _doctor_. You've got enough on your plate without fussing over their mental states too."

"If I don't," Ria challenged, hands moving to her hips, "then who _will?_"

"Me."

That caught her off-guard. She just stared at him a moment, as he continued:

"I'm the ship's CO. It's _my _job to worry about them, and it's my job to know their heads inside out. Why do you think I keep Vor away from Irving and Thorne when they're not on duty? Why do you think Ethan and Victor have never been put in charge of a team, even though they're two of our best? Why do you think I always partner Araya with stabilising influences – the colonel on Asteria, Vanyali and Kyra on Aephus?"

"I…"

"And if, as you seem to be suggesting, I'm just plucking all these decisions out of my ass, why did I make sure Maelar was surrounded by a team that could deal with one of her _episodes?_"

The frown on the doctor's face said all too clearly: _"You did?"_

"Kamur, Irving, Vor," he counted off, on his fingers. "Steady riflemen who could cover her flank if she was exposed. Aeryn and Saffiya, two fellow biotics who could cover barrier duty if she was incapacitated. And before you say it" – her mouth stopped, half-open – "I know putting Irving and Vor together was a risk, but it was a _calculated_ one, and the trial by fire seems to have done them a world of good..."

"I, ah… yes sir."

"If that's not enough, I could point out the things your clinical tests _didn't _catch."

"Such as?" she murmured, regaining some of her cowed spirit as she folded her arms over her chest again, eyebrow rising curiously.

"Where to begin? Our co-pilot's got a mild case of obsessive compulsive disorder, but you wouldn't know that, because your exams only covered the commandoes. Our two krogan are… well, krogan, but standard Citadel psych exams compensate for species, so if anything, they look _less _aggressive on paper. And then there's you."

"Me?"

"Overworked by recent events. Stressed by separation from your husband and daughter. Guilty for things beyond your control, and suffering from nigh-constant sleep deprivation."

He met her accusing glare with a sly little smile, and continued:

"You think I don't check on you all? As far as I can see, everyone sleeps fine on this ship save for six operatives. For Rilum and Arrete, it's biological. Salarians don't _need _more than two hours – fair enough. Ethan, Victor, Irving… well, can't blame them for having nightmares, given the things they've been through. You, though? You just _stop _yourself sleeping because you're too busy going over case notes, test results, and God knows what else…"

"In case you hadn't noticed, this is a hard job," Ria scowled. "I have work to do."

"No, you _invent _work to do so you don't have to stop and think…"

"I don't know _what _you're talking about…"

"How long's it been since you spoke to your husband?"

She glowered at him.

"How long?" he repeated, sympathetically.

"Six weeks," she sighed, bitterly. "We haven't had contact with Tyr since then…"

"Get some rest, Ria," Murphy smiled, sadly. "And give yourself a break. You keep the crew alive. _I'll _keep them sane…"


	355. Downtime 34

**A/N: Sorry for the lack of an update yesterday. Time permitting, I'm going to try and get an extra update out today to make up for it, but things are still a bit hectic.**

**Also, to save people pointing it out in reviews (although I must admit, I was tempted to leave it and see how observant you all were), I'll say this - I _know _this chapter shares some striking similarities with an earlier scene. The similarities are deliberate, as are the contrasts.**

**Anyway, enough of me rambling on... enjoy!**

* * *

><p><em><strong>SSV Cambrai, Exodus Cluster<strong>_

_**Day 3, 0000**_

The gunnery deck was quiet by the turn of midnight. Everyone had retired to their bunks, even the regular crew – with a bloody great _dreadnought _hovering half a click away, there was very little urgency in the air. Akito was probably still awake, up in the cockpit, but besides him, everyone else was down for the night – even Ria was getting some rest, and was fast asleep in one of the med bay's spare beds…

With a little _beep beep_, Tyco brought the gunnery officer's console online, unaware that he was currently stealing one of Thorne's tricks. He glanced across at the far wall – stared a moment at his knife, still buried in it – and then turned back to the screen, hurriedly dialling in the comms address from memory. There was a slight delay, an unwilling flicker from the screen…

And then it burst into life, revealing a darkened room in the background and a mottled grey face in the fore.

"Urgh… Tyco?" Kass frowned, bleary-eyed and a little dazed. "I was just sleeping…"

"Bullshit. Salarians sleep two hours a day, and you sleep _one_. You just happened to be sleeping when I called to check up, did you?"

The salarian sighed, groaned a little, and then quite suddenly he woke up, shifting effortlessly out of his utterly faked stupor.

"What have you got for me?" Tyco continued.

"Not much… but the Broker agreed to help you."

Tyco's eyebrows rose in surprise.

"Really? You didn't need to pay him off or anything?"

"Nope… turns out, he's on your guy's trail for his own reasons."

"He knows Drake?"

"By name. 'Drake' killed two of the Broker's informants - a couple of ex-Cerberus scientists, civilians. Executed them, to be precise. That's what he is – an executioner, an _attack dog_. And seeing as that attack dog's already taken down two of his and one of yours, it's in the Shadow Broker's interest to help you. He even gave me access to some of his intel, his networks…"

"So you're back in with the Broker, huh?"

"Unofficially… yeah, I suppose so."

"Huh. Funny how things work out. Found anything yet?"

"Nothing you didn't tell me five days ago…" Kass frowned. "Powerful biotic, affiliated with Cerberus, specifically Project Phoenix… beyond that, the man's a ghost."

"So, five days with the _Shadow Broker's _resources, and you got nothin'?" Tyco scowled, a little bubble of anger rising to the surface for no real reason at all.

"The _Broker _has hundreds of agents to trawl through his networks," the salarian retorted. "I'm doing it all by myself."

"I… yeah, sorry," the merc grunted, calming down as quickly as he had angered. "Call me when you got something, will ya?"

"Of course. And Tyco?"

"Yeah?"

"The Broker did put one condition on his aid: no capture. When you find Drake, you kill him – I imagine that won't be a problem for you?"

"Depends. Does the Broker want it quick and painless?"

"I shouldn't think so."

"Then no…" – he glanced at the knife once more – "That won't be a problem…."

Kass nodded, tapped his omni-tool, and the connection went dead. Tyco was left alone with the silence for a moment – then he sighed, let his shoulders shrug, and made for the door.

As he stepped through it, however, he slammed headlong into the figure loitering in the hallway outside.

"Woah!" Araya called out, stumbling off to the side and clattering into one of the deep-sleep pods lined up on the wall.

"Sorry," Tyco muttered, making a guilty beeline for the bar.

Rather frustratingly, clattering footsteps followed him across the mess hall, and glancing over his shoulder, he saw Araya following him with an innocent, easy-going smile on her face.

"Whatcha doin' up this late?" she asked, head cocked to one side.

"What're _you _doin' up this late?" he countered, not turning to face her – instead, he reached over the bar, and plucked a non-descript bottle from the shelf beyond. He took a deep, grateful draught from it a moment later, as she clambered up onto the barstool next to him.

"Couldn't sleep," the biotic shrugged, taking a slurp from the bottle in her own hand as she did – he glanced down at it, and saw the letters 'T...ri' obscured by her fingers.

"The Tupari probably doesn't help…" Tyco laughed, mirthlessly. "That stuff ain't good for you."

"And _that _is?" Araya frowned, nodding to the liquor – vodka, judging by the taste of it? – in his hand.

There really was no reply to that. Araya veered between innocence and _insanity _at the best of times, but every now and then she came up with such cutting, child-like logic that she killed a conversation stone dead.

"So why _are_ you up?" she asked again.

"Same as you. Couldn't sleep," he grunted, vaguely. "Needed some time to think."

"You don't _usually _think…" Araya observed, innocently. Tyco just glowered at her, and took another gulp from the bottle.

A long silence passed, and the steady hum of the Cambrai's drive core was all that broke it, save for the occasional slurp or gulp from one or another bottle. Finally, however, the little voice at Tyco's side spoke up, with that same _cutting _innocence:

"I miss her too, y'know…"

"Who?" he rumbled, knowing perfectly well _who_.

"Duh. Vanyali."

"Oh. Right..."

"She was always nice to me. She never laughed at me…"

"Past tense?" Tyco muttered. "She isn't dead, girl."

"No… she isn't, is she?"

He looked down, and she was looking back up at him with another innocent smile. In the context, his brain turned it into a smug, superior little grin, and a hint of frustration welled up at her words.

With that, she hopped down from the stool, and he heard her clumsy footsteps echo off towards the far end of the hall. A set of doors slid apart, the elevator rumbled down to the lower decks… and Tyco was left to his thoughts once more.

He took another deep draught from the bottle, and felt almost nothing as the liquor scorched his throat. Araya was right, he knew it, but revenge, a slow death for the bastard Drake…

That was worth ignoring her for.


	356. Downtime 35

_**SSV Cambrai, Exodus Cluster**_

_**Day 3, 0940**_

"Morning, sleepyhead," Adam grinned.

"Bosh'tet…" Klara muttered, rolling over on the narrow hospital bed. "You woke me up!"

"Fine," the big man replied, with a mock hurt expression, "I'll just be going, then…"

"No!" she protested, reaching out to grab his arm as he rose out of the chair at her bedside. He slumped back down into it after a moment, still grinning, and she realised he had been joking. It was really hard to read human facial expressions when you didn't have any of your own…

"I was joking…" he chuckled, soothingly. "I ain't goin' anywhere."

"Well, good, because _I'm _not."

She nodded at her leg, which was limp and immobile at the end of the bed, encased in plaster, an odd human creation that was very uncomfortable over her suit – not to mention _boiling_, and rather itchy...

"Oh, I've seen worse," he grinned. "You'll be up and about in no time – won't she, doc?"

"Oh, sure…" Ria muttered sarcastically, from her workstation on the far side of the room. "She'll be jumping around by tomorrow morning. I mean, it's not like it was _difficult _to treat a broken bone inside an exosuit. Or, you know, _impressive_."

"Well, _I'm _very grateful," Klara piped up. "Although this is _very _uncomfortable. And itchy."

"What, you'd rather I left your leg in two pieces?" the doctor chuckled. "We'll change the plaster after a few days. Give it ten, and the bone will be set well enough to start walking on again."

"Ten days to knit a leg back together?" Adam frowned. "That's… _quick_."

"We've got good equipment," Ria shrugged. "Not like your shoestring militia. Besides, quarian bone density is lower than a human's. Something about the artificial gravity… put simply, there's less bone to fix."

"Oh. Well… that's good."

The door opened with a little _hiss_, interrupting their conversation, and Alicia Carter entered the room, her face weary, a datapad in her hand.

"How's Aeryn?" the elder doctor asked, barely looking up from her work.

"Better," Alicia replied, carefully. "She's up and talking… but she slept fitfully, and she's still not herself."

"Depression and PTSD can be episodic," Ria murmured. "Keep her in observation for another day, just in case."

"Will do."

"How are the others doing?" Klara interjected, curiously – she hadn't seen anyone but Adam and the doctors since Ria sedated her the day before.

"They're all fine," the asari shrugged. "Cuts and bruises. Kan's burns needed some attention – you wouldn't know anything about treating burns through an exosuit, would you?"

"The suit should take of the burns by itself," she answered, thoughtfully. "Built-in medi-gel injectors. But, you'll need to repair the suit too – burns would weaken it, cause it to degrade. Get Kan into a sterile room and he can do it himself – isolate it with the section seals, fit a replacement piece…"

"I'll get him into the surgical theatre, then," Ria nodded. "As soon as we can find something that fits."

"What about your guys?" the quarian asked, turning to Adam this time. "Are they alright?"

"I…" – he hesitated, and she knew instantly that she shouldn't have asked – "a lot of them didn't make it out. Clay and about ten of our boys are on the Logan. Carlos and Rae are here. The rest…"

He trailed off, looking at the floor.

"Are you going back down there?" Klara whispered, low enough that the two doctors couldn't hear.

"Well, Clay wants to…" he replied, evasively. "So does Carlos. Rae's not so sure. I think her and her sniper buddies are going to go back into the Alliance…"

"And you?" she persisted. "Do you want to go back down there?"

"I think I have to…" Adam nodded, quietly. Then, at a more audible volume, he continued: "Look, I've got to take care of some stuff, get the others organised. I'll be back to see you again later, okay?"

"Okay…"

He smiled, and stood up from his seat, running a hand over her hood fondly. With a brief nod to the doctors, he swept around and left the room, the med bay door sliding shut behind him as he went.

Silence filled the air for a few moments, as Klara sat back wearily, and the medics continued with their work. Eventually, however, once Adam was well out of the way…

"Well done, Miss Tseni," Dr O'Leiph smirked.

"What?" Klara frowned, puzzled.

"He's a good looking boy… y'know, for a human."

Alicia glared at her from across the room.

"What?" the asari protested. "It can't be racist, I _married _a human."

She waggled her ring finger demonstratively, and that seemed to placate her colleague – Alicia just rolled her eyes, and returned her attention to the datapad she was poring over.

"Is he really attractive?" the quarian murmured, somewhat awkwardly. "I don't know what the human standards are…"

"Yeah, he's a handsome guy," Alicia observed, looking up from her work with a smile. Then, the smile dropped, and she added, hastily: "Not that I'd… I mean… he's way too old for me, don't worry!"

"I… didn't even consider that," Klara replied, suddenly considering it rather thoroughly.

"Ah, I wouldn't worry about it anyway," Ria interjected, with a dismissive wave of her hand. "He doesn't strike me as the 'wandering eyes' type."

"Huh?"

"He's a good, honest guy… and he's smitten with you," she laughed, simply.

"Really?" the quarian asked, blushing beneath the mask.

"Oh, don't tell me you hadn't noticed… I don't think he stopped looking at you the whole time he was in here. Barely _blinked, _for goodness' sake! Hang on to that one, honey."

"I plan to…" Klara smiled, quietly.


	357. Operation Olympus Briefing

_**SSV Cambrai, Exodus Cluster**_

_**Day 1, 1320**_

Three days after the team's return from Scott, Andersen found himself traipsing into the war room in full armour for the second time that week. As he did, he made a mental note to discuss with Captain Murphy the meaning of 'overtime'.

He had only a few companions this time, compared to the huge team which had set off for Wolverine: Ethan, Victor, Zya and Ekris – just the five of them, all armed to the teeth.

"Thank you for coming at such short notice," Murphy began, both acknowledging and _glossing over _the fact that he had drafted them in just as they were finishing lunch in the mess hall. "I know it's not ideal, but the admiral's found an opening and he wants to take advantage of it, as soon as possible."

"What opening, sir?" Andersen frowned.

"Not a clue…" the captain chuckled. "I'm being briefed too. Admiral?"

"Thank you, captain," Admiral Singh's hologram nodded, flickering into life at the end of the table. "Gentlemen. Lady. A vital opportunity has presented itself. Ever since our efforts to take Terra Nova began, we worked under the assumption that any gains would be temporary, that we would not be able to stay long on our retaken world."

"Right," Victor interjected, bluntly: "The moment you took any ground, Reapers'd bomb you out like the first garrison."

"Quite… however, new intelligence suggests that may no longer be the case."

More than a few eyebrows rose at that news, Murphy's included.

"The Reapers are fully committed on their existing fronts," Singh explained. "They left a skeleton force here to suppress resistance and complete the harvest, then took the majority of their forces to press the Council fronts. We slipped in the back door, and now the Reapers can't re-assign forces to stop us. Back off on the turian front, the Hierarchy makes their push to retake Palaven, or Taetrus. Take forces away from the asari core worlds, and Thessia gets the lifeline it needs to bring in supplies, and prolong the sieges for a few months more. Ease up on Sur'Kesh, and the salarians are free to divert their forces to help their allies – the list goes on. The point is, a Reaper counterattack from the mass relay is currently out of the question. We only need worry about the Reapers here on Terra Nova."

"_Only?_" Cash muttered, under his breath. Andersen couldn't help sharing his scepticism…

"Mad as it sounds," the admiral continued, "fresh intel from the surface may have given us the weapon we need. This, gentlemen, is the Styx Valley."

The war room table erupted into a haze of blue, and Murphy staggered back a little in surprise. Singh had disappeared, becoming a disembodied voice as he described the hologram now floating over the table – a steep, narrow valley with what appeared to be man-made structures jutting out of the walls…

"The valley lies within Terra Nova's equatorial desert region – much harsher than the Earth equivalent, it must be said. Rainfall is a millimetre or two for the year, if any, temperatures fluctuate between fifty-plus in the day and sub-zero at night, and the skies are constantly clear."

"All pretty interesting," Andersen lied. "But what's that?"

He jabbed his finger at one of the structures poking into view – it was about half way up the valley's side, clearly man-made from the hexagonal shape and the angled walls.

"That," the admiral murmured, "is the hub of the Alliance's most potent nuclear arsenal outside of Sol."

Dumb silence.

"_What?_" Murphy muttered, finally.

"It was built in secret…" Singh sighed. "Eighteen months ago, after the X57 incident. The Alliance feared that with Balak's plot thwarted, the batarians would go to last resort and launch an all-out offensive. The Styx Valley site was designed to repel such an offensive. Twenty-four nukes – _real _nukes, not the slugs our dreadnoughts use – each a 'century' warhead."

"Century?" Ekris echoed, frowning.

"One hundred kilotons," Andersen explained gravely, before Singh could reply. "Roughly… _three _times the energy of a dreadnought's main gun?"

Singh nodded.

"They were designed to cripple batarian capital ships," he continued. "And, given the fact that the Reapers have to drop their barriers to land and remain on a planet's surface… one or two missiles could wipe each of those bastards clean out of the sky."

"Those bastards being destroyers?" Murphy guessed.

"Those _bastards _being capital ships," the admiral smiled. "We're not wasting these things on the little ones – the fleet can handle them."

"Hell of a deterrent…"

"Precisely. And the Reapers aren't stupid – they'll know what we're sitting on, and they'll know not to come anywhere near it…"

"So why didn't we take the base first?" Andersen piped up, frowning. "We could have used it to retake the capital."

"Nuclear fallout over Scott?" Singh scowled. "Not an option – we thought there were civilians down there, remember? Besides, we didn't know this facility was still operational until our fighters did a fly-by this morning. The garrison was _meant _to detonate the stockpile and level the facility if anything got to ground level, but according to our pilots, it's still intact – and occupied. So we clear the Reapers out, and regain our deterrent."

"Surgical strike?" Murphy mused, arms folded.

"Precisely. Your men will run under the callsign Alpha. Their objective is to hit the ground running, carve through the Reaper forces inside the base's command centre, and recapture the launch control room. I'm also sending some extra resources over from the Logan."

"Resources, sir?"

"A spare shuttle, to replace the one you lost during Wolverine. It'll also be carrying two pilots – combat-air specialists, perfect for the run into the Styx Valley – and a half dozen men under Captain Black's command."

"What's Black doing aboard our ship?" Ekris scowled – Cash too was glaring, and Andersen knew the both of them were still sour towards the Logan's marine captain after his little scrap with Mac'Tir…

"Captain Black will be leading a small wetworks team, Bravo," the admiral explained, patiently. "They'll take the second shuttle down – while you recapture launch control, they'll assault the security station on the far side of the valley, and disable the AA defences. That should enable us to send a proper marine force down to relieve you."

"Understood," Murphy nodded, before any of his team could raise further objections. "How long until your men arrive, admiral?"

"They're readying for launch now. ETA ten minutes."

The hologram flickered and died, and the Cambrai's captain turned to his crew with a resolute expression.

"You heard the man. I want you all ready to go by the time Singh's troops arrive. Dismissed."


	358. Operation Olympus Part 1

_**Styx Valley Approach, Terra Nova**_

_**Day 1, 1400**_

"What's the plan, then?" Andersen asked, as they hovered behind a rocky outcrop, thrusters humming…

"Trafalgar's gonna buzz the guns," their pilot – one 2nd Lieutenant Arness – replied, with one hand on the controls and another tapping her knee absent-mindedly. "She's bigger and faster than us, so the automated defences'll prioritise her. They don't stand a hope in hell of bringing her down, but we'll have a thirty second window while they try – we go fast and low down to the landing pads, and you boys do your thing…"

"Alright," he nodded, drawing up the radio. "Cambrai, this is Alpha, do you copy?"

"We copy," Murphy replied. "What's your status?"

"Just waiting on the Trafalgar, apparently."

"She's inbound. Should reach your position-"

_Whoosh_.

"Ah. That'd be our cue," Lieutenant Arness muttered, pitching the shuttle forwards as a hawk-like form _shot _overhead. The Trafalgar was flying low, wing tips just a hundred feet or so above the top of the canyon walls, and almost instantly, rounds began to race upwards from the guns within, pounding the little frigate's barriers – they held, however, and quite suddenly she was tearing off into the distance, still followed by golden trails of mass accelerator fire…

"Moving to land now!" Andersen reported, suddenly realising the radio was still open.

"Understood. Op's yours, Andersen. Good luck."

As the shuttle swung down through the canyon, the engineer turned on his heel and stepped through to the crew compartment, reaching for his pistol as he did.

The team – _his _team, and wasn't that a scary thought? – were already lining up for landing. Ekris and Victor were at the door, rifles braced, while Zya and Ethan stacked behind with a sniper rifle and a pistol respectively.

"Landing in ten!" their pilot called, through the open door.

"Move fast and low," Andersen ordered, hastily. "Find cover and dig in, we'll work out a plans from there…"

They nodded, and a moment later:

_Crunch. _

"Go, go, go!"

They dashed out into the light, boots thudding down on the steel landing pad, and almost instantly a screen of white-hot shots came racing up at them. Andersen took a wild shot at the nearest form he could see, and a Cannibal went tumbling over the edge, but even as Victor sent off a few bursts of covering fire up ahead, the rounds were coming back at them thick and fast…

"Barrier!" he roared to Ekris, with a rare touch of volume. The drell swept forward, his hands flew out to either side, and quite suddenly a great _canopy _of purple-blue was billowing over the squad's heads, strands of pure energy coursing out from the blue-skinned biotic's fingertips.

The steel bulk of the command centre was visible through the barrier's haze, and they pushed up towards it as quickly as Ekris' laboured efforts would allow. There was a mob of Reapers troops between them and the base, however – the landing pad itself was hideously exposed, but the walkway beyond was framed by a waist-high metal wall, and that same wall covered the far side of the pad. It would do.

"Drop into cover!" Andersen called, gesturing wildly at the wall. "Arness, dust off and drop low into the valley, keep out of sight!"

Arness didn't reply, but the shuttle lifted off with a dull groan, lurching over the side of the landing pad and down into the depths. At the same time, Ekris dropped his barrier, Victor sent a grenade skimming into the middle of the walkway, and as it exploded – hurling Reaper corpses off to either side in a fireball – the squad lunged for cover. Andersen skidded the last few feet, felt his shoulder _slam _into the steel wall, and shouted:

"Everyone alright?"

"We're being shot at!" Ethan replied, from the other side of the gap. "What do you think?"

"I think Singh rather underestimated this 'occupation'! It's a bloody army!"

"The doors are shut," Zya pointed out, rather calmly considering the shots crashing down around their heads. "There's a limited number of hostiles on this pad. Take them apart, one by one."

"What if they just open the doors, send more?" Ekris yelled, between two bursts of rifle fire.

"Why would they risk opening the doors?" Andersen counted. "They'd be giving us a clear shot to the control room! Zya, you got a count on hostiles?"

"A dozen Cannibals, three Marauders," she replied, swiftly.

"You go for those Marauders, cut off the head! We'll lay down suppressing fire!"

The assassin nodded, flipped up the scope on her Viper, and glanced across at them, waiting. Andersen braced his pistol, and took a quick peek above the barricade to spot his targets. He needn't have bothered – they were everywhere. Opposite the two of them, Ekris and Victor were bracing rifles, and Ethan was building a biotic fireball in one hand even as he readied a machine pistol in the other.

In wordless union, the four of them made their move. Victor sprang up first, the big man taking the brunt of the Reapers' fire as he rattled off two bursts from his Argus. Andersen swung up after him, wielding his pistol like a gunslinger – in his mind, at least – and snapping off shots to left, right and centre. The full-auto chatter of Ekris' rifle joined the mix a moment later, and then, off to the left, a biotic cannonball went scudding through the Reapers' ranks, followed by a dozen rounds from Cash's handgun.

With a curtain of fire racing back to match their own, the Reapers were well and truly pinned. The Cannibals were attempting to scatter for cover, the Marauders were dashing apart…

And at Andersen's side, Zya straightened bolt upright, brought her rifle to bear, and reduced one of their heads to a pulpy mess with a single, suppressed round. _Thunk_. A moment later, another. _Thunk. _The third Marauder scrambled down behind a low steel wall – rather comically tearing a Cannibal away to take its place – but after a few seconds of caution, it popped up to fire, and promptly lost its headtoo. One last _thunk _reverberated off the valley side.

"Marauders down," the sniper reported, in usual cold, clinical synthetic tone.

"Finish the rest of them!" Andersen barked, redoubling his own efforts – he brought down another Cannibal with the last of his clip, dropped down to reload, sprang up with a new one loaded-

And was just in time to see the last two Cannibals _hurled _into the void by a tidal wave of biotics, courtesy of Ekris and Cash's combined efforts. The platform went very quiet for a moment, although Andersen could have sworn he heard a slight _thud _as one of the two Cannibals hit the canyon floor.

"Nice work everyone," he nodded, reaching for the radio as he did: "Bravo, this is Alpha. Everything going to plan?"

"Not quite," Black replied. "Landing pad was too hot, we dropped on the roof instead. Breaching now."

"See, why didn't _we _think of that?" Cash muttered, sarcastically. Andersen just silenced the sentinel with a _'not now'_ glare.

"Alright. Keep in regular contact."

"Will do."

The radio went quiet with the slightest buzz of static, and they were left to silence once again.

"What now?" Victor asked, hefting his rifle and sliding a new clip home. With a sarcastic undercurrent, he added: "Boss…"

"Move up," Andersen replied, with a half-grin. "Time to start kicking down doors…"


	359. Operation Olympus Part 2

_**Styx Valley Facility, Terra Nova**_

_**Day 1, 1415**_

"How much longer is it going to take?"

"Depends. Are you going to keep distracting me?"

Victor backed away, rifle slung against his shoulder, eyes rolling beneath his helm. Andersen just turned back to his omni-tool, which was currently working away at the blast door from the outside – not an easytask, given that there were no consoles to hack on the near side. He was having to hack wireless_, _and here at least, the Alliance security teams hadn't gotten sloppy…

"Alpha, sitrep?" Black muttered brusquely, over the comms.

"Still at the door," Andersen replied. "You?"

"Inside the security station. Hostiles are pressing, but two of my guys are sweeping the sub-level, looking for the AA controls."

_Beep beep. _As he turned his attention away to the radio for a moment, his omni-tool display flashed an ugly crimson, and – figuratively speaking – slapped him in the face.

"Maybe look for the _bloody _door controls too," he growled to Black. "One of the firewalls just came back online. If I ever meet the son of a bitch who wired this place up…"

"You'll lay 'em out?" the marine captain guessed.

"No, I'll shake their hand… Ah!"

A flash of green this time, and the doors gave a promising groan.

"Got a locking circuit," he mumbled, well aware that Black wouldn't understand a word he was saying. "Just one left, and a one-circuit lock is…"

_Clunk._

"…child's play."

There was a great moan of parting steel as the blast doors parted. Just an inch at first, and then they began to grind apart, wider and wider.

"Get back!" Andersen yelled, following his own advice and retreating off to the right with Ethan and Ekris, as Zya and Victor dashed left.

A torrent of shots came hurtling towards them once the doors were open a foot or so, a steady _crack crack crack _of red and white rifle rounds, and then:

_Boom! _A livid flash of scarlet, which caused the steel floor beneath their feet to quiver and shake.

"Ravager!" Cash called, looking out around the corner.

"He's mine," Victor rumbled, with surprising calm. He reached to his belt, plucked out a grenade, and tossed it back-handed through the doorway. There was a moment's delay, then _boom! _A loud explosion, and a horrible squelching noise…

"Target down?" Andersen muttered. Cash leant out around the corner – a round stinging the barriers across his shoulder as he did – and nodded, loosing a couple of rounds into the mob as he did.

"Lots of bad guys in there…" the sentinel reported, dropped back into the safety of cover. "But the bug's down. Guess that's somethi- fuck!"

Cash's words were drowned by a hideousyowling, as two grey-blue forms came hurtling around the corner. The husks were barrelling in at speed, and a momentary drop in the suppressing fire as Victor reloaded let them through.

Andersen went for pistol, levelled it square, and pulled the trigger.

_Crack. _One of the husks went down, a single armour-piercing round slamming through its head from front to back. The second, however, was darting in, grasping arms reaching out. The engineer attempted to take another shot, but before he could:

_Shing. _Still kneeling on the floor, Cash had found just enough time to pop out an omni-blade and drive it through the creature's gut. It stopped dead, looked down with a gaping mouth – an expression of surprise on any _living _face – then looked up, just in time to see Andersen press his pistol to its emaciated skull.

_Crack. _Silver blood and cybernetics spattered over the wall, and the husk toppled to the floor as Cash drew his blade back out. Adrenaline fading, Andersen became aware of the wider picture once more – shots were still crashing towards them, but Victor's rifle was blaring out loudest of all, as he continued to pump bursts of fire through the doorway.

"Push up!" Andersen shouted, as the doors ground to a halt, fully open now. "Victor, Ekris, on point! Zya, hang back, pick your shots!"

There was a rush of movement, and glancing across the way, he saw Victor go charging in, rifle now swapped for two pistols, one in each hand, blaring out to left and right as shots bounced off his armour. A moment later, Ekris went bustling past Andersen and Cash, a biotic barrier flowing out over one arm like a shield as he wielded his modded rifle in his free hand.

The engineer rolled into the fray next, with Ethan at his heel, and for the first he got a look at the inside of the launch control centre. The most obvious thing he noted was the mob of Reaper troops occupying the middle of the room – a Ravager's spindly corpse was laid out in the very centre, seeping green acid over the floor, but the dozen or so Cannibals and Marauders around it were very much alive and kicking. Shots were racing towards them, and as Andersen stormed into the room, a round winged into his side, testing his shields. He fired off a couple of wild rounds from his pistol, identified the Cannibal that had fired the shots, and then swung out his omni-tool…

A fireball hurtled across the room, and the offender burned to a rather satisfying crisp as it hit.

_Whump. _Ethan sent a biotic cannonball whistling over his shoulder and into the mob, disintegrating two hapless Cannibals. A moment later, a Marauder near the window on the right was mown down by a shot to the head, accompanied by a mechanical _thunk _from Zya's rifle. Victor was carving a path into the room, exhausted his pistols, threw them to the ground and reached for his belt-

"No grenades!" Andersen yelled, with a jolt of panic. "We need the consoles intact!"

Over the comms, Victor growled in frustration, and he slipped the grenade reluctantly back onto his belt – he ducked and rolled beneath a burst of incoming fire, and straightened up with his rifle instead, instantly tearing through the nearest two targets with short, wild bursts.

The stragglers alone were left, now. Three Cannibals and a Maraude-

_Whump._ Make that three Cannibals, only – Ekris had just slammed the Marauder across the room, _crunch_ing it against the far wall.

Andersen took a step forward, brought his pistol around again, and fixed it on the nearest Cannibal. _Crack _– the skeletal batarian dropped, a single shot _popping _through one empty eye socket. The other two lumbered forward, shots slicing through the air even now-

And _crack crack, crack crack. _Victor stepped in front of the engineer, mowing down the last two monsters with clinical precision. His rifle's blare echoed around the room for a moment, before silence returned, broken only by the panting of the team as their adrenaline faded.

"Everyone alright?"

"I'll live," Victor grunted, wiping a smear of blood from a small-calibre wound in his chest. With a guilty pang, he realised the big soldier had been hit stepping in front of him, taking the shot.

"Is this the launch control room?" Ekris muttered, with some surprise. "Didn't think it'd be the first room we came to. Shabby security."

"I guess they didn't count on anyone making it past the guns," Andersen shrugged, glancing around at the consoles set into every wall. "Or the marines… where are the marines?"

"What?"

"There was a marine garrison here. Where are they?"

"Somehow, I think the Reapers got them," the drell scowled, sardonically.

"He means their _bodies_, smart-arse," Cross rumbled, clearly on the same wavelength. "No corpses…"

"The Reapers must have been here for some time," Zya observed, adding, distastefully: "They probably took the bodies off to be processed…"

"I thought they needed living victims to make husks?" Ethan frowned.

Before Andersen could interject, and postulate that maybe the Reapers had a separateuse for _dead _organic material, his radio began to blare, to the sound of gunfire and shouting.

"Alpha!" Black's voice roared, over the din. "Alpha, tell me you've got the control room?"

"Affirmative," Andersen nodded. "Are the guns down yet?"

"Bad news on that one!" the marine captain replied, in a surprisingly even tone. "We're surrounded, two KIAs."

"Damn it! Hold on, I'll send backup-"

"Negative. We got this."

"Obviously not, or why would you be radioing?"

"Y'know… for the record," Black muttered. _'For the record',_ he knew, meant _'in case we don't make it out'. _"Look, we- oh no you don't!"

_Bang. _A loud shot rang out, followed by the sound of something dying on the other end of the comms.

"Buggar almost got past me…" the captain growled. "Gonna make a push for the console. Bravo out."

"Stubborn son of a-" Andersen cursed, as the radio went dead. "Ekris, Zya! You've got your cloaking gear?"

They both nodded.

"Call Lieutenant Arness, and get over to Bravo's location," he continued, reloading his pistol as he did. "Bail them out, and bring down the guns. We'll hold launch control."

The two of them swept around, and made obediently for the door, at a brisk run.

"You sure about this?" Cash frowned, stepping up to Andersen's side as they watched the pair leave.

"It's fine," he replied. "No hostiles left here, right?"

"Oh, you just _had _to jinx it, didn't you?"


	360. Operation Olympus Part 3

**A/N: So, last night, when I was *meant* to be finishing off this chapter, I got around to doing something I've been meaning to do since my old PC wiped, and replaced my old 'Ops List' - a list of who was on every operation, as the name implies - with a proper spreadsheet, updated to include all 19 Operations including this one (which makes the next one #20 - yikes!). **

**For the most part, it was just a utility thing - I've been writing this story for so long, I occasionally forget who was on which mission, or which missions a character was absent in the hospital for, stuff like that, so it helps to have a reminder - but I also found something rather interesting (to me, at least), and tallied up how many operations each of the crew has served on. This includes operatives who were local contacts, and later joined the crew (Dax on Tuchanka, Kamur on Menae, Ekris on Illium), as well as a few special cases like being on extraction teams, and even being hostages (because hell, Irving kicked as much ass as anybody during Argo). The results were mostly what you'd expect - the oldest crew members have the most ops under their belts - but there were a couple of surprises (Ekris in particular - he's been on 8 missions, more than both Yui and Mac'Tir, who've been on 7). The top three are as follows:**

**1. Andersen: Somewhat predictable, our "narrator" has been on an impressive 11 out of 19 operations, and is one of the few operatives who's been here since the start.**

**2. Kan'Sura: This one surprised me. Kan's been on 10 operations, just one less than Andersen and way more than I realised in the writing...**

**3. Kamur and Tyco: Tied on 9, although I guess Kamur's been available for less ops, having taken a vacation to go save Palaven in the middle of the story.**

**Now, boring maths-y bit over (honest!), time to get back to the action:**

* * *

><p><em><strong>Styx Valley Facility, Terra Nova<strong>_

_**Day 1, 1425**_

It had been the work of a minute to recall Arness and dash to the landing pad to meet her – now, Zya was stood in the back of the shuttle with Ekris, clinging onto the roof rail for support as they dusted off.

"Bringing in a shuttle to fly a couple hundred feet…" Ekris grumbled. "Bloody waste of time."

"Well, you could always try _jumping _the canyon," Zya frowned, but she held back on any further comment – the drell was just fidgety, and she could empathise. She had checked her rifle at least three times before they even left the ground…

"I see Bravo's shuttle…" Arness reported, with a hint of worry. "Lots of bad guys inbound."

"Can you put us down on top of them?"

"No. Wouldn't want to catch them in the downdraft. I can get you down on the far side of the pad, though."

"Do it."

The Kodiak lurched, and swung off to the left in the same lethargic manner as always. As they dropped, a loud, clear soundtrack broke the hum of the thrusters:

_Thunk, thunk, thunk, thunk. _Each blast from the shuttle's mass accelerators sent a shiver down the craft's hull, and Zya could hear explosions rippling over the pad, presumably cutting through the Reaper creatures beneath…

A moment later, the compartment door slid open – Ekris had hammered the release – and they were presented with a whirling, chaotic scene of gunfire and shifting bodies, before finally, heads spinning slightly, they _crunch_ed down precariously on the very edge of the pad.

"Move!" Ekris urged, and Zya didn't need telling twice. Ducking beneath a couple of stray shots that came whizzing her way, she dove out into the open, brought her rifle up, found the first target she could, and:

_Thunk. _The Cannibal on the other end of her scope toppled backwards, head reduced to a bloody mass. _Thunk, thunk_ – two shots to the chest killed the one standing next to it.

There was a horrible crunching noise, and glancing over to the left, Zya saw Ekris snap a husk's neck before tossing it over the edge. Another came racing in, the drell went for his rifle-

And she didn't have chance to see what happened. Her attention was drawn away to the two husks now bulling towards her, and acting on reflex alone, she twitched her trigger finger:

_Thunk. _A single round skimmed down, slicing through the frontrunner's knee, and it pitched forwards, stumbling. The husk dangled in midair for a moment, then _thunk! _Zya sent a second shot – aimed this time – right through the top of the monster's skull. It punched in with a spurt of silver blood, rippled down the creature's spine, and exploded out of its lower back as it hit the ground, quite dead. The second was still rushing in, though – even as she swung her Viper around, it slammed into her, knocked her back, made a grab for her rifle…

She kicked out, landing a boot to the husk's midriff, then _crack_ed it across the temple with the butt of her rifle, stepped back, and-

_Thunk_. The last round in her clip went smashing through the skeletal creature's eye socket, scattering blood, brains and bone into the air, before it slumped lazily to the floor.

Adrenaline coursing now, Zya slid her now-empty Viper across the floor ahead of her, and went chasing after it, drawing out her Tempest as she did and taking aim one-handed:

_Crack crack crack_. A Marauder to the left went down, shields flickering as it died.

_Crack crack, crack crack, crack crack crack_. She swivelled to the right, sprayed rounds at a pair of Cannibals, and watched them crumple to the ground. All the while she was dashing towards Bravo's shuttle, the door of which was invitingly open to the Reapers. She cut down a Cannibals that went lumbering towards it, then put her head down and launched into a full-on sprint, mentally heading for her rifle – which had skidded to a halt a few metres ahead – and then the shuttle.

_Crack_. A single round dispatched a Cannibal that had been charging towards her left flank – she hopped nimbly over it, ducked below another burst of fire from behind her, and a few feet from the shuttle, reached her rifle.

One flick of her boot sent it spiralling up into her hand – she caught it deftly, slung the half-empty Tempest to her belt, and went for a fresh clip, ejecting the old one mid-stride.

Too late, however, she spotted the two husks breaking towards the shuttle. Her Viper was still empty as they closed the gap, a few feet from the shuttle door now. She abandoned the rifle once again, hurling it off to the side and striking an approaching Cannibal in the head as she did – it toppled comically to the floor, her rifle falling next to it, as the assassin went for an omni-blade.

Zya was still a few feet away, however, as the husks reached the shuttle. They vaulted up through the open door, and-

_Bang, bang_. They slumped dead on the precipice, each killed by a single shot to the head. Zya almost _tripped _over them, stumbled into the crew compartment, and came face to face with Bravo's pilot.

Zya did a double take. The pilot, who still had a smoking Phalanx pistol in her hand, was the spit of Alpha's 2nd Lieutenant Arness, save for a few trivial details – her hair was tied back in a sharp bun, not shoulder-length waves like Arness', and her uniform was a good deal neater, her collar closed.

"1st Lieutenant Arness," the pilot nodded, causing Zya to briefly wonder whether she had taken a blow to the head and stumbled back into their own shuttle. Then, her brain registered the _1__st_, and the obvious explanation.

"Twins," she muttered, under her breath.

"What?" Arness Number Two frowned.

"Err, nothing. Are you-?"

"Brute!"

_Crunch_. Ekris' yell had come a few moments too late, because as Zya wheeled around, the monstrous creature was already slamming into the shuttle's side. A sweeping blow from its claw arm _rocked _the craft, knocking it a few feet back across the pad and sending both Zya and Arness crashing to the floor.

Acting on instinct, the assassin rolled over, pulled out her sub-machinegun, and found herself staring right up at the half-jawed turian head now leering through the open doorway.

_Crack crack crack crack crack… _She fired twenty or thirty rounds, all in all, spraying the rest of her clip wildly at the hulking aggressor. A few shots stung exposed bits of flesh or cybernetics, drawing spatters of silver blood and grunts from the Brute, but the majority just bounced ineffectually off the creature's armoured collar and shoulders.

Zya swore, rolling onto her side and reaching for a box of armour-piercing rounds as, next to her, Arness Number Two emptied her pistol – three shots, _bang bang bang_, which sank more successfully into the Brute's soft collar, but still failed to bring it down. The creature reared back, claws rising high to stab down through the flimsy shuttle roof, and-

_Whump. _There was a bright flash of blue, accompanied by a dull rushing noise as if the air was being sucked out of the world around them. Zya's hand shot up instinctively to shield her eyes from the glare, and a moment later, the building pressure broke – there was a noise like a thunderclap, and a _torrent_ of biotic energy broke through the air. The Brute was tossed away like a ragdoll in front of their disbelieving eyes, and further back, Zya saw three Cannibals tumble over the side of the pad as the rippling shockwave hit them. Even the shuttle shifted another foot or so closer to the edge, _grinding _painfully across the deck.

Silence reigned for a moment, and then-

_Clunk._

"Argh…"

Ekris fell against the side of the shuttle door, rifle still clutched in one hand and biotics flickering, clearly struggling to stay standing. His shoulders were slumped, his eyes were flickering half-shut, and his breath was tearing out of his lungs in ragged gasps.

"That… that was… ah," he panted. "Son of a…"

"Are you alright?" Zya frowned, clambering to her feet and quickly reloading her weapons.

"I… yeah, fine," the drell nodded, but it didn't sound convincing given that he was now doubled over, taking great gulps of air.

"Stay here," she murmured, finally. "Catch your breath."

"I'll be… fine. Just give me a minute."

"We don't have a minute. If you don't want to stay here and rest, then stay here and _guard the shuttle_. I've got this."

The drell nodded – that he failed to object was evidence enough of his exhaustion – and slumped down inside the shuttle, still clutching his rifle, as Zya marched out into the open air.

Ekris' biotic storm had cleared the pad entirely – the route to the security station was open, and invitingly clear. Slinging her rifle onto her back in favour of the Tempest, Zya slipped in a fresh magazine, and set off at a brisk jog…


	361. Operation Olympus Part 4

_**Styx Valley Facility, Terra Nova**_

_**Day 1, 1430**_

"So, you wanna go first?" Andersen muttered, officer's demeanour abandoned.

"Hell no," Victor replied, subordinate's demeanour equally absent.

They were staring into the inky darkness at the bottom of the sub-level elevator shaft, with no small amount of trepidation. The elevator itself was a heap of scrap metal at the bottom, torn apart by an explosion of some kind, but the drop was no more than ten feet, twelve tops – completely safe in armour. The only issue was… well, the lack of a way _back up_.

"Blast door's sealed up again," the engineer mused, "so they can't flank us, and they can't retake launch control without climbing back up this shaft."

"Which, if it was possible, they would have done already," the heavily-armoured trooper nodded.

"So, couldn't we just leave them down there?" Cash interjected hopefully, sticking his head between the two of them. "Marines are gonna sweep this place anyway, they'll clear 'em out."

"Oh, yeah, that'll be a lovely surprise for them," Victor scowled. "We take care of this ourselves…"

"I was afraid you'd say that," the sentinel grumbled. Then, he turned to Andersen, and smirked: "Go on then. Lead from the front."

Andersen scowled at him, took another glance over the edge, then reached for his pistol… and jumped.

He hit the floor with a _crunch_, and his shields protested ever so slightly, but aside from that, he was very much intact.

"See anything?" Victor called down, from above.

"No…" he murmured. "It's dark…"

With the _crunch _of boots on metal, Victor and Ethan dropped down to join the engineer, quickly moving to either side of him, weapons drawn.

"Flashlights?" Ethan muttered.

"Yeah," Andersen nodded, already fiddling with his handgun. Fumbling slightly in the dark, he found the switch on the underside of the barrel, flicked it-

And found himself staring right into a skeletal grey face, glowing blue eyes staring back at him. The husk was no more than a foot away, and seemed quite as surprised as they were. There was a moment's stunned silence, before Andersen said the only thing that came to mind:

"_Shit._"

_Crack crack_. He dispatched the creature with two shots to the head, and it slumped lifeless at his feet, but his stomach was already sinking – he knew from experience that it wouldn't be alone, _couldn't _be alone. Victor and Ethan were scrabbling for their own flashlights in something of a panic, found them a moment later, switched them on…

Three beams of brilliant white were now sweeping, searching the corridor, and quite suddenly, there was a host of greyish forms stumbling towards them.

"Shit!" Ethan yelled, echoing his friend. "Get the bloody lights!"

"They're _out!_" Andersen replied, stating the obvious. "Open fire!"

_Crack crack crack crack… _Quite suddenly, the three of them were _pouring _rounds down the corridor, Andersen and Cash blaring away with pistols as Cross rattled off bursts from his rifle. The air was thick with screeches and moans, blood was flying and blurry forms were toppling to the floor, heaped over one another…

As quickly as it had begun, the frenzy died down, the three men panting with exertion and fading adrenaline. Casting his torch beam around, Andersen could see a dozen or so grey bodies littering the floor, still and unmoving- wait, one of them _was _moving, crawling vainly towards them despite ruined legs.

_Crack. _He dispatched it with a shot to the head, and the corridor was still at last.

"Can you do anything about the lights?" Ethan asked again, slowly.

"I… hang on, yeah," the engineer nodded, as his flashlight roved over a panel in the wall. "Junction box. Give me a minute."

He paced forward, Predator dropping to his side as his two fellows kept their own weapons trained on the end of the corridor. Prising the wall panel open was child's play, and Andersen quickly slipped the pistol into his mouth, gripping it between his teeth and using it like a flashlight as his hands went to work with his omni-tool, and a liberal dose of old-fashioned omni-gel…

"Almosh gorrit," he mumbled, speech impeded somewhat by the pistol stock lodged between his teeth. "Aaan… dere!"

A quick jolt from his omni-tool, a flurry of sparks from the wall, and suddenly the whole sub-level lit up, strip lights in the ceiling flickering on in a wave, first in the corridor, then in the room beyond, then the next…

"Move up," Andersen muttered, finally.

The trio advanced along the corridor into the slightly wider room beyond – a checkpoint, judging by the blank walls and the half-ruined barrier framing the door. It was empty, for the most part, but as they crossed into the room, Andersen glanced into the far corner, just in time to see-

"Cannibals!"

_Crack crack-_ the batarian creatures straightened up and got off two rounds before the team's volley hit them – Andersen reduced one to a pile of ash with an incineration program, and the second went down even as it lurched away from the flames, riddled with bullet holes from the other two men's' shots.

"Move up," the engineer said again, pausing only to let his two friends reload. They crossed the room, he ran a quick hack through the now-decrepit scanner that guarded the door, and they stormed through into the expansive living area beyond…

As they entered the room, however, the trio stopped dead. Before the attack, it had been a living space, Andersen imagined, a barrack room of sorts. There was a desk overturned by the far wall, surrounded by a flurry of cards and a couple of steel chairs, battered and twisted. Littered across the floor was human detritus, thrown down in the panic of the attack – an abandoned datapad or two, a few hastily-discarded cigarette butts, half a dozen spent thermal clips...

Whatever the room had been before, however, it was now a _forest _of purple-grey steel. Each 'tree' was a livid metal spike, rising floor to ceiling from a Reaper-esque tripod.

"The hell are these things?" Ethan frowned, reaching out to touch the nearest one. In the back of Andersen's mind, however, alarm bells were ringing…

"No!" he yelled suddenly, lunging at Cash. Quite to the surprise of his two colleagues, he grabbed the sentinel by the scruff of his neck and _dragged _him to the floor, away from the strange construct.

"What the- gerroff, damn it!" his friend barked, struggling free and rolling away, mystified. "The hell are you doing?"

"Dragon's teeth!" Andersen gasped by way of explanation, between ragged, panicky breaths.

Ethan's eyes bulged. He looked up at the spike, gulped, and then looked back to Andersen.

"Seriously?" he murmured, quietly.

The engineer nodded, eyes still wide as dinner plates. That had been _close_.

"_Dragon's teeth?_" Victor echoed, looking down at the two of them. "Care to explain?"

"The geth used them, back on Eden Prime," Andersen explained, realising that Cross had been _out of the loop_ – to put it mildly – for the last few years. "But intel reckons they're a Reaper device. The geth impaled people on them, turned them into…"

He trailed off, and nodded back the way they came, where he knew the dead husks lay. Victor's helmet maintained a stoic countenance, but he was pretty sure the soldier's eyes were wide beneath it, as he let out a low whistle.

"Oh, shit…" Ethan interjected, quite suddenly. "Incoming."

"What?"

Before the sentinel could flash his radar screen to prove it, a low hissing noise broke the silence – _two _hissing noises, actually, because even once the door in the far corner had opened and fallen quiet, the sound remained, now issuing from between the jaws of the husk that came dashing through.

_Crack crack crack. _Victor mowed it down with a clinical burst, and it thudded to the floor.

"You know before, when you asked what happened to all the marines?" he muttered, drily. "I _think _I know…"


	362. Operation Olympus Part 5

_**Styx Valley Facility, Terra Nova**_

_**Day 1, 1435**_

The security station was silent as Zya finally managed to slice the door open – Black's squad had torn their way in from the roof, via one of the reinforced windows – and that, for some reason, set her honed nerves on edge. There were Reaper bodies heaped up on the floor and against the walls, a few consoles dead, a good dozen or so spent thermal clips littered around, particularly further in, and as she rounded the corner, there was nothing to see but more of the same, and an open door leading into the next room.

She cloaked with a dull _whoosh_, and stepped cautiously through the door, scanning around to left and right. A small checkpoint leading the main security station – biometric scanner, sparking errantly, camera over the door, shot out, a swathe of Reaper bodies on the approach to the next door, which was jammed shut. Bravo had carved a bloody path through the room… or was it the work of a rearguard? For the first time, Zya spotted the dead marine slumped against the doorpost, and realised it was probably the latter.

Advancing through the next door, still cloaked, she found herself stepping into what was clearly a guardroom. There were surveillance monitors – every one shot out – and consoles lining the walls, and a cabinet on the far wall, long-since broken into and up-ended, contained an empty rifle rack.

Zya, however, was more concerned with the bodies. It didn't take a genius to work out what had happened – the window to the left had been blown inwards where Bravo entered, but once they were in, the Reapers had poured in from three separate approaches. Firstly, the door Zya had just passed through, which the lone marine had died defending in the next room. Secondly, another door directly ahead, on the opposite wall, which led somewhere unknown – the door was closed, but had been buckled, not shutting all the way, and judging by the smoke drifting through the crack, Black or one of his men had sealed the passage with a grenade. Thirdly, and finally, the door off to the right, which she guessed led to the sub-level, and which appeared to have seen the thickest fighting. Marauders, Cannibals and husks were piled up around it, and half-way between Zya and the door, one of Bravo's marines had been cut down in the act of running to bolster that approach. Finally, a foot or two from the door, behind a barricade made of an overturned desk and the aforementioned arms cabinet…

Captain Black stared up at her as she uncloaked – Zya saw his jaws clenched, his face grim, his helmet discarded to reveal tanned skin, black buzz cut, and a pair of eyes that _glinted _amidst heavy scars which should have blinded them, much as the scar over her own throat muted her. She suspected that his sight, much like her voice, had been saved with cybernetics.

At Black's side, a third marine was dead, the side of his skull torn open by a heavy round. The marine captain was wielding his man's fallen rifle in one hand, his own shotgun in the other, but there didn't appear to be anything left to kill…

"Told you lot I didn't need backup," he muttered, finally.

"I think your squad might disagree," Zya snapped, harshly, glancing around at the bodies. Black just glowered at her, but he couldn't argue with that. Finally, she continued: "Did you find the AA controls?"

"Floor below," he grunted. "My corporals found 'em, then went dark."

"They're dead?"

"Well if they're alive, they ain't exactly chirping about it. C'mon."

Black hauled himself up with no small amount of effort, cocked the shotgun in his right hand, and set off towards the only clear exit, the stairwell leading down to the sublevel. Hefting her Viper, Zya darted off in pursuit, as the captain called over his shoulder:

"You got cloaking, right?"

"Yes," she confirmed, catching up to him on the stairs.

"Then you go on ahead. Cloak, circle round through the offices on the right. I'll keep 'em busy in the centre."

Zya nodded, flicked the little trigger on her omni-tool, and disappeared with a dull _whoosh_ as they reached the bottom of the stairwell – it curved around on itself, extending into a corridor, and then a more expansive chamber beyond.

The assassin dashed off up ahead, rather keen to get out of the corridor before Black began to fill it with crossfire. She sprinted down it as quietly as she could, turned off to the right, and immediately _dove _for the nearest wall, taking in her surroundings. The room she found herself in was another security checkpoint, replete with scanner and guard post like the one on the floor above. There were a number of dead husks littering the floor, and it appeared Black's two corporals had carved a path through to the next chamber – through the open door that led to it, she caught a glimpse of consoles and screens lining the walls, and got the distinct impression of a control room…

_Bang! _Her attention was torn away from the room ahead as Black finally began his 'distraction'. Looking back, she saw the marine captain tucked into cover in the corridor she had just cleared, leaning heavily against the doorpost and wielding his shotgun in his free hand. His first shot had been for effect, but it quickly drew attention. Two husks came darting into the room, baying and hissing, and-

_Bang, bang! _They were both mown down by buckshot before they got halfway across the room. There was a subtle _click_ as Black went to reload, and Zya set her mind back to the task at hand, looking for her route to the offices Black had mentioned.

It was immediately obvious – a door on the right-hand wall of the checkpoint, half-open and sparking merrily where it met the ceiling. _Something _had torn through it with great speed or ferocity, leaving a jagged gap where the two halves of the door had been wrenched apart – a gap just big enough for a slim human, as it happened…

Still cloaked, Zya slipped one leg through the precipice, laid her rifle down as silently as possible on the other side, and then levered herself through the remnants of the door, rolling smoothly to a halt on the far side. As she recovered her Viper and straightened up, Black let loose with another volley – _bang, bang! _– and there was the unmistakeable sound of dead weight thudding to the floor.

Just as Black had said, the corridor snaked around the checkpoint and the control room – the battleground, as it were – first running out, then parallel to the two for a ways, and then back round into the control room. To stop people using to skip around the scanners at the checkpoint, the corridor was well observed – she noted no fewer than _five _security cameras, all wrecked in the Reaper assault – and the three offices lining the sides had glass fronts, to enable the officers inside to see anyone passing by, and accost them. Using what little she knew of Alliance operations, Zya tried to work out who the offices would have belonged to – tech staff would be in the artillery base itself, so in the security station… the project chief, the marine garrison's commander, and the quartermaster, perhaps? The former two would almost certainly have clearance to deactivate the AA guns, she noted, so their offices should be her first port of call if they were locked out of the control room consoles…

The first two offices were empty, littered with the contents of the up-ended desks within. Holos smashed on the floor, datapads tossed aside… the third office, however, contained all this, and something more, something quite definitely _alive_.

A dull rumbling gave the Cannibal away before Zya actually saw it, and as she passed in front of the glass window of the third office, the creature was hunched beside the desk in the middle of the room, craning over the body of another dead Cannibal.

Zya's stomach turned ever-so-slightly as she saw it rip out a chunk of cybernetic flesh, and swallow it down greedily. There was a reason they were called Cannibals, after all…

The door to the office was still open, and the Cannibal had its back to her. It was child's play to step into the gap, fix her scope on the back of the monster's neck, and, when it stopped bobbing up and down to swallow another mouthful:

_Thunk. _The creature lurched forward, slumping, quite dead, over its half-dismembered fellow. The corridor was silent, save for the sounds of battle drifting in from the adjoining rooms, and Zya made for the door to the control room. She backed up against the doorframe, slipped a new clip into her rifle – just to be safe – and reached out with her spare hand to hit the little roundel of a door release. It opened with a _hiss_, and-

_Hiss! _A husk came darting through the doorway, looking for whoever was on the other side. It failed to see the assassin hiding behind the doorpost, however, and the creature overshot, skidding several feet into the room before wheeling around and spotting her-

_Thunk. _It dropped ignominiously, a smouldering hole between its eyes. Zya, for her part, rolled out into the open doorway, and her hunter's brain began to dissect the situation.

There were no more than half a dozen Reaper troops left in the room, and no viable entrances for reinforcements – the door opposite was jammed shut, sparking, the door to the left led to Black's killing field, and there was no door to the right, just a wall filled with consoles. Her eyes ran over the defenders a second time, analysing them properly now – four Cannibals, two Marauders. Batarians were closer to the doorway Black was filling was crossfire, the turians were hanging back – one of them was right in front of her, in fact. Acting on instinct, she brought her rifle up and entered the battle.

_Thunk, thunk. _The two Cannibals on the far side of the room dropped dead, heads _popped _by the second and third rounds in her clip. Three left.

_Thunk _– she targeted the Marauder furthest from her, on the far side of the room. Careful not to hit the consoles behind him, she aimed for the floor, and her shot blew out his shin on the way down. He toppled, she went for the head – _thunk._ One round left.

The Marauder and the two remaining Cannibals were wheeling to face her now, and they were close at hand, the Marauder closest of all. She went for one of the Cannibals, took his head with a _thunk_, and then her rifle was empty.

A red-rimmed shot crashed against the wall, fired by the last Cannibal, but Zya had already darted out of the way, shifted her grip on her rifle, and _hurled _it at the Marauder's head as it went to fire. The turian staggered back, a _crack crack crack _of Phaeston rounds hitting the ceiling as it fell away, and-

_Shing. _Zya drove an omni-blade through the creature's chest. It died instantly, but she wasn't _quite _done with it – a twisting motion, a toss over her shoulder, and she was kneeling on the floor, facing the last Cannibal, with the dead Marauder between her and it.

_Crack crack. _The Cannibal fired off two more shots, but they sank into the Marauder's back, and as it lumbered forwards to charge her:

_Bang!_ Right on time, Black appeared in the now-empty doorway, and put a shotgun round into the creature's back. It stumbled, tripped, hit the floor-

And as it rolled over, Black was on top of it, knee pinning the Cannibal's chest to the floor as his free hand pushed its gun arm away. He levelled his shotgun at the once-batarian head, placed the muzzle right between its jaws…

_Bang. _The shot was somewhat muffled this time, as the Cannibal's head was reduced to a mass of blood and gore, spattering Black's snarling face and chest.

There were a few tense, silent moments as the adrenaline began to fade. Then, with another growl, the marine straightened up, shaking the worst of the blood from his shotgun barrel before returning it to his back. Zya, for her part, withdrew her blade, pushing the dead Marauder down to the floor with a _thump_. Both she and the captain were panting heavily as they made for the middle of the room.

"AA controls are over there," Black muttered, pointing to one of the central consoles.

Zya opened her mouth to ask how he knew, but as she turned to follow his hand, she realised exactly _how_. One of his marines was hunched over the console, his back torn open by three bullet wounds in the act of powering up the guns. The program was still open, paused…

The assassin rolled the man aside, rather gently, and went to resume the activation sequence, as Black knelt down beside her. He rumbled something under his breath that she didn't quite catch, and ripped a dog tag from around the dead marine's neck. Out of the corner of her eye, Zya saw him add it to the now four-strong collection in his off-hand, and straighten up, evidently looking for the fifth.

"Guns are down," she reported, as the program window glowed green.

"Good," the captain grunted, but then he sighed, and continued: "Ah, shit…"

Spinning around, Zya saw him lean down over another black-armoured body, by the door to the security checkpoint. He tore another dog tag from the soldier's neck, and shook his head.

"Andersen?" Zya called, opening up the radio to give Black a moment to himself. "Do you copy? The guns are down, we're clear for marine landing…"

"Great," the engineer replied, rather shortly, and a moment later, the crackle of gunfire set alarm bells ringing in her head… "We, ah… we've got a bit of a problem here."

"What is it?" she asked – Black looked up, frowning, as he heard the tone of urgency in her voice.

"Got a _shitload _of husks down here," came the reply. "We- Ethan, cover the left, incoming!"

In the background, Zya heard a high-pitched chatter of gunfire, and the dull _whump _of a biotic missile.

"We're backed into a corner on the sub-level," Andersen continued, hurriedly. "Reaper's can't back up to launch control, but neither can we. Don't know how much longer our ammo's going to last, there's a god-damn _horde_ down here!"

"Whereabouts are you?"

"Chief engineer's office, edge of the sub-level. Why?"

An idea was beginning to blossom in the back of Zya's mind, and she replied, hastily:

"We'll bring backup. Hang in there."

"What do you _think_ we're doing?" he replied, bluntly. "Just hurry up, okay?"

She nodded, closed the comm channel, and turned to Black, who was already on his feet, shotgun in hand.

"We need to move," Zya murmured, finally. "Radio the Logan, tell them to send in their men. I'll call the shuttles round…"


	363. Operation Olympus Part 6

_**Styx Valley Facility, Terra Nova**_

_**Day 1, 1445**_

"Two on the right!"

_Crack crack, crack crack_. No sooner had Victor called the targets out than Andersen brought them down with a couple of quick bursts of pistol fire. There were more husks rushing in, however, almost unendingly, from both the _actual _door to the office, and the hole that had been torn through the corner wall…

Andersen and Cash were dug in behind the chief engineer's desk, which they had tipped onto its side to act as a makeshift barricade. Cross was off to the right, behind a metal cabinet he had _ripped _off the wall and was now propping up on one armoured shoulder, as he wielded his Argus in his free hand.

Bizarrely, however, their barricades felt a little unnecessary, a hindrance, even, because there were no shots flying at them, just husks dashing in to attack up close. There had been a couple of Cannibals at the beginning, however, and they couldn't risk standing out in the open, on the off chance a shooter might step out and mow them down.

"Another one!" Ethan barked, as a husk swung left out of the office door, making for their barricade. Even as he yelled out, however, the sentinel was dealing with it himself, and before Andersen could bring his pistol up:

_Whump_. A biotic cannonball pulverised the creature, reducing it to a heap of glittering blue ash. Mere moments later, as another pair followed it in, Ethan lunged out once more – there was a rush of movement, a biotic shockwave rippled across the floor, and the two husks were flung to one side, dashed against the wall with a bone-shattering _crunch_.

There was silence for a moment, but Andersen knew better than to relax.

"Either that's all of them…" he murmured. "Or there's a _big _wave incoming."

"You _had_ to jinx it…" Cash grumbled. "_Again_."

"Incoming!" Victor roared, sure enough, and a moment later he brought his rifle to bear:

_Crack crack crack, crack crack crack, crack crack crack _– three sharp bursts from the soldier's Argus, and three greyish forms thudded to the floor as they crossed the threshold into the office. Those behind _piled _over them, however, and came rushing on, prompting Andersen and Cash to join the fray.

_Crack crack- whump! _Andersen shot down one of the frontrunners, but was distracted from taking down a second as Ethan hurled another biotic fireball into the mob, bringing down at least three more. In they came, though, half a dozen or more rushing into the room – Andersen rose above the barricade again, squared his pistol at the nearest one, and:

_Click_.

"Shit!" he swore, turning frantically to Ethan. "Need a spare mag!"

"This is my last one!" the sentinel replied, eyes wide – then, his attention snapped back to the approaching husks, and he leant round the barricade to rattle off a fresh burst.

Andersen tossed the empty pistol to the floor in frustration. Kamur's Phaeston was still slung over his shoulder, but the rifle was empty, making it little more than an expensive bludgeon. He went for his omni-tool, prepped an incineration program as a last resort, and swung out his arm, sending a fireball whistling into the front rank of the approaching husks.

Two of them dropped, smouldering, and he went for the second trigger on his omni-tool, a cryo program – he froze the nearest husk solid, and Ethan shattered it with a biotic cannonball.

"Ah, damn it!" Victor cried, from off on the right, as a scuffle broke out. He threw his barricade-cabinet to the ground, pinning a husk beneath it, and began to grapple with another, which had just tried to rip a chunk out of his stomach. His rifle went skidding away across the floor, apparently empty, and after a moment's tussle the soldier snapped his opponent's neck, went for his pistols, and resumed the fight-

As he did, however, Andersen's attention was torn back to the centre ground. Ethan's pistol had clicked empty too now, and as he dropped down, ejecting the spent heatsink, a husk _thudded _against their barricade, latching a surprisingly strong hand around Andersen's shoulder. The engineer lurched back, dragging it over the desk and to the floor, falling with it. The husk bayed and hissed and spat, but a moment later, pinning it to the ground with his knee, he wreathed his omni-tool in a blaze of plasma, and punched it clean through the creature's temple.

"Where the _hell's _Zya?" Cash roared, from his side, as he flipped out a pair of omni-blades.

Andersen shared his concern – hand-to-hand fighting was a fairly desperate state of affairs, all things considered. Nonetheless, he rose again, flames still welling up around his fist, and stepped out around the desk – no need for a barricade now. Cash rose up, swinging around the other side, and almost instantly, the horde was upon them.

As the frontrunner tried to grab at his throat, Andersen ducked low, swung a fiery fist into the husk's gut, and went for the marine combat knife sheathed on his shoulder – as he plunged it into the back of the creature's neck, he was suddenly rather grateful he'd taken Irving's advice to bring a blade. 'Always have a last resort,' the big gunnery chief had growled, as he watched the young corporal gearing up…

To the left, Cash slashed both omni-blades across the throat of his own assailant, dropping it instantly, and carried over the momentum as he darted forwards, grabbed the next husk by the neck, and drove a blade through its chest.

_Crunch_. Glancing over to the other side of the room, Andersen saw Cross deal a savage pistol-whip to an approaching husk, toss the battered and empty handgun aside, and go for the next two with the remaining pistol of the pair:

_Bang, bang! _He mowed them both down with headshots, and for good measure put down the husk he had knocked to the floor a moment earlier. That third _bang_, however, was the last his pistol had to give – he bowled it at the nearest hostile, causing the creature to stumble back, and lunged to one side, going for his fallen Argus.

_Crack crack crack_, _crack crack crack_ – the rifle still had a few rounds left in it, and from the floor, Victor managed to bring down two more husks before it too _click_ed empty, the last of the squad's ammo gone completely.

Andersen had to return his attention to the fight before him, punching down a charging husk, but out of the corner of his eye, he could still see Victor rising to his feet, wielding his battered rifle like a club.

_Thud_. The engineer dealt out a fiery punch to his next attacker, knocking it back with a head aflame, but from the floor, a half-dead hand grabbed at his ankle, tried to pull him off-balance… he stamped it down with his boot, crushing the dull grey fingers against the deck, but the delay had been costly. Yet another husk bowled into him, and he felt claw-like hands scraping at his face and chest as he tumbled, hit the floor, rolled over…

A second husk tried to pile on, but Cash stopped it before it got the chance, stabbing one blade into the monster's flank before decapitating it with the other, as Andersen continued to grapple with his own foe. He rolled onto his back, wrestled some breathing room with his hands and elbows, dislodged the husk enough that he could _kick out_ with some strength and throw it over his head to the wall behind, where a shot of fire from his omni-tool promptly killed it. Looking down at his feet, he saw Ethan standing over him, offering a helping hand to the downed engineer even as he cut down a husk with the other.

Andersen took his hand, clambered to his feet, and the two of them launched forward into the fray, making a little counterattack for pride's sake. The engineer dashed one husk against the barricade, splitting its skull, as his fellow soldier went diving in, blades flashing, mowing another two down. Still, though, there was a trickle of husks pouring in through both doors, and off to the right, Victor was contending with his own mob, his heavy armour both protection and hindrance as he lashed out at all comers.

The dull rumble of thrusters in the background, then, was no small amount of relief. Nor was the cry that came over the radio a moment later:

"Everyone, heads down! Wendy, blow the windows!"

Andersen and Cash exchanged one momentary, panicked glance, then _dove _to the floor, ignoring the husks dashing towards them. A few seconds later, they were rewarded by a deafening series of bellows from the air outside:

_Thunk, thunk, thunk. _Hefty mass accelerator slugs pounded along the outside wall of the office, shattering each of the three windows in turn and _showering _the inside of the room with glass. Andersen felt a shard cut through the soft padding under his shoulder, but he avoided the worst of it – one of the husks above him was tossed away by the impact, a huge chunk of glass buried where its eye had been. For a moment, it was as if all the air had been sucked out of the room… and then, the yelling started again:

"Take us up!" the female voice continued – Zya? That seemed most likely… There was another rush of movement, and looking back through the nearest window, he could see a cobalt-blue bulk shifting into view. "Alpha, through the windows, now!"

Victor for one didn't need telling twice – across the room, Andersen saw him grab the nearest husk, bolt over to the far window, and _hurl _the creature through it, before clambering over the sill himself.

Spurred into action, Andersen and Cash both sprang to their feet and bolted for the middle window themselves. It was a small target, to say the least – a two-foot tall slit of the kind often found in bunkers, completely stripped of glass by the shockwave from the mass accelerator round that had ploughed into it. The engineer scrambled up the inside wall, with Cash at his heel, and slung his leg up high over the sill – he clambered through, and only hesitated when his front foot hit the sheer outside wall. It sloped sharply away for a few feet beneath them, and below that, there was a sickening drop into the canyon...

Unfortunately, his sentinel comrade didn't share his caution. Cash paused to dispatch a chasing husk with his omni-blade, then stowed it, came hurtling at the window, swung himself bodily through the gap-

And promptly lost his footing on the slippery slope outside, toppling backwards like a falling tree. His shoulder hit the steel window sill with a heavy _crunch_, and he began to slip away. Andersen lunged out, overbalancing as he did – he managed to grab Cash under the shoulder with one arm, but his other was left clinging to the inside of the window, holding up their combined weight…

Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Victor leap clumsily from the far edge of the wall – he dropped like a stone in his heavy armour, but somewhere between the window and the canyon, a steel form rose up to meet him. He _thudded _through the open door of the waiting shuttle, and as Ekris pulled him in, Andersen finally realised what Zya's plan was.

Jumping was damn near impossible without a foothold on the slippery slope – and was more difficult still from his own dangling position, with Cash hanging from his arm – but a second shuttle was hovering at the base of that slope, compartment door invitingly open, a black-armoured figure waiting below. _Sliding_ would be so much easier than jumping...

"You're going to let go, aren't you?" Cash scowled.

"Err… yeah."

"Bastard."

And with that, he let go. The sentinel dropped, hit the steel wall with a grunt, and slid perilously down to the shuttle's gaping maw…

He hit the inside of the compartment feet-first, and rolled across the floor a little way. Andersen paused a moment, still dangling, making sure Cash was out of the way before he jumped down himself-

"Argh!"

The scream had torn out of his mouth before he even registered his attacker. One of the husks behind him had lunged at the window, digging five claw-like fingers into the one sliver of flesh he had left inside the room, the forearm clutching the sill. His shields fell apart under the frenzied attack, and he felt warm blood bubble up as the armour plating gave way.

Then, he lost his grip – the husk's talons _ripped _out of his arm, and he tumbled, bouncing down the ramp head over heels with not a _damn _bit of control over where he landed. He saw a flash of sky, then steel, then sky again-

_Thump. _He hit the floor of the shuttle compartment hard, top half landing inside, legs hanging precariously below. All the air was knocked out of his lungs by the impact, and he scrabbled at the floor in panic, trying to clamber up to no avail…

And then, a gauntleted hand was reaching down, grabbing him under the arm. Another hand joined it a moment later, tugging him up by the collar, and he found himself _hauled_ over the lip of the door, into the shuttle.

"Gotcha," Black growled, as he released Andersen, and the engineer sprawled out next to Cash, panting heavily. He slammed the shuttle door closed, turned to the cockpit, and shouted: "Got 'em all, girl!"

"Good…" Zya replied, nodding as she stepped into the cargo compartment. "Marines are on their way to secure the site. We're done here."


	364. Operation Olympus Debrief

_**SSV Cambrai, Exodus Cluster**_

_**Day 1, 1500**_

"Well…" Admiral Singh sighed. "Objectively, this mission was a success… Nuclear missile base acquired, Reaper occupiers set for extermination, launch systems intact and ready to fire as soon as we've got someone to push the button..."

"Bravo took a lot of losses, though," Murphy observed, sadly.

"We're marines," the admiral muttered – and the captain noted his use of _'we'_. "Casualties are part of the job. Not a part any of us relish, but it makes us who we are. Oorah, death or glory, all that shit…"

He didn't look particularly convinced.

"What next, sir?" Andersen piped up, changing the subject rather deftly. "What happens to the base?"

"Marine teams are clearing it out as we speak. They'll dump the Reaper corpses down in the canyon, and set light to them. Should cheer the men up, at any rate… according to our engineers' preliminary reports, all the launch control gear's intact, and they've already brought the AA guns back online. The base is safe, and we can launch nukes at a moment's notice. Perfect little deterrent…"

"What about the, ah… dragon's teeth, admiral?"

"Hmm… I'll admit, that's a tricky one. We've never had a chance to examine the things in detail before. Reapers deploy them as a terror weapon on captured worlds, to break the morale of civilian populations, but we've never heard of them being deployed on a military base before, and we've certainly never _recovered _them from one of those bases – if dragon's teeth are being used, it usually means the Reapers are there for the long run."

"I'm guessing your lab boys have already requested to study them?"

"Yes. And I'm guessing from your tone you disapprove, corporal."

"I do," the engineer nodded. Murphy couldn't help but note the irony in that, considering the _live geth _they had in the cargo hold, but he kept quiet, as Andersen continued: "Regulations say all Reaper tech is to be considered an indoctrination risk. Besides which, admiral, you said yourself dragon's teeth are only deployed on worlds we've lost, and stand no chance of recovering. Any countermeasure your scientists developed would be _useless_, and given the risks involved in its development…"

Singh held up a hand, stopping him mid-sentence.

"I agree," he muttered. "I don't know much about tech, but I know nothing good can be made from something that monstrous. Once they're done with the husks, I'll order my men to destroy every one of the infernal things."

Andersen nodded, and retreated back into the ranks – as he did, Murphy made a mental note of the deep gashes on the engineer's arm, and the dried blood clinging to his armour. He hadn't even mentioned it thus far...

"What's our next assignment, admiral?" the captain asked.

"Same as before," Singh replied. "Rest up, lick your wounds, and get ready to go again in a few days' time. Regular marines can handle the ground war, I want you boys ready for the high-value targets."

"Understood. We'll be ready, sir."

"Good man. Dismissed."

The hologram flickered and died from the war room table, leaving Murphy with his squad.

"What he said. Dismissed," the captain nodded. As they made for the door, however, he caught one of the squad in particular by the arm, and muttered: "Andersen, a word?"

The engineer shuffled off to the side with him, clearly a bit confused, as the rest of the squad filtered out into the CIC. Once the room was empty, and the door shut, the captain spoke up once more:

"You did good out there. In command, I mean. Proper little officer in the making…"

"Are you kidding, sir?" Andersen frowned, smiling nonetheless. "The whole thing went to hell!"

"Not your fault," Murphy interjected, shaking his head. "Your team was too small, your intel was bad. Black had a team of seasoned vets, and they all went down save for him. Your squad got out without a single KIA. I call that a good result, corporal."

"I… noted," the engineer grinned.

"Now, how long's your arm been like that?"

Andersen's eyes bulged, and he looked down for a moment, following Murphy's gaze to his slashed and bloody forearm.

"Since the evac," he admitted. "Husk clawed my arm while I was climbing out."

"Clawed? Tore it to bloody ribbons, more like... you'd better have been headed for the med bay the instant you got out that door, corporal."

"I… figured it could wait," Andersen shrugged.

"Still told Ekris and Ethan to go to the doc though, didn't you?" Murphy guessed, with a wry smile.

The engineer didn't reply, just nodded.

"Like I said. Proper officer in the making… _but_, not yet, corporal. Go get yourself fixed up, and that's an order."

"Aye aye, sir…"


	365. Downtime 36

_**SSV Cambrai, Exodus Cluster**_

_**Day 1, 1510**_

"Ooh, that's a nasty one…" Ria murmured, observing Andersen's arm as he hopped up onto the end of the nearest bed. "Don't see wounds like that very often – how'd you get it?"

"Husk," the engineer replied, grunting slightly in pain as she pressed her hand to the wound. He had already prised off his ruined gauntlet, exposing the bare arm beneath.

"Human hand, then?" the asari frowned. "Blunt fingers, but they drew blood… that's not a cut, that's a _tear_. Deep and bloody."

"Nasty," Alicia agreed with a low whistle, from the other side of the room – she was leaning over Klara's bed, changing the plaster cast on the quarian's leg.

He shrugged, but his newfound tough guy act was somewhat undermined by his wince as she pressed again.

"Best clear the blood away first. Then I can see what I'm working with. Err… maybe some anaesthetic first?"

"Maybe," he nodded, with a weak smile.

"Yeah… sorry about the arm, boss," Cash called, from the bed to the side. The sentinel was still in his armoured greaves, but his chestplate had been discarded at the side of the bed, and his shoulder was wrapped tightly in bandages, anchored around his midriff. Dislocation at best, break at worst, Andersen guessed. Then, something else occurred to him.

"When the _hell _did I become 'boss'?" he frowned. "We're both corporals!"

"Not for long if today's any indication," his friend grinned. "Sorry, slip of the tongue…"

"Err… don't worry about it," Andersen muttered, suddenly feeling very odd. Luckily, Dr O'Leiph interrupted him in his moment of awkwardness, as she said, matter-of-factly:

"Before I give you any anaesthetic, I need to check there's no muscular damage. Waggle your thumb."

"What?"

"Just do it…" she sighed.

He obliged, flexing his thumb a couple of times, and looked at her questioningly.

"Any pain?" the doctor asked.

"Yes. A husk ripped chunks out of my arm, it's a _bit _painful."

"Smart-ass. Any _acute _pain? Specifically when you move your thumb?"

"No."

"Alright, try the index finger."

He waggled that one too.

"Anything?"

"Nope."

"Okay, and the rest."

He twitched his middle finger, ring finger, little finger. Nothing from any of them. Ria glanced at him, asking the unspoken question, and he shook his head.

"Clench them into a fist," she instructed, finally. He did just that. "And unclench. Anything?"

"No…" he frowned again, letting his hand relax.

"Alright, doesn't look like you've torn any muscles or tendons, then. Sorry, the only way of checking for that is through the pain response, which… doesn't really work with anaesthetic. Hold still."

She quickly grabbed a syringe full of clear liquid from the tray at her side, and slid it into his arm with a sharp _jab_.

"Ah!"

"It's a needle," Ria scowled. "It's _going _to hurt."

He chuckled slightly – and the shaking that ensued made it worse, as his arm twitched slightly with the needle still buried deep. To distract himself, he surveyed the med bay, glancing around at all the other beds. It was unusually full considering just five people had one on the last mission. Aside from Ethan, in the bed next to him, and Klara in the one opposite, Ekris was sleeping off a calorie replacement on the other side of him from Cash, and Kan was locked in the surgical suite, refitting his armour and treating his burns – the two medics, perpetually bemused by quarian medicine, were just leaving him to it.

After a moment or two, the local anaesthetic began to work, coursing through his blood, and the stinging sensation of the needle died away, as did the general throbbing of his wounds. Ria drew the syringe back out, dropped it into the steel waste bucket with a _clang_, and went for a length of gauze, quickly folding it up and swiping it across his arm.

The husk's gouges were bleeding rather more profusely than Andersen had realised. When the dried blood was cleared away, crimson began to billow forth freshly once more – it took Ria a good few minutes and three more bundles of gauze to finally stem the bleeding, and once the blood was gone, his wounds looked even worse, if that was possible…

"Ouch…" the asari whispered, reaching for a small torch and shining it over the deep gouges in his arm.

"Yeah, I'll say…" Andersen muttered, observing them properly for the first time.

"Five lacerations, each about a half-inch deep," Ria murmured to herself. "No muscular or tendon damage, _somehow_, just flesh and a few blood vessels."

"_Just?_" he echoed. She ignored him. Cash chuckled from the next bed.

"Creature that inflicted the wounds was synthetic, so infection isn't _such _a risk… best not to chance it, though, especially with deep wounds. Need some antiseptic."

He nodded, reluctantly, and Dr O'Leiph bustled off towards her cabinet, pulling out a small bottle of blue-green liquid and pouring it onto yet another strip of gauze.

"Hold still."

With that, she clamped her free hand around the crook of his elbow, and ran the gauze over his wounds with the other. Andersen was rather grateful for the anaesthetic, because he had a feeling the antiseptic would have burned like hell otherwise…

"There…" Ria murmured, after a few moments' work. "That's the wounds cleaned, at least. I'm not sure whether to stitch them or not, though… what do you reckon, Alicia?"

"Looks like the flesh was gouged out," the younger medic observed, craning over to peer at his arm. "Not a straight, thin cut. They'd heal irregularly, and you'd have to change the stitches every day or so."

"Right…" the asari nodded, half to herself and half to Andersen. "Medi-gel's probably a better option. You'll have scars, but they'll heal evenly and relatively cleanly. Simple skin graft could cover the scars once it's all healed up, if you're so inclined."

"Or, you know, you could keep them," Cash ventured, with a grin. "War wound… girls love scars."

"_Krogan _girls especially," Ria smirked. "Not sure the young corporal's _that_ _way_ inclined."

"Just do whatever you have to," Andersen muttered, shaking his head. "I want to be back in action as soon as possible."

"Noted… medi-gel it is. I swear, the guy who invented this stuff must have been laughing all the way to the bank…"


	366. Downtime 37

_**SSV Cambrai, Exodus Cluster **_

_**Day 1, 1820**_

"Whatever dextro you've got, in a _big _glass," Kamur grinned.

The mess sergeant duly reached beneath the bar, produced a bottle of the yellow-gold dextro liquor he had secretly stashed there, and poured out a large glass, before dishing it out to the turian with a nod. He took it, and turned to lean against the bar, surveying the mess hall.

The Cambrai wasn't on shore leave, but the prospect of a few days' downtime brought a steady trickle of crew and commandoes into the bar, enjoying the evening with a few drinks. The flight crew in particular were enjoying every chance they got – between missions, they were usually stuck on regular shifts, but there was no such need for them with the Logan hovering close at hand. As for the commandoes, there were a handful of them about. Irving Wolfe, Sam Vimes and Ethan Cash were sat at the bar, but Kamur didn't fancy disturbing their apparently deep conversation. Liselle was off to one side by the med bay window, chatting with one of the nav crew. And there was a solitary figure sat at the mess table…

"Drinking alone?" Kamur muttered, as he sat down opposite Zel, drink in hand.

"Not now you've sat down," she replied, deflecting the question. He frowned, and she relented: "Yeah, I guess so…"

"How come?"

"No-one left, is there?" the biotic shrugged. "Vanyali and Sarah are on the Citadel, Kyra and Maelar are dead, Aeryn's under observation… just me and Araya, and she's off in the training room. Spends half her time in there now. You?"

"Andersen's fixing some new armour, Cash is over there – although I'm sure you already clocked that" – he smirked at her, she shot him and odd glance – "and Yui's off spirits-know-where."

"Tyco?" she ventured.

"Keeping to himself, same as always," Kamur grimaced. "He barely speaks to the rest of us now. Talks to Andersen when he needs something, but that's about it."

"I see…"

There was silence for a moment, but as the two turians floundered for a topic of conversation, a big red hulk stumbled into the mess hall, fuming.

"What's up with you, krogan?" Kamur called out.

"The _bloody _salarian!" Yui replied.

"Rilum?"

"_Little _salarian."

"Oh, Arrete… why, what'd he do?"

"Took all my damn credits, that's what!" the krogan grumbled, coming to stand next to the table.

"You were playing cards with him again, weren't you?" Zel smirked.

"Maybe…" Yui muttered, quietly. "I was winning the first few, then _bam!_" – the big krogan _thumped _the table, and both turians grabbed their drinks protectively – "Gone in three hands… how's he do it?"

"I'll tell you, if you get us another round," Kamur grinned, draining his glass in one.

A look of deep concentration passed over the big krogan's features, and Zel, with a knowing smile, downed the remains of her own drink too, shoving the empty glass towards Yui.

"Fine," he grumbled, grabbing both glasses rather awkwardly – they were too small for his _massive _hands – and heading for the bar.

"Right…" Kamur murmured, leaning in conspiratorially as the krogan shuffled away. "Next shore leave, you and me are going for a drink."

She looked at him, stunned, and his own eyes bulged in realisation after a moment:

"No, not like that!" he muttered quickly, waving his hands. "Spirits no, eww!"

"'Eww'?" she echoed, angrily. "Why do you get to say 'eww'?"

"Fine, you say e-"

"_Ewww!_"

They stared at each other a moment, and then broke down into fits of laughter, clutching at the table for a little support – it wouldn't have been quite so funny without the first round of drinks flowing in their blood.

"What I _meant_," Kamur persisted, as the laughter subsided, "is that I usually go out with the humans. That means a _human _club. Sure, they serve dextro, but it tastes like warm piss, not that I tell the others that. Next time we hit the Citadel, we're gonna find a proper turian club, and a proper turian drink. Deal?"

"Deal," the other turian smiled.

"Maybe even find you a turian guy while we're at it," he smirked, knowing full well she had different… _tastes_.

She snarked back at him, and he waved his hands apologetically. Any further conversation was cut out by Yui's return, however – the krogan came stumbling back to the table, balancing the little glasses carefully in his big lizard hands, and slammed them down, before fixing Kamur with an expectant stare.

"Well?" he rumbled. "How's he doing it?"

"You want to know?" Kamur murmured, faking surprise.

"Yes."

"You _really _want to know?" the turian teased.

"_Yes!_"

"He's a salarian, you _idiot_," Kamur laughed, somewhat anticlimactically. "He's got a photographic memory. First few rounds were fair game, but he was counting cards after that. He can't even help doing it."

The krogan stared at him, eyes wide.

"_Salarian!_" he growled, finally. "Gotta go!"

Yui stormed off towards the elevator door, and the two turians were left chuckling to each other.

"That was cruel…" Zel grinned, shaking her head.

"If he'd just stop falling for every wager the salarian throws him, he wouldn't lose his money," Kamur shrugged.

"I didn't mean to Yui, I meant to Arrete! You did _basically _just tell an angry krogan he was cheating him…"

"Oh. Yeah. I should probably warn him, shouldn't I?"

"Probably…"

Kamur reached for his omni-tool, quickly dialling in the salarian's comm address, and waiting a moment before his red face appeared on the screen.

"Arrete," he muttered, guiltily. "I need a word."

"Sure, what is it? Oh, hey Yui- _urk!_"

The radio cut out, and Zel's eyes bulged across the table, as Kamur looked down at his drink.

"Oh, that does _not _make me feel good about myself…" he winced, quickly downing this glass too.

"Another round?" Zel murmured.

"Spirits, yes…"


	367. Downtime 38

_**SSV Cambrai, Exodus Cluster**_

_**Day 2, 1300**_

The day after the operation in the Styx Valley, Andersen was to be found down in the Cambrai's starboard cargo hold, sitting cross-legged on an old supply crate and conducting his scans of the _package _in the corner of the room. He and Lynus took turns studying the geth, day by day, and today was his turn.

"Got anything?" a filtered voice asked – the door opened with a _hiss_, and he saw Kan step into the room.

"Still zeroes," he muttered. "That's good, though. Means the stasis field's still working as intended."

"How's your arm?" his friend continued, and Andersen had a feeling he was smirking beneath the visor.

"About as good as yours," the engineer retorted, and in his mind's eye, the smirk was wiped from the quarian's face as Andersen nodded from his own tightly-bandaged arm to Kan's, which was still pinned up in a sling.

He had changed his armour, though, and beneath the sling Andersen could see a clean blue gauntlet and arm section. They didn't look quite _right_, however…

"Where'd you get the replacement parts?" he asked, curiously. "That arm doesn't match the other."

"Yeah, well funnily enough, the Cambrai doesn't have parts in stock for a quarian exosuit," Kan chuckled. "I used salarian armour, rated for ex-atmosphere work. No section seals or auto-injectors, but it'll do until I can find a proper armpiece."

Andersen nodded, and went back to his work, finishing up the scans on his omni-tool.

"So, what's the deal with this thing?" Kan muttered, nodding at the geth. "I was there when we found it on Veles, but that's about it. I heard it beat Zel up?"

"Err… yeah," he admitted. "When we activated it last. Haven't turned it on since."

"You think you're going to, though?"

"Yeah, as soon as we know it's safe. Figure we should try to study it, even bring in on-side. You object?"

Kan shrugged.

"Huh. I figured you'd feel a little more strongly about it. You're nowhere near as hostile as-"

"Klara?" he guessed, with a wry chuckle. "Yeah, take a _wild _guess why that might be."

"Honestly?" Andersen frowned. "I'm trying to work that out. You're not a geth sympathiser – you _killed _a geth sympathiser when we went to Zanethu."

"I killed a _Reaper _sympathiser," Kan corrected. "Albeit an unknowing one… But peace with the geth, once the Reapers are gone… I don't know, maybe. Maybe I _am _a geth sympathiser."

That surprised the engineer, quite frankly. His quarian friend didn't tend to sympathise with much at all…

"All I know," he sighed, "is until the Reapers got involved, the geth hadn't attacked anyone since the Morning War – we've always been the ones picking a fight. All in all, charging beyond the Veil is the dumbest idea since the plastic heat exchanger, which means Han'Gerrel is probably proposing it right now…"

Andersen chuckled, and flicked at his omni-tool once more, before asking, absent-mindedly:

"Why are you down here, Kan? I'm guessing you didn't come just to ask about our metal-headed friend…"

"No, I came to ask about our _thick_-headed friend," the quarian laughed, mirthlessly.

"What?" Andersen frowned, turning to face him with a look of confusion. The sarcastic voice in the back of his mind instead asked: _"Which one?"_

"Tyco."

"Ah. Why are you coming to me, then? He hasn't spoken to me in days."

"He hasn't spoken to the rest of us in a _week_," Kan muttered. "What's up with him, Andersen?"

"What do you think?" the engineer scowled.

"Vanyali?"

He nodded.

"Never took Tyco for the type who'd get hung up like this," the quarian mused. "Usually _nothing _bothers him."

"That's the point," Andersen sighed.

Kan just looked at him, visor blank, but clearly bemused underneath.

"Look, I'm not a shrink," the tech began, sadly, "but the guy's spent his entire adult life as a hitman. He _kills _people for a living. To enable him to do that, he shuts off his emotions. To avoid having to deal with loss, he shuts down his relationships. He stays like that for nine years, then he meets a girl. They have this complicated… _fight _of a romance, until finally he opens up, confesses his feelings, and she _reciprocates_ – how wonderful. The very next day, she gets shot and ends up comatose in the hospital. She's not even dead – if she was dead, he could mourn. Fifty-fifty? That's worse…"

"He opens up for the first time in nine years, and gets punched in the heart," Kan summed up.

"Pretty much, although I'm not sure 'punched in the heart' is a real psychiatric term."

"So what do we do about?" the quarian asked, with grim determination.

"Not a damn thing we _can _do," Andersen replied, sadly. "The way I see it, there are two ways this can go. Either Vanyali pulls through, and everybody's happy again… or she dies, and we help him mourn like we would any other mate. Revenge, finding her killer… that's what Tyco's fixating on to cope, but it won't affect her recovery. It just makes him feel better, and not in a healthy way…"

"So we've just got to wait and see what happens?" Kan scowled.

"Yeah."

"That's a crappy solution, you know that?"

He nodded, and sighed:

"It's a crappy situation, all in all…"


	368. Downtime 39

_**SSV Cambrai, Exodus Cluster**_

_**Day 3, 0900**_

"What are you two doing?" Alicia murmured, in surprise, as she entered the lab. Lynus was stood on the far side of the table, peering through a microscope, under the close scrutiny of Dr O'Leiph.

"Running an experiment," the asari murmured, without turning around. "Lynus here thinks he's onto something."

"I… fair enough… the yeoman told me you were in here – have you seen Andersen's chart, doctor?"

"On top of the cabinet, next to the hydrocodone I was preparing for him."

"Right."

Alicia turned to leave, but curiosity dragged her back, and she asked:

"So what _are _you doing?"

"Experimenting on omega-enkaphalin," Rilum muttered, not looked up from his microscope. "Attempting to reverse engineer. Took half a dozen rounds from the ammo we acquired on Illapa, and downloaded several operational files from the archives. Details of something called 'Project Trapdoor'."

"It was the Cerberus project that developed O-E," Dr O'Leiph explained, taking over. "All the way back in 2169. A front company called New Dawn Pharmaceuticals did the research – they tested it extensively on asari prisoners, just to be sure, then started developing it for Cerberus operations…"

"That's the drug that suppresses biotics, right?" Alicia murmured, nervously. "Call me paranoid, but I don't want to be anywhere near that stuff…"

"Noted, but think of the potential if we can weaponise it!" Rilum exclaimed. "Turn Cerberus' own weapon against them – actually, incorrect. Most Cerberus agents are immunised against omega-enkaphalin, but Reaper troops aren't… Would be invaluable against Banshee units."

"And you really think you can replicate it?" the medic frowned. "The way the others tell it, Cerberus have the best labs, the best equipment, _millions_ in funding…"

"Granted. Ship's lab can't rival Cerberus mass production, but small-scale production possible, as long as the ingredients can be appropriated. Could even pass to Alliance, Council, STG for production and dispersal, once method is perfected."

"How's it going, then?"

"Well. Initial hypothesis was flawed – suggested a neurotransmitter, blocking neural impulses to eezo nodules."

"Sounds good enough to me. What was the flaw?"

"Biotic manipulation operates on the same neural frequencies as muscle contraction. General neurotransmitter would cause paralysis and loss of consciousness as well as biotic suppression. Symptoms not present, so hypothesis dismissed."

"I'm guessing you came up with a new one, though?"

"Indeed. Interference with the other end of transmission – a physical barrier substance, semi-fluid, spread through blood and tissue fluid and coating eezo nodules in an insulating material to block nervous impulses. However, additional mass and fluid volume would cause swelling of tissues, constriction of blood vessels leading to clotting, hypertension… Would explain the side effects Project Trapdoor mentions."

"That's why I'm here," Ria scowled. "This idiot _injected _himself with a dose from one of the cartridges, then asked me to measure his blood pressure and perform a physical."

"Blood pressure heightened beyond the bounds of white coat hypertension theory," Rilum murmured. "Obvious swelling around the injection site in the forearm, proceeding to the fingers and shoulder within an hour."

"Pretty slow dispersal," Alicia observed.

"Full-body dispersal not necessary," the salarian explained. "Official advice from Project Trapdoor – operatives using omega-enkaphalin rounds only need to hit the arms to disable most biotic techniques."

"Right… so, that's our answer?"

"No. Secondary issue – volume required to produce eventual full-body disability inconsistent with contents of a single round. Revised hypothesis – rounds either contain concentrate for dissolution, or a reactant."

"But you need to know which, right?"

"Indeed. Cerberus agents are 'immunised' through subjective tolerance, like any drug – repeated exposure reduces effect. To replicate resistance in our soldiers, need to know whether they require tolerance to the chemical in these rounds, or the product it makes."

"So, you test it on blood and tissue fluid, see if it dissolves or reacts. Look for… heat, colour change, decrease in mass…"

"Heat, colour, yes, but change in mass not so applicable. Only present in reactions which gives off gases – gas dispersal in bloodstream would produce _bubbles_."

"That would explain the tissue swelling," Alicia ventured.

"Would also cause _aneurysms_. None present in Cerberus case files."

"What if the reaction produced oxygen or CO2? The blood already carries those dissolved, why couldn't it carry a little more?"

"Blood is saturated," Rilum muttered, dismissively. "Can't carry any more gas. Unsaturated blood would be biologically inefficient."

"Humans _are _biologically inefficient. The blood's only saturated in individuals at peak fitness, and even then only in the upper section of the aorta. Once it hits the minor organs, it's losing oxygen from thereon out. Vice versa for carbon dioxide."

Rilum looked her full in the eye for the first time in the conversation, and blinked once, an expression of supreme surprise on his face. Ria too had her mouth open slightly as she watched the exchange.

"Hadn't considered that…" the salarian murmured. "You're an intelligent one. And you say you're _not _a doctor?"

She shrugged.

"Poor reflection on human educational system. At any rate, we're quibbling over test methodology, not hypotheses."

"Right. So what did you do next?"

"Made initial tests using water – human blood plasma ninety-three per cent water, vague proxy. Immersed omega-enkaphalin in water, observed for dissolution or reaction."

"And the results?"

"Void. Occurred to me part-way through that pure water was an invalid model – blood plasma contains dissolved proteins, glucose, hormones, all possible reactants. Scrapped water-based experiment, acquired samples of human blood plasma for testing."

"_Acquired?_" Dr O'Leiph snorted. "You ransacked my store cupboard!"

"Plentiful supply for blood transfusions," the salarian shrugged. "Not going to miss a few packs."

"I wouldn't have minded if you'd just _asked_."

"No time to ask."

"I was stood right next to you!"

Rilum just waved his hand dismissively, silencing her, and continued:

"Split pack into two samples, live and control, and introduced omega-enkaphalin to the live sample. Measured both for temperature change – intake or output of energy, simplest test for a reaction."

"And?"

"Tested over thirty minutes, observed no significant change in temperature. No evidence of reaction whatsoever. Followed it up with a chemical analysis – solution tested positive for omega-enkaphalin. Shows it didn't react. Final conclusion – omega-enkaphalin dissolves in the blood. Cerberus rounds contain a concentrated dose – also explains why symptoms are most severe at the impact site, and deteriorate as they move outwards."

"I… wow…" Alicia murmured, then added, curiously: "How long did it take you to work that out?"

"Nine o'clock now…" Rilum pondered. "So, nine hours."

"You've been working on this since _midnight?_"

"Salarian rapid metabolism," he explained. "Need… one hour's sleep, on average. Slept from eight to ten, cleaned and re-assembled weapons ten to eleven, _tested _weapons eleven to midnight. Then, found omega-enkaphalin rounds in armoury, decided to experiment. Project Trapdoor files decrypted by one. First hypothesis at one-thirty, disproved by two. Second hypothesis composed and validated by three – waited for Dr O'Leiph to wake-"

"Then woke me up at five anyway," Ria grumbled.

"Tested hypothesis with self-experimentation at five, exercised to pass time, then observed results at six. Began to test to determine reactant or solute – solute deduced by six-thirty, proven by chemical analysis around seven. Have been refining theory since then – attempting to find exact method of action for more efficient resistance therapy."

"Did you follow _any _of that?" Alicia frowned, to Dr O'Leiph.

"Honestly?" the asari sighed. "I'm just here to make sure he doesn't kill himself…"


	369. Operation Tourniquet Briefing

_**SSV Cambrai, Exodus Cluster**_

_**Day 1, 1100**_

Four days after the mission into the Styx Valley, Murphy was gathering his operatives in the Cambrai's war room once again. Singh had outdone himself this time – his briefing on the team Murphy should assemble had consisted of just six words: _'Tough, smart, couple of biotics. __Survivability__' _– the last word was underlined for emphasis_._

In response, the captain had put together the hardiest team of survivors he could. Yui and Dax for starters, accompanied by Lisk – vorcha could survive damn near anything. He had added Vor for good measure, and Vimes for a slightly smarter touch, then rounded out the seven-strong team with a 'couple of biotics', Liselle and Saffiya. He had considered Ekris as well, but he was still resting up from his tremendous exertion during the Styx raid.

Also joining them in the room, and making for rather odd company, were Captain Black and Adam Zivas. Black was grim as ever, helmet under his arm, weapons already on his back. Zivas had cleaned up rather after they pulled him off Terra Nova – his makeshift black militia gear had been replaced by a white-and-grey suit of military issue. Arctic camo? In hindsight, that should have been a clue…

"Gentlemen," Admiral Singh began, his hologram blooming into life at the end of the table. "Sorry for the short notice, but a golden situation has developed. At oh-nine-hundred this morning, a cruiser squadron led by the Istanbul brought down a Reaper trying to leave Terra Nova's atmosphere."

"Destroyer or capital ship?" Murphy asked.

"Neither. Processor."

"A factory ship…" Adam echoed, with a low whistle.

"It dropped intact, and orbital fire proved ineffective in destroying it. I've cleared a fifty-kiloton warhead for use as a bomb, to be delivered into the processor's interior by a ground team."

That sent a buzz of quiet chatter through the room, as everyone took in the implications of what the admiral was saying.

"Let's be clear," Singh muttered. "This is _not _a rescue mission. This is revenge. Don't expect to find anyone alive down there, not after this long."

"Understood, sir. What's the plan?"

"The factory ship was forced to ground at the top of a glacial ravine in Terra Nova's northern ice cap. Surrounded on three sides by cliffs of ice and stone, only accessible over land by a small gulch. Accessible by air, but AA presence is unknown, so we can't risk that route for entry."

"We're going by foot, then?" Captain Black frowned.

"Indeed. The remaining resistance forces will take the bomb up the gulch, while your team and the Cambrai's provide distractionary cover."

"Why ain't we taking the bomb?" the marine captain objected, instantly. "Leave it to the professionals and all…"

"Like he said, this is revenge," Adam piped up, scowling angrily at him. "My boys want this."

"Quite…" Singh nodded, before Black could argue any further. "Zivas and his men will use an old-fashioned sled to transport the bomb. They've got arctic-issue gear from our own armoury, for camouflage, but they'll still be vulnerable to whatever Reaper forces survived the crash landing. Teams from the Logan and Cambrai will deploy on the cliffs above, and draw the Reapers off by any means necessary. Trigger avalanches, deploy snipers, launch artillery, I don't much care, just keep 'em busy."

"Why's Black with us?" Vimes asked, grinning sarcastically as he imitated: "Leave it to the professionals and all…"

"Black and his team are all wetworks specialists," the admiral replied sharply, clearly not impressed. "They took losses in the Styx Valley, but everyone on the team has passed at least N2 grade."

"Which means they've all done arctic warfare modules…" Murphy added, realisation dawning. "That… actually is pretty useful."

"Glad you approve…" Black rumbled, sardonically.

"The one thing his team _lacks_" – Singh shot Black a look that said all too clearly: _'Don't get cocky' _– "is biotics. I assume your team can compensate, Captain Murphy?"

"We're bringing two of our best," Murphy replied, nodding to Liselle and Saffiya.

"So, the bomb team will move up the gulch on foot," Singh concluded. "Distraction teams will draw the Reapers off from the cliffs above. Once the bomb reaches the factory ship, distraction teams will climb down using rappel gear, all teams will rendezvous at the entrance, and clear any AA installations before proceeding to move the package inside. Plant it in the main processing chamber, exfil by air, and we'll detonate remotely. Everyone clear?"

"Crystal, sir," Black muttered, on behalf of the room.

"Good. Black, Zivas, catch a shuttle back to the Logan and assemble your men. Murphy, you've got your own pilots, aim for landfall in thirty minutes. Your team's Alpha, Black's is Bravo, resistance is Charlie. Get to work, gentlemen."

The hologram faded, and the other two squad leaders turned to leave. Black did it silently, without so much as a glance in their direction. Adam, at least, shot them a courteous nod, and saluted, before he too made for the exit. Murphy, however, was already making calculations in his mind…

"Yui, I'm pulling you from the mission," he announced, suddenly.

"_What?_" the big krogan growled, with a slight note of outrage. Everyone else looked surprised, to say the least.

"Fake leg," Murphy explained bluntly, pointing down at Yui's steel foot. "I don't doubt your willpower, but you'll get bogged down in the snow, and by the sounds of it, we need to move fast on this one."

"You can't be… argh, _fine_," Yui grumbled.

"Who are you thinking of to replace him?" Vimes frowned.

"Me. I don't want to call someone else in at this short notice."

There was a pause.

"I'm… not sure that's a good idea, captain, given the risks of-"

"Black can take the risks, so can I," he muttered, cutting the C-Sec man off mid-sentence.

"Noted, boss. What's the plan?"

"Grab some rations, as much ammo as you can carry, and any gear you think might be useful. Dax, I'm relying on you for special ordnance, alright?"

"Alright," the krogan nodded. "I'll find some fireworks."

"We'll meet in the shuttle bay in twenty. Dismissed."


	370. Operation Tourniquet Part 1

_**Northern Ice Shelf, Terra Nova**_

_**Day 1, 1125**_

"This is Alpha," Murphy muttered over the radio. "We're five minutes out."

"Bravo, following you in," Black answered.

"Charlie," Adam interjected. "I've got the bulk of the team in our number one shuttle. Clay's following on with the package and the rest of the team in number two. Estimate ten minutes to touchdown."

"Understood. Keep your comms live, everyone. We'll report in again once everyone's on the ground, sort out where we go from here."

The radio went quiet at that, and Murphy turned round, surveying the crew compartment one more time. His team was grim and ready, all clutching their weapons and making final checks. For the most part, they were using their usual gear, but there were a few changes given the nature of their task. Saffiya had replaced her usual pistol with a lightweight Avenger, for long-range combat, while Murphy and Vimes had swapped their own sniper rifles for a couple of Krysaes provided by Dax – the turian guns fired explosive rounds, promising that extra touch of _carnage _that would be so helpful in creating a distraction. Dax himself wasn't carrying his customised Revenant, either. He was thoroughly tooled-up, with a krogan Striker rifle – a weapon that was closer to a grenade launcher than a rifle – on his shoulder, along with an _actual _grenade launcher, an old M-100, and a bulky black article that he had stashed beneath his seat.

"What _is _that thing?" Murphy asked, leaning down to get a look at the snub-nosed weapon.

"N7 Typhoon," the krogan answered, proudly, yanking it out from under the seat with one hand. As he did, the captain realised it was a machine-gun, roughly the size of his own torso, replete with winged face shield and a truly fearsome square muzzle. "Modded, of course. One-hundred-eighty rounds to a clip, with expansions, and I've got about a thousand rounds stashed in my belt."

"That's bloody scary," Vimes muttered, eyeing it was suspicion from the seat opposite. "What's in the case?"

He was pointing to a steel box, also under Dax's seat, which had been hidden at the back behind the Typhoon. Dax grinned even more broadly as he looked down, and that was worrying, to say the least.

"_Special ordnance_," he rumbled, ominously. "Some other bastard's carrying it, though. This thing" – he hefted the Typhoon – "needs two hands."

"That thing needs two _people_," Murphy scowled. Then, he remembered he was talking to a krogan.

"Sixty seconds to the LZ!" Wendy called, from the cockpit. "I don't want to risk freezing up one of the thrusters, so you'll have to jump down!"

"Understood," the captain replied, grabbing one of the overhead rails to keep his balance as they lurched down towards the ground.

A minute later, the shuttle swung to a juddering halt, bobbing around for a moment before Wendy found the sweet spot and brought it level. Wordlessly, Murphy went for the door release – it _hiss_ed open, and he leapt down the foot or two's drop into the snow. His boots sank in with a healthy _crunch_, about three inches down by his guess. A small hindrance, but not enough to seriously slow them down.

"Come on!" he called up, to the squad. "Get down here!"

"Catch!" Dax shouted, as he appeared in the threshold – Murphy had just a few moments to clock his meaning, before the steel case came hurtling down from on high. He caught it, staggering back a little under the weight, and watched on in bemusement as Dax's Typhoon thudded down in the snow at his side – the man himself paused to fix a bulbous krogan helmet over his head, then leapt down with a roar.

Straightening up, the krogan snatched up his gun with one hand, took the case from Murphy with the other, and stepped back to make room as the others filtered down after him – Vimes, then Liselle, then Saffiya, Vor, and finally Lisk. The latter, unlike everyone else, was bare-headed, partly because of his natural, biological resilience, and partly because no other species' helmets really _fitted _a vorcha…

"Alpha's on the ground," Murphy reported, as he shot Wendy a thumbs-up, and she turned skyward. "Bravo, where are you?"

"Coming in to land now," Black muttered.

Sure enough, a second blue shape was skimming down through the remarkably clear skies, coming to hover in the snow about twenty yards away. The marine captain was the first out, face hidden by a standard marine breather that had had a _skull _carved into the faceplate, shotgun and rifle ready in either hand.

"What's the plan?" he called from behind his grim mask, as his men piled out of the shuttle behind him.

"We get our shit together and head north," Murphy replied. "Charlie, are you on the ground yet?"

"Bomb team's down already," Adam reported, over the comms. "Clay's moving north with the sled, the rest of us are moving to catch up!"

"Affirmative…" the captain nodded. "Keep regular contact, Adam. We're here to cover you."

"Shit, they're getting ahead of us," Black scowled, as the radio trailed off into static. "We need to catch up."

"We also need to be _smart _about this. What's your team good for?"

"Whatever I tell 'em to do."

Murphy rolled his eyes.

"I'm _serious_, Black. Armament, specialisation, whatever, just give me something to work with."

"Eight riflemen, two engineers," the other captain replied.

"Right… take your men up ahead, towards the crash site. We've got specialists, biotics and snipers, but your boys have trained for this terrain, they can move faster than we can. Have you got the rappel gear?"

"Yeah."

"Alright… when you reach the cliffs around the crash site, set up three descending lines. One for your team, one for ours, one as a backup. Once the lines are set, cause as much carnage as you can until we arrive."

"Got a plan for that and all," Black grinned, manically. "Singh was prob'ly joking when he mentioned avalanches, but I reckon we can make it literal. Shake things up a bit, huh?"

"You'll need these, then," a new voice interjected.

It was Dax, and as the two captains wheeled around he was marching towards them, mysterious case in hand. He thrust it into Black's hands, and as he pulled it open, muttered:

"Seismic charges. Made by the turian military, available on the black market if you know where to look. Designed to bring down occupied buildings."

"You used our funds to buy from the _black market?_" Murphy gawped.

"Well the turians weren't going to sell 'em to me!" Dax protested. "And they're coming in handy now, aren't they? Plant one of them on the cliffs, and it'll bury any bastard standing underneath. I stake my reputation on it."

"I'll dish them out to my engineers," Black nodded, before Murph could ask _what reputation?_ "Appreciate it, krogan."

Dax just nodded, and retreated back to join the rest of Murphy's squad, who were milling around patiently in the background.

"We'll head for the crash site and cause some carnage," the skull-faced captain concluded. "What about you, Murphy?"

"We'll shadow Charlie up the canyon," he replied. "Snipers, shooters – we'll clear a path for them, meet you at the crash site same time they do."

"Understood. Make it fast, we won't distract 'em forever."


	371. Operation Tourniquet Part 2

_**Northern Ice Shelf, Terra Nova**_

_**Day 1, 1145**_

"Charlie, what's your status?" Murphy called.

"We're back with Clay's team, moving as a whole," Adam replied. "Marking my suit with an IR beacon, can you see it?"

"Got you on my HUD. We're drawing level with you, on the cliffs to the left. Any opposition in your way?"

"Just a few outliers, stragglers. Nothing we can't handle."

"Alright. We'll move ahead, check for resistance further up."

"Understood."

The radio crackled into silence, and Murphy turned to his team now, yelling:

"Double time it, people!"

Wading through the snow was hard going at speed, with each step sending a wad of snow flying up from their boots. According to the radar, however, they were still going faster than Adam's resistance troop. His team didn't have to lug a sled along, Murphy supposed, nor the heavy payload upon it…

They ran for about five minutes more, before a thought occurred to the captain, and he called over the radio:

"Charlie, come in, this is Alpha."

"What do you need, Alpha?"

"Check your radar – how far is it to the mouth of the canyon?"

"Err…" – there was a pause, a moment of silence – "about two klicks. Two and a half tops."

"Dax!" Murphy continued.

"Yeah?" the krogan shouted in reply – he was trailing at the back of the company, heavy frame struggling through the snow, not helped by the arsenal weighing him down.

"You're the resident gun nut – what's the effective range on a Krysae?"

"About a klick, long as you can see straight," Dax grunted. "Scope's got a computer assist, just set it and fire."

"Right… we close the gap, keep on running. Once we're a klick, half a klick from the canyon mouth, we hunker down – Sam and I provide sniper cover, the rest of you get a breather. We move again once the bomb's safely through to the crash site."

"So, all we've got to do is cover another two klicks?" Vimes scowled. "_Great…_"

That was the limit of his complaints, however, and the squad kept running doggedly onwards for another twenty minutes at least. Then, they were interrupted by another burble from the radio.

"Hold onto your teeth!" Black was calling to his men - someone had hit their helmet's transmitter by mistake. A moment later, all was explained, as-

_Boom._

The explosion was deafening, yet somewhat muffled, as if coming from underwater. A moment later, there was a rumble like thunder, and the ground beneath their feet _shook _violently. Liselle went sliding down onto one knee - Dax scooped her up by the scruff of her neck and set her running again - and Murphy himself lost his balance for a moment, but stayed upright.

Before he could chime in and ask Black just what the _hell _he was doing - although he already had his suspicions - a dark chuckle filled the airwaves…

"Murphy, tell your krogan he's a goddamn genius!"

"I take it the charges worked?" Murphy replied. Dax just grinned broadly, at his side.

"Buried a couple dozen of the _fuckers!_" Black roared, happily.

"What about the rappel lines?" the captain asked, pulling the conversation back to business. As he did, he checked his radar - half a klick to the little marker on his HUD. Vimes put on a burst of speed and went tearing off up ahead, towards the cliffs.

"Primary and secondary lines are set up. We'll plant the backup once we've used the rest of these charges…"

"Any sign of AA installations?"

"Negative."

"Great. So we could've just flown up here?" Vor grumbled.

"Oh, stop moaning," Dax chuckled. "Enjoy the fresh air!"

The batarian muttered something under his breath about how fresh air was _overrated_, and Murphy turned his attention back to the radio:

"Get a message to the fleet, tell them the zone's clear for evac birds. Then get back to blowing shit up."

"Now _that_ I can do," Black laughed. "Bravo out."

Murphy set his eyes back to the white flats ahead… and realised they weren't quite so flat any more. His HUD marker was dancing a hundred metres or so ahead, and beyond it, the ground dropped away into nothingness over the cliff edge.

"Coming up on the cliffs!" Vimes called - he was already coming to a halt on the cliff edge, right below the little marker on Murphy's visor.

"What do you see?" the captain yelled back, dropping into a jog for the last fifty metres or so.

"Shitload of snow…" the other sniper replied. "Resistance is moving up on the right. I see Reaper stragglers below us, no visual to the left."

"Blocked?" Murphy frowned - as he spoke, he and Dax were drawing up level with Vimes, the rest of the squad clustering behind them.

Sam nodded.

"Ridge jutting out to the left. We could scramble up onto it."

"Field of view?"

"One-eighty. Slight blind spot right under your nose if you're lying on the lip of the ridge."

"Protection?"

"Angle of fire's pretty steep, and the rock slopes up. Dig into the snow for camouflage."

Dax was looking between the two of them, and Murphy imagined there was a bemused expression beneath his helmet, but the two snipers kept up their babble nonetheless. They knew _precisely _what they were talking about.

"Charlie, we're in position," Murphy called out. "How's it looking on your end?"

"Still pushing up," Adam replied, over a couple of gunshots in the background, "but opposition's getting tougher the further up the valley we get!"

"We'll soften them up a bit," the captain nodded. "Keep your heads down, and make sure your IFFs are working. Don't want to hit any of you by mistake."

"Will do, captain. You soften them, we'll punch through. The boys are ready for a fight."

"Then I guess they'll get one. Alpha out."

The radio crackled into silence, and Murphy turned to his squad, pulling the hefty Krysae down from his shoulder as he did.

"Snipers are the only weapons effective at this range," he muttered. "So I guess that breather'll have to wait. Me and Sam'll dig in on the ridge and give Charlie their covering fire. The rest of you, head for the nearest of Black's rappel lines. Descend, and hit 'em in the flank. We'll meet you down there once the resistance is through."

"Understood, captain," Saffiya nodded. The rest of the team gave vague nods or murmurs of assent, and clutched their weapons a bit more tightly.

"Dax, you're in charge," Murphy continued. "Keep everyone moving, and keep everyone _alive_."

"Got it," the krogan grunted. "See you on the far side, Murphy."

With that, he turned off on his heel, Striker in hand, and began to lumber off through the snow. Lisk followed eagerly, and Saffiya dutifully - Liselle and Vor followed somewhat reluctantly, but went nonetheless. That just left Murphy, and Vimes.

"Dig in," the captain muttered. "Charlie's going to pass through soon."

"Guardian angel shit, right?" his C-Sec colleague grinned, beneath his visor.

"Yeah, something like that…"


	372. Operation Tourniquet Part 3

_**Northern Ice Shelf, Terra Nova**_

_**Day 1, 1215**_

"Elevation three-sixty-seven. Wind speed eleven knots, prevailing north-north-west. Gravity point-nine-five."

"Right… what's all that in turian?"

"Switch your translator on."

"Oh, right."

"Bloody amateur…"

"Hey, we ain't all jarheads, boss."

Vimes shot him a sideways smirk, then went back to peering down his scope, flicking away at the controls on its side. Murphy had already set his own to the current conditions, and was peering down into the canyon below.

"Got a few stragglers at twelve o'clock, big force massing between nine and ten," he observed, tensely.

"Resistance can mop up the stragglers. We should break up the big mob."

"Agreed. How many rounds have we got?"

"Twenty clips, three rounds per clip… sixty rounds."

"Twenty clips?" Murphy frowned.

"I packed for a shitstorm," his companion shrugged.

"Good thing too… now, these are explosive rounds. Aim for large groups, or armoured targets. Don't waste your shots on individuals unless they're about to kill one of Charlie's boys, and for God's sake, don't fire near anything that's flashing on your HUD - those are Charlie's IFFs."

"I _know_. I've done this before, boss."

"Alright, alright... you take the near side of the valley, I'll take the far. That way we won't waste shots going for the same target. Speaking of which… call your first shot."

"Two Marauders, ambush position on nine o'clock," Sam muttered. "Reckon I can wipe their shields in one, blow 'em to hell in two."

"Right. Three Cannibals and a husk, patrolling far side. Aiming for three out of four. On my mark?"

His companion nodded.

"Alright then… mark."

_Thunk. Thunk. _Two blue rounds went whistling down into the canyon with a distinct lack of ceremony. As they sailed down, Murphy noted the bright blue trails billowing behind, marking their position rather conveniently for the Reapers below. They were well entrenched, however, half-buried on their bellies in the snow and covered behind the rocky outcrop of the ridge. Murphy felt quite safe as he watched his own round arc down, flicker between two of the Cannibals, and-

_Bang. _The proximity fuse in the round went off with a blue flash, and silver-grey cybernetic blood spurted out in all directions. Off to the left, there was another _bang_ - Murphy didn't see it, eye fixed along his scope, but he assumed Vimes had found his target. Another _thunk _from his second shot, and another _bang_, and…

"Two down," Sam chuckled. "Told ya. What about you?"

"Four out of four."

"I'll be damned…"

"Charlie, this is Murphy," the captain called, as the first volley of return fire rattled up over the cliff edge. "Shots fired, ten o'clock high from your position."

"We saw," Adam replied. "You stirred up a bloody hornet's nest, captain. We're making our push for the valley mouth."

Sure enough, as Murphy swept his sight across to the right, at least two dozen white-armoured forms were sprinting into few, rifles swinging up to join the fight, strobe lights blinking viciously over each one of them to warn him off pulling the trigger. Instead, he shifted to the left, found a couple of Cannibals rushing up to meet the resistance, and:

_Thunk. Bang. _They were hurled away by a satisfying flash of blue.

_Thunk. Bang. _A husk was _tossed _into view of his scope as Sam laid into another patrol, tossing its members far and wide.

"Reloading," the C-Sec officer muttered. Murphy gave a slight nod, but kept his gaze firmly fixed down the scope, located a pair of husks dashing in to meet the front row of Charlie's convoy…

_Thunk. Bang. _He didn't compensate quite enough for the speed at which the husks moved, but he managed to at least take down the rearmost of the pair, and one of Adam's men mowed the other down with a burst of rifle fire.

"Reloading," he echoed, pulling his head back from the scope for the first time. As he did, he became aware - also for the first time - of the Reaper's rounds _ping_ing off the rocks all around him. He ignored them, reached down to his side, and found one of the ten clips stashed there, popping out the spent mag with his other hand as he did, and balancing the Krysae precariously on the edge of the cliff, the stock pinned beneath his chin. He slid the new round in, heard the satisfying _click_, and began to search for targets once again.

_Thunk. Bang. _A trio of husks went flying into the air, missing limbs.

_Thunk. Bang_. Two Cannibals and a Marauder went down in a blue haze.

_Thunk. Bang. _Another squad of Cannibals was torn into, and Charlie mopped up what remained as they passed - Murphy saw Adam gun one down personally, as his men began to clash with the full strength of the horde at the valley mouth.

"Watch your fire," he cautioned, reaching for another fresh clip. "Angle's getting steep, friendlies are between us and the Reapers. Fire over their heads."

"Well I wasn't firing _through _'em," Vimes pointed out, dryly. He sent another azure-blue round whistling into the fray, then swore under his breath, and called: "Brute, incoming."

"Focus fire, stop it dead."

His companion nodded. Peering down his sight once again, Murphy quickly spotted the hulking figure lurching around the corner of the bottleneck. He adjusted a little for the monster's stumbling gait, assumed Vimes was doing the same, and then _hammered _the trigger.

_Thunk, thunk, thunk. _Three rounds in quick succession, followed by the _thunk _of the last round in Vimes' clip. The air was thick with blue trails, and Murphy watched them all the way down:

_Bang bang bang bang. _The Brute lurched and stumbled back, burned and shredded by the sudden barrage. With a baleful groan that drifted to his ears over Charlie's radio, it reared up, swung back, and then pitched forwards, taking a wild swing with its claw arm that only succeeded in mauling the snow.

New clip, then new targets. The whole process was becoming mechanical now, and Murphy found himself settling into it. This was like being a proper sniper again… He mowed down half a dozen Reapers between his first two shots, then sent a third whistling at a commanding Marauder-

And watched it explode in the snow several feet away, pitifully wide of the target.

"Shit," he swore. "Wind change. New speed twelve knots, prevailing north."

"Affirmative."

There was a brief pause as they adjusted, and then back into it. Another clip - number five now - went in like clockwork, and brought down ten or so of the swarming Reaper infantry. They were _hurling _themselves at the resistance in packs, or scrambling for the same few ambush points along the valley sides, where fallen scree and calving ice left little disturbances, ridges, boulders. All Murphy and Vimes had to do was aim for one of the choke points, and watch the body count rise…

"How many mags left?" Sam muttered.

"Five," Murphy replied, sliding a fresh one into his rifle as he spoke. "You?"

"Same."

"Charlie, down to half ammo," the captain reported, instinctively. "Tell me we're at least making a dent."

"And some!" Adam shouted - through his scope, Murphy saw the resistance leader duck away from a burst of fire from a squad of Cannibals. Before the captain could target them, however, Adam had already mown them down with his fire. "Hundred metres to the mouth of the valley, no casualties, going strong- shit!"

"Resistance man's down," Vimes observed, answering Murphy's unspoken question. He paused, there was another _thunk_, and… "Got the bastard who did him in."

"Keep pushing, Charlie!" Murphy urged. "The rest of my team'll meet you on the other side!"

"Aye aye!" the other man roared - then, he was cut off by another savage burst of fire. It was odd, observing from high rather than being in the thick of the fight. There was an odd sense of disconnection…

_Thunk. Bang. _He hit a squad of Marauders, killing one and sending the others stumbling away, to be mown down by the resistance. A quick glance back to the centre of the gulch showed him the bomb sled, making steady progress even as the resistance men swarmed around it, taking heavy fire and giving as good as they got.

_Ping! _Murphy grunted, as an unwelcome distraction in the form of a Phaeston round ricocheted off the cliff edge and clipped his helmet. Another Marauder had taken a pot shot, raking the cliffs with full-auto fire.

_Thunk. Bang. _The shot came, not from Murphy's rifle, but from Sam's, and he knew without asking that the offending shooter had been put down for good.

"Ravagers!" Vimes called, as Murphy crawled back to the edge, ignoring the thin crack in the top right corner of his visor. Sure enough, as he set his scope to the canyon floor, two insect-like figures were scuttling into view.

"Draw them off!" the captain yelled. "Adam, you'd better be _damn _close to the exit, we've got rachni closing in!"

"Twenty metres!" the resistance man replied - sure enough, Murphy could see the first few fighters passing through the mouth of the valley, and the package wasn't far behind. One of the Ravagers was sweeping the clifftops in search of the snipers, but the other was turning to fire on the sled - Murphy fixed that one beneath his crosshairs, and:

_Thunk. Bang. _With a bright blue flash, his shot tore a _chunk _out of the Ravager's fleshy underbelly, causing it to buck away and lose its aim on the convoy.

_Thunk, thunk. Bang bang! _The captain watched with no small amount of satisfaction as the creature crumpled and died beneath two more rounds. His shots, however, had given away their location to the other one, and half a dozen red-rimmed shots came hurtling up from the valley floor. Sam was still reloading, and it was mere consolation to see Clay _lunge _at the Ravager on the other end of his scope, going for its head with a bayonet as he passed, sprinting desperately for the canyon mouth with the rest of the resistance.

"Get back!" Murphy roared, snatching up two of the four clips buried at his side and _exploding _out of the snow. A couple of shots instantly _ping_ed off his shields, but he was more concerned with escaping the Ravager's barrage. Sam too had reared to his feet, abandoning his efforts to reload, and the two of them lumbered desperately back through the snow for a moment, before-

_Boom!_ All the air was sucked out from beneath them, and Murphy felt a wave of pressure slam into his back - mired in the snow, he didn't go flying upwards, he just sort of… _tumbled_ face-down into the powder white, nose and temple smashing painfully against the inside of his helmet as it in turn hit the rocky ground buried deceptively under the snow.

Well aware that at this angle he was safe, Murphy kept himself pressed to the ground for a moment, making sure there wasn't another volley racing up to follow the first. It was only after ten seconds or so that he realised the ground was _still _shaking.

That wasn't right.

He flipped over onto his back - the cliff edge where the two of them had been sniping had collapsed away, but all around him, the snow was _leaping _and dancing into the air. Quite suddenly, a dull rumble sounded out from somewhere off to the left, and it clicked. Rolling onto his side, he grabbed his rifle, and set his scope on the mouth of the canyon - more specifically, on the clifftops to either side. Sure enough, black-armoured figures were arrayed all over them, pouring rifle fire down into the valley…

"Not that I don't appreciate the save…" he groaned, "but you could've given us some warning."

"Now where's the fun in that?" Black replied, a hint of amusement in his voice.

"I thought I told you to go lay that rappel line?"

"And I thought you'd have realised by now, you don't outrank me. We set the line, then came back to stop you jessies fuckin' this up."

"I'd take offence, but given the circumstances… ah, shit my head hurts. I'm assuming you collapsed the canyon mouth?"

"Used our last charge," Black confirmed. "Charlie's through, Reapers are cut off. Might need another exit route, though, this one's a bit… blocked."

"We'll call in the shuttles," Murphy sighed. "But first, we need to finish this thing. Hold your team there, we'll move down with you. I'll send the rest of my squad ahead to catch Charlie up."

"Aye aye."

"And Black? Thanks for the assist..."

"Any time… you big girl."


	373. Operation Tourniquet Part 4

_**Northern Ice Shelf, Terra Nova**_

_**Day 1, 1225**_

"Dax, this is Murphy. Charlie's through the canyon, heading for that Reaper. I need you to take the rest of Alpha down and make rendezvous as quick as you can."

"What about you and Vimes?"

"We're tagging along with Black's unit. We'll be a few minutes off your tail, tops."

"Alright, we'll get moving…"

Murphy nodded, the comms panel closed, and his krogan colleague was left to glance around for a moment or two. He and his four squadmates were stood at the very edge of the cliffs, clustered around a small setup Black's men had rigged on their way through - a long steel cable, anchored into the stone and trailing all the way to the bottom of the cliff, along with a dozen or so 'descenders', little metal instruments that looked _impossibly _small to the krogan.

"We need to get moving," he grunted. "Anyone know how these things work?"

Blank faces. Silence. _Great…_

And then:

"Ratchet. Fix to armour, then rope. Squeeze to stop, release to go."

As one, the other four commandoes turned to gawp at Lisk.

"How in the _Void_ d'you know that?" Dax scowled.

"Simple," the vorcha shrugged, plucking one of the descenders out of the snow with talon-like fingers. "Used in Blood Pack."

"Right… well, you heard the vorcha. We go down in pairs - asari, you go down first. You're the lightest, and you got barriers to defend the bottom. Lisk, you take the batarian down after that. I'll go last. I'm not _entirely _sure that thing'll hold my weight, and I don't want to test it till you're all down."

They nodded, or murmured in assent, and each took one of the descenders Black's squad had left. There was a little loop of steel cable on the end of each one, and they quickly set about attaching that loop to their hardsuits, all the while keeping the implement itself in arm's reach. Liselle and Saffiya stepped up to the edge, knelt down to hook themselves onto the cable, and then looked back, rather nervously.

Dax nodded, and with that, Liselle swung herself over the edge. There was a clatter of armour against the rocks, and then a whine of friction, interspersed with little _click_s.

"It's holding!" she called up, "Come on down!"

Saffiya glanced back at the others, sighed audibly beneath her visor, and then slipped off the cliff herself, out of sight.

Dax marched over to the precipice himself, peering over just long enough to track their progress before stepping back on account of his swaying vision, and the realisation that his sense of balance, perpetually stuck balancing a _tonne _of krogan muscle, probably wasn't best suited to standing on the edge of a giant cliff.

"We're down," Saffiya murmured over the radio, after a few minutes had passed. "No enemies as of yet, but I hear them closing in."

"Got it," the krogan muttered in reply - somewhere off in the distance, he could hear the dull _crack _of gunshots, and assumed Charlie had run into another fight. "You two, get your arses down there."

Lisk bounded up rather too enthusiastically, fixed himself to the line, and then _leapt _over the cliffside, into a free-fall. There was a moan of friction from the cable, far longer than any of the others, and then the slightest of _thunk_s as he swung back into the rock face.

"For the record," Vor grumbled, stepping up himself with his back to the edge, "this is one of the stupidest things we've ever done."

"At least we gave you the cable," Dax shrugged.

The batarian snarked - even beneath his helmet, you could just _tell _- and then knelt, before dragging himself reluctantly into the open air. A grind, a _click_, a thud, and Dax was left alone on the top of the cliffs, privately shitting himself. He knew damn well Black's team was using Alliance gear, and that would hardly have been tested for krogan, would it? No humans weighed a tonne in armour.

He advanced, and peered over the edge once again, stomach turning a little with vertigo. Well, it'd be a _spectacular_ way to go, at least…

"We're down," Vor reported, finally.

"Hostiles?"

"Couple of husks. Killed 'em already. Get down here before the rest show up."

Dax nodded, closed the connection, and lumbered over to the cable himself. Just getting down on one knee was a tricky feat in full armour, but he managed it, and a moment later succeeded in anchoring his waist to the line. Then, with the air of a doomed man, he went to the edge… and dropped.

His gauntleted hand closed vice-like over the ratchet the moment he hit open air, but given his weight, it still took a few seconds for the little metal device to overcome formidable gravity. Eventually, however, he ground to a halt, and shifted slightly - he planted his boots against the rock face, clutched the ratchet at his waist in his right hand, and gripped the line tightly with his left. Rope burn be damned, he wanted to have a hand on the thing if the little human contraption around his midriff snapped…

With a heave of mental effort - falling like this was _not _natural - he released his grip on the descender again, and lurched off at the whim of gravity. He dropped who knows how far before survival instinct kicked in again - he clenched his hand, the line tautened, and he slammed feet-first against the cliff, planting his boots into a nook and a cranny.

Another drop, another _hiss _from the cable - looking up, he realised for the first time that sparkswere bouncing out from between the steel line and his steel gauntlets - and he dropped again. A quick glance down showed the floor racing up. His momentum was building too fast again, and he tightened his grip. This time, the cable jerked, and he smashed sideways into the rocks. He wasn't too proud to admit it _hurt_. The ground couldn't be more than fifty metres away now, though. One last drop…

_Boom!_ The cliff face exploded to his right, and a bright orange flash sent him swinging off like a pendulum, as shards of rocks and wisps of plasma stung his visor.

"What the-?!" he spluttered, clattering hard against the cliff as he swung back. He took his left hand off the cable and grasped out for any jut of rock to steady himself with, as a din of gunfire rose from below.

"Ravager!" Vor explained, shortly.

"I _fucking _guessed that! Kill it already!" Dax bellowed.

"I plan to!" the batarian bellowed back. "Now get down here, krogan!"

_Getting down there_, however, wasn't quite as simple as all that. The cable - not to mention the krogan - was still swaying and snaking dangerously below, and he was pretty sure it was meant to be in a straight line before you dropped…

A couple of shots ricocheting off the stone face just inches from his head, however, prompted him to throw away some of the caution. Reaching over his shoulder with his free hand, he unhitched his Typhoon and _hurled _it to the ground below. The weapon was sturdy enough to take the fall, and if he landed on his back still carrying it, it was bye-bye spinal cord. Best to be safe, and he'd never expected to use _those _words_._

Finally, he released the ratchet… and immediately regretted it. Another round from the Ravager below exploded against the cliff, the line twisted violently, and the krogan found himself twisting with it, jerked to one side. His big hand ripped away from the tiny descender as he flipped face down - entirely involuntarily - and saw the white ground rushing up to meet him.

Resignedly, he decided there was nothing much he could do about it now, and counted down the distance. Thirty metres. Twenty metres. Ten metres-

_Whump._ He hit the snow in the same way his machinegun had - sinking two feet in with a little flurry and leaving a cartoonish imprint of a krogan in the powder-white around him.

_Ow_.

"Krogan, are you alright?" a nervous voice asked. Liselle, words drifting over a harsh _thrum _from the defensive barrier she was casting between herself and the Reapers.

"Fine," he mumbled. Anything other than _dead _was better than expected, to be honest. Then, he rolled over, hurling another flurry of snow into the air and automatically reaching out an arm to find his gun, as he corrected: "Angry. Get out of my way, asari…"


	374. Operation Tourniquet Part 5

_**Northern Ice Shelf, Terra Nova**_

_**Day 1, 1240**_

"Keep moving!" Black roared. "Head for the ugly bastard!"

Said _ugly bastard _was looming rather tall now, as Bravo and their two passengers thundered over the ice. Black's men were moving fast, Murphy had to give them that. He and Vimes were struggling to keep up, but luckily, it wasn't out of the ordinary for snipers to be hanging back a little, so apart from the occasional admonition by Black himself, they were allowed to drop back, just about keeping pace.

The Reaper factory ship had been in view from the moment they hit the cliffs, and it had made a disconcerting backdrop as they rappelled down the line closest to the valley, the backup. Now, it was growing larger and more ominous with every passing minute, and for the first time, Murphy got a proper look at the thing. It was nowhere near the size of the titanic capital ships, but it was a good deal bigger than the destroyers that had fought from the ground before. The ship's front quarter was buried deep in the ground, obscuring its nose, but the length of its hull was left curving up out of the snow. On closer inspection, there was a hefty crack in the processor's midriff, where the tail end had sheared away from the mid-section, twisting slightly and producing an open wound in the ship's steel side. The ground fell away into a small crater around the breach, and sounds of battle were drifting up from within…

About a minute later, Black hit the crater's edge at the head of his squad, and with a vague yell of "Contact!", he brought his rifle to bear. The other marines went pouring in after him, and the sounds of fighting rose to a crescendo, shots blaring off in every direction.

As he and Vimes crested the ridge themselves, the captain let out a low whistle. There was a small _horde _of Reaper infantry swarming in the crater. That, at least, explained why they hadn't encountered any hostiles on the way. The Reapers had pulled every remaining soldier they had back to protect the hive. Metaphorically. It wasn't Black's squad that had drawn the horde, either. It was the small cluster of more familiar figures, gunning from the middle of the breach itself. Murphy counted Liselle and Saffiya, casting barriers across the gap, Vor and Lisk gunning away from behind their shoulders, two white-armoured figures laying down waves of rifle fire… but no Dax.

Then, a Ravager off to the left twisted around, and he saw the krogan, hidden behind it a moment prior, explode into view. Dax wasn't bothering with weapons - his Typhoon rifle was at his feet, as he took a fist to the rachni creature's gut. It burst with a dull _squelch_, releasing a spurt of caustic green acid - there was another as the krogan's gauntlet smashed into a sac on the creature's neck a moment later. Then, with a display of strength that was impressive even for a krogan, he grabbed hold of the creature's cannons, picked it up over his head, and slammed it into the ground, before going for his machinegun and putting a dozen rounds into the crippled monster.

Dax whirled around, and Murphy noticed for the first time that he wasn't wearing a helmet - it had been discarded at the feet of the rest of the squad, leaving the krogan to charge in alone, utterly ignoring the lines of _frost _that were forming over his brow. His bright yellow eyes were… dull, somehow. Ah, shit. As the krogan sent a burst of machinegun fire into the thick of the fighting - causing one of Black's men to duck away with shields crackling - the whole thing _clicked_.

"_Blood rage?_" Sam muttered, between two Krysae shots that went sailing into the enemy's back ranks. "He's got a sense of bloody timing, hasn't he?"

"Leave him to me," Murphy grunted - ignoring the disapproving look on Vimes' face, he hopped over the edge of the crater, went slipping and sliding down through the snow, and finally found his footing, before breaking into a run.

He had to duck low as Dax sent a burst skidding past his head - mowing down two Cannibals on the right as he did - but kept moving, blasting off a couple of rounds at a nearby Marauder before setting his sights back on the krogan. Already, the Reaper mob was beginning to thin, as Black's squad crushed them against his own team's barrier in a ruthless pincer. Dax, however, was still fighting relentlessly - at that very moment, he _crushed _a husk's skull with a rough swing of his machinegun, then mowed down another two with a torrent of fire. He had his back to Murphy, which suited the captain just fine. With the krogan still unawares, he pulled up his rifle and fired the last shot in the clip.

_Thunk_. He ditched the now-empty rifle in the snow - no time to reload - and went for his omni-tool, loading a shock program.

_Boom! _Dax staggered back dazedly, and as he wheeled around, Murphy lashed out with no small amount of precision, nailing the krogan's gauntlets with a _jolt _of electricity from his wrist. His raging squadmate dropped the gun, stumbled back, and as he regained his balance, Murphy sprinted at him, leapt for all his might, then-

_Wham! _He cracked a vicious right hook across the soft, leathery bit of Dax's face, just under his right eye - which, Murphy noted in mid-air, was bloodshot and cloudy, not its usual piercing yellow. The krogan staggered away, and the captain tumbled earthwards, landing on all fours in the snow.

A moment later, a hefty boot caught him in the ribs, knocking him sideways into the snow. It was somewhat ironic, tussling with his own crewmate while the others were tangling with the Reapers - and winning, judging by the bodies piling up. He put that irony to the back of his mind, however, as the krogan lurched back onto his feet and charged in.

Dax, instinctively attacking the thing that had attacked _him_, hit Murphy like a freight train. There was a loud _crunch_, of flare of pain in his chest, and he was bowled backwards by his friend's momentum. Nonetheless, he kept lashing out - he punched his fist into Dax's other eye, and stamped a boot into the weak joint between waist and hip. He knew the krogan wouldn't feel a damn thing, but he wasn't aiming to _hurt _him. He was just trying to rattle him enough for his brain to take over again…

They thudded to the floor, and Murphy only saved himself from being crushed by planting a knee into Dax's chestplate. He swung another punch, wriggled to the side, escaped under Dax's arm and reared to his feet.

Only for a big, steel-gloved hand to come up and meet him, closing vice-like around his throat. The battle around them had subsided, and as Black's marines drove back the last few stragglers, Murphy could already see Saffiya and Vimes dashing towards them. Here and now, however, Dax was yanking him up off his feet, into the air. In a desperate effort, he planted his boot into the krogan's side, swung his weight back…

And launched forward, headbutting Dax right between the eyes. Almost instantly, the hand around his neck sprang open, and he tumbled to the floor, another flash of pain coursing through his chest and shoulders as he hit the ground. Dax had toppled onto one knee, head bowed low, and a moment later, he gave a low growl. Murphy half expected another attack, but then:

"Been a _long _time since I did that…"

The krogan was _grinning_.

"When we get back to the ship," Murphy panted, with a pained smile, "we are having a long, hard talk about your behaviour…"

"If you two are quite finished pissing about," Black interjected, stormy-faced as he swept back in from the edge of the crater, "we've got a job to do!"

"Right," the other captain nodded, hauling himself to his feet. "Sitrep, anyone?"

"We got here about ten minutes ago," Saffiya volunteered, still watching her krogan colleague nervously. "The Reapers were withdrawing everything they had to the ship's interior. Charlie drove a wedge between the two forces - those who hadn't made it inside were cut off. That was the horde we were fighting."

"If there's more of 'em inside," Black grunted, "why aren't they attacking on that side too."

"Charlie drove them back," Dax muttered. "The mad one took the bomb inside; rest of us kept back to hold the line."

"The mad one?" Murphy frowned, as they reached the breach itself, and met up with the rest of his squad.

"Clay," a familiar voice answered - to his surprise, he realised one of the white-armoured forms standing beside his squad was Zivas. The other one, judging by the tanned face beneath the visor, was his right-hand man Carlos. "He took the rest of our boys in with the bomb. I figured your team could do with a couple of extra shooters, so we stayed."

"Appreciate it. What's the bomb team's progress?"

Adam's eyes looked down, beneath the visor, and he sighed audibly.

"No contact."

"Which either means they're all dead," Black mused, harshly, "or they're being jammed."

"Which would mean there's active Reaper tech inside..." Murphy added.

"That bad?"

"_Very_. A processor's just a ship, no sentience, but Reaper tech? That's a bloody indoctrination risk…"

"Indoctrination takes time," Adam murmured. "Even around active tech, you're talking a few hours."

"Indoctrination, an army of Reapers, a big-ass bomb to find…" Dax chuckled drily, recovering his helmet and wedging it over his head. "Ready when you are."

Murphy, however, was exchanging a meaningful glance with Captain Black, and after a moment's fierce debate inside his mind:

"Call in the shuttles."

"What?" several voices chimed, Liselle and Vimes among them.

"You heard me," he sighed, as Black gave the tiniest nod of approval. "Call them in. You lot are going home."


	375. Operation Tourniquet Part 6

**A/N: So, I just realised I missed what should have been a big talking point. Galaxy at War's been going for a bloody year! The actual anniversary was on Chapter 361 (the one with the Dragon's Teeth), if I'm counting correctly, but it completely slipped my mind. I was more focused on 400, I must admit...**

**So, yeah. Happy belated anniversary. Let's get on with the rest of this awful charade of a marriage. Or something like that. Maybe I'm reading from the wrong speech.**

* * *

><p><em><strong>Northern Ice Shelf, Terra Nova<strong>_

_**Day 1, 1250**_

"You can't be serious!"

"We're coming with you!"

"This is our fight!"

The explosion of arguments was instantaneous, and universal. Dax was fuming, Saffiya was dismayed, Adam and Carlos were _furious_. Murphy, however, silenced them all with a yell:

"_Quiet!_"

The fierce bellow sent another pang through his chest, but it achieved the desired effect. A startled hush fell over the congregation…

"That's a goddamn _Reaper_," he scowled, pointing at the fallen hull behind them and ignoring the technicalities which said it _wasn't _really a Reaper.

"We know the risks," Saffiya interrupted, even-toned.

"No, you don't. None of us do. That's the _point_. I can't, in good conscience, ask you to go in there. In good conscience, I can't _let _you go in there. The lot of you are going back to the ship, and I'm finishing this myself."

_Cough_. All eyes turned to Black, as he smirked:

"Forgetting something, Murphy?"

"Let me guess - I don't outrank you? I can't _order _you home?"

"Actually, I was gonna say you wouldn't last two minutes without me there to save your ass, but sure, that works too. And you lot" - he rounded on his men - "are leaving too."

That drew another storm of protests, from the Logan's squad this time, but Black silenced them all with a glare.

"I need another gun," he growled to his lieutenant, tossing his apparently empty rifle into the snow. Reluctantly, the marine handed his shotgun to the captain, with a brief salute. Black just nodded back to him.

"Me too," Murphy nodded. "Dax?"

"No offence, boss, but I think this is a bit big for you," Dax muttered, hefting his Typhoon with a feeble attempt at humour.

"The Striker, smart-ass."

The krogan nodded, pulled the rifle from his shoulder, and tossed it to Murphy, who caught it one-handed and winced at another tug on his chest.

"And some medi-gel," he added, with a slight groan. Saffiya obliged, handing him a dose which he promptly applied with his omni-tool. In the background, he could hear Vimes radioing for the shuttles through gritted teeth.

"Our birds are on standby," Murphy said, talking to Black over the heads of his squad. "Shouldn't be more than sixty seconds from orbit to surface."

Sure enough, after a minute of _crushingly_ awkward silence, a dull roar began to fill the air, and two blue shapes came swooping down from on high. They took a loop around the Reaper's fallen form to break some of the speed of descent, then split apart and came to hover on opposite banks of the crater the teams currently occupied, shuttle doors sliding open to usher them in.

"Touchdown! Get in here before the jets freeze up!" Cat Arness called, over the comms.

"You heard her," the captain muttered, grimly. "Get moving, all of you."

Nobody budged, for a moment. Then, with _supreme _reluctance, the first of them took a step to leave. Dax clapped Murphy on the shoulder as he passed, and thumped his chest bellicosely. Vimes saluted, Saffiya bowed, Liselle went by with wide-eyed concern. Lisk, bearing the expression of a small child who'd just been told his favourite uncle wasn't coming round any more, pressed a pistol into Murphy's free hand, a worn-out old Carnifex. The captain took it gratefully, sliding it into his belt, and the vorcha shuffled off after the others.

"We're not going," a voice interjected. Adam, with Carlos at his side. "This is our planet, and our boys are inside. You can't make us leave."

"I think a certain quarian might disagree…" Murphy sighed. "Look, Zivas, Singh's going to need you in the next few weeks, or months. The whole damn planet's going to need you. Now get the hell on that shuttle before I _throw _you aboard."

Adam's eyes narrowed beneath his visor, but as he glanced to the man at his side, Carlos just nodded, sagely. Without another word, the two of them departed, clambering off up the crater side after Murphy's own men. On the other side, he could see Black's men sprinting up to the second shuttle, as the captain himself marched over towards Murphy. There was just one left…

"Captain," Vor nodded, briefly. To Murphy's surprise, he was fumbling in his belt, and finally spirited up a little rectangular box. He slid it open, and thumbed out a white cigarette end to protrude from the box, before offering it Murphy. Mid-way between them, however:

"Don't mind if I do."

Black chuckled sarcastically, plucked the cigarette out, and promptly pulled his helmet off with his free hand. Vor scowled at him, but lit it nonetheless, and the marine captain took a couple of grateful puffs, billowing smoke out into the cold like a chimney.

"Murphy?" the batarian muttered, offering a second.

"I'm good," the captain murmured, shaking his head. "Those things'll kill you."

Ah, the irony…

"Suit yourself," his squadmate shrugged. He slipped the packet away, nodded one last time to Murphy, and then departed.

That just left the two captains, who turned to stare up at the factory ship for a moment. Murphy's heart was pounding, but if Black was nervous, he didn't show it - he just took one last drag of the cigarette, flicked it into the snow, and pulled on his helmet.

"Time to go?" he grunted, as the shuttles lifted off behind them.

"Time to go," Murphy nodded, reaching for Dax's rifle.


	376. Operation Tourniquet Part 7

**A/N: So, this chapter actually rivals 200 for length. Not intentional, but with any luck it makes up for missing a few updates of late. Enjoy...**

* * *

><p><em><strong>Northern Ice Shelf, Terra Nova<strong>_

_**Day 1, 1305**_

"Charlie, do you read? Does anyone read?"

Nothing. Static.

"Jammed?" Black guessed, from up ahead.

Murphy nodded, with a growl of frustration.

"Makes sense," his companion scowled. "This is a slaughterhouse. If you were the Reapers, would you want a transmission getting out?"

"You wouldn't find a willing compliance or a surrender on the whole damn planet if people knew."

"Exactly. And I don't know about you, but I wouldn't want to _listen _to the kind of things that'd come outta here…"

Black paused, sweeping the corridor with the flashlight on his shotgun.

"Shit, more bodies. Resistance definitely came this way…"

"Friendlies or hostiles?" Murphy asked, squinting to try and follow the other captain's torchlight. There were a few vague forms piled up against the wall, but he couldn't make them out - in the darkness, his vision was growing more than a little hazy…

"Two Reapers, and one of ours. They really made a mess of him, poor bastard's missin' half his head…"

"We need to keep moving, catch them up."

"Right you are."

They shuffled off again, Black leading the way with his shotgun, Murphy following on behind, sweeping the corners with his borrowed pistol - it was far less cumbersome in the cramped corridors.

The two of them had been clambering through what remained of the factory ship's interior for a good few minutes now, mostly zigzagging through the maze of tunnels and corridors. They were horrible things, hewn of purplish steel and shaped to give an immense feeling of claustrophobia, but they served to provide the Reapers' husks with access to some far more horrible articles…

Murphy had lost count of the pods after a couple of minutes. They were stacked up side by side on every wall, in every alcove, row after row after row… Muddy-coloured glass almost obscured the contents, but not quite - splashes of silver-grey were still visible on the inside of each lid, and Murphy had a pretty good feeling where they had come from. They were just a bit too similar to the greyish splatter a husk left behind when you bled it. There were no husks, though, just wires and tubes, many of them snapped and sheared in the crash. As the two captains rounded the corner, one of those tubes was hanging down off the ceiling, having been torn away from the top of the nearest pod. More silver-grey was leaking out, forming a horrible puddle on the floor and sending a dull _splish, splash _echoing along the corridor with each new droplet.

"The hell is this stuff?" Black frowned, jabbing the puddle with his boot. It rippled, but with a hint of consistency, not _quite _fluid. Murphy, meanwhile, was scanning it, and he blanched slightly at the result.

"It's organic…" he murmured, confirming his own worst fears. "I think we just found what's left of the colonists."

"You're joking…" the other captain replied, looking distinctly ill beneath his visor.

"I really wish I was…"

Black drew his boot away rather quickly, and stepped around both pipe and puddle. Murphy followed suit, and they set off again in grim silence. The corridor went twisting onwards, narrow and labyrinthine - left, right, left again, all the while stepping over the Reaper troops Charlie had carved through on their way. Hauling the bulky warhead through the tight corridors couldn't have been an easy feat, and at least half a dozen of the resistance men had been left lying amidst their foes, shot down in the advance. Their loss, along with those killed in the canyon, and the absent Adam and Carlos… that left about a dozen men with the bomb, somewhere up ahead.

"Blood on the ground," Black observed, as they stepped into a somewhat larger chamber, a junction of sorts. "No body. Someone got shot…"

"I think _several _people got shot," Murphy pointed out, but he relented, as he added: "Follow it."

The other man nodded, and strode off through the doorway to the left, into another packed corridor. Murphy followed at his heel, pistol balanced in one hand. There were splatters of blood here and there, streaks carried through by the sole of a boot, and all around the trail, more Reaper bodies and spent ammunition. The corridor forked, and the blood went right - they followed for another minute, curved to the left as the path did the same, and then-

Black dropped to one knee, holding up a clenched fist with a hiss of warning. Up ahead, the corridor expanded into a dimly-chamber, and there were shapeless forms all over the floor…

A Marauder stepped into the doorway at the end of the corridor. It was the first living - well, _sort of _living - thing they'd seen thus far, and for a moment, Murphy expected it to wheel around and spot them. They were in plain sight in the middle of the corridor, after all. Instead, however, it wheeled around and gave a burble that must have been an order, because it waved its arm demonstratively, rifle hanging at its side. On the far side of the room, a Cannibal lumbered into sight, and descended ominously on one of the white forms at the base of the wall.

"We're blind…" Murphy muttered, biting his lip. "Could be a bloody legion around that corner."

"Yeah, well I don't see another way in there, do you?" Black retorted. "Let's just get it done with."

He nodded, engaged a cloaking program, and disappeared with a flicker.

That was enough for Black - as Murphy clambered upright, the other captain _exploded _onto his feet and set off at a run, shotgun in hand. He covered the distance to the end of the corridor in a matter of seconds, leapt at the Marauder's exposed back, and took a wild stab with his bayonet.

The turian creature dropped instantly, a single wet puncture mark visible where skull met neck. As it slumped to the floor, the air became thick with hisses and snarls. A husk dashed in from the right - Black levelled his shotgun at it in one hand, and squeezed the trigger. The greyish form _flew _backwards through the air and out of sight. As Black went to pull the pump-action on his gun, the still-invisible Murphy sprinted up, ducked under his arm, and swung his pistol towards the Cannibal on the far side of the room, which was looking up from its meal at the disturbance.

_Bang. _The Carnifex in his hand went off with surprising force - Lisk had added some mods, its seemed - and the Cannibal was hurled against the wall, falling limp next to the white-armoured soldier it had been feasting on a moment prior. Murphy flickered back into sight, and the world went mad.

_Click. Bang. Click. Bang. Click. Bang. _Black went striding off across the room, working the pump-action of his Katana with mechanical precision, and drowning the space in front of him with buckshot. Two Cannibals and another husk, previously hidden, went toppling to the floor.

As his colleague provided the distraction, Murphy had just a few moments to glance around the room. Large chamber, three doorways, a few of the familiar pods smashed to pieces by crossfire on the far wall. There was a steel bulk in the middle of the room that could only be their package, and the floor was littered with white-armoured bodies-

Any further examination of the room was cut short, as a husk barrelled into his side - it had come rushing in from the doorway to the left, avoiding the hail of shotgun fire that Black was directing to the right. Murphy knocked it down with a pistol whip, and put it down with a shot to the head.

_Crack crack. _A trio of Cannibals came lumbering in, and the frontrunner bounced a couple of rounds off Murphy's shields before the captain retaliated:

_Bang, bang. _Two rounds to the chest caused the creature to buck and writhe for a moment, before it fell dead.

_Bang. _The second one through the door took one to the head, and dropped. The last one fired at Murphy's chest, his shields failed with a glimmer…

_Bang. _He nailed the shooter's gun arm, tearing it apart, but as the Cannibal staggered back, and he went to fire the killing shot, his pistol merely gave a little _click_. Empty.

With a growl of frustration, he went for his omni-tool instead, hitting the creature square in the chest with an overload program - it toppled to the floor, limbs still twitching in death as electricity coursed through it for a few seconds more. Murphy slipped the empty pistol into his belt, reached for Dax's rifle-

_Crunch_.

He gave a little gasp of shock as a rifle round sliced through his visor, shattering it into glittering shards and punching into his brow. There was a trickle of warm blood, but judging by his continued _sight_, the shot had missed his eye, albeit barely.

His first instinct was to twist around, looking for the shooter, as his training kicked in. Entry from the right, impact to the left - diagonal path, from the other side of the room. Sure enough, a Marauder had come charging through the doorway, and as Black paused to reload, it had taken the chance to fire at Murphy. He returned the favour with no little satisfaction:

_Crack crack. Bang! _With a surprising kick, the krogan rifle sent two rounds hurtling at the Marauder - they exploded violently, and knocked the creature against the wall, where it slumped dead.

"Murphy, you alright?" Black growled over his shoulder, as his shotgun began to blare out again, a fresh clip finally loaded.

"Fine," he grunted, slamming the helmet release on the back of his neck and yanking the now-useless article away. He threw it to the floor, and swiped at his face with his off-hand, clearing away the worst of the glass shards embedded in it. Anger rising, he brought the rifle up again as a half dozen husks came charging through the door.

_Crack crack crack crack… _He drowned the doorway with what remained of his clip, and a torrent of explosions sent silver blood and chunks of cybernetic flesh hurtling in all directions. Only one husk made it out of the carnage, limping, and as it stumbled towards Murphy, he swung his rifle like a club, cracking its skull and knocking it to the floor dead.

Murphy had just enough time to slide in a fresh clip before the next assault. A cluster of Cannibals came roaring in, weapons blazing…

A quick trio of shots toppled the first two - dead or just wounded, he didn't know, but they were a mess either way. The next one let off a burst of fire, then dropped as Murphy tore its face in two with another explosive round. Yet another came through, and Murphy was forced to hurl himself into cover behind the bomb as it slung a grenade across the room. The blast rocked the room, collapsing his barely-recovered shields, and while he was ducking out of the way, it let rip with a chatter of gunfire.

"Argh! Shit…" a voice cried, from across the room. Murphy leant around the corner, sent two rounds at the last Cannibal, then glanced across before it even hit the floor. Black was still wielding his shotgun with one hand, but the other was quickly checking his flank, where two of the Reaper creature's rounds had punched through his armour.

"You alright?" Murphy called, as briefly as Black had a moment prior.

"Just _great_…" the other captain snarled, blasting a husk back through the doorway with a shotgun round and advancing, furiously.

_Crack crack_. Crisis over for the moment, Murphy rose from cover and fired two shots at the Marauder now scurrying through the doorway. The first blast tore away its shields, the second its chest, with impressive force. Murphy made a mental note to order a _crate _of Strikers if he made it back to the ship.

Then, suggesting to the contrary, an unearthly scream rent the air.

"Son of a- Banshee!" Black yelled, his shout punctuated by another burst of shotgun fire, and the _click _of a pump-action.

Murphy went to his belt for his last resort, one of the three little sticky grenades he kept for sabotage duty. He slung it at the far doorpost, and it exploded with a rather understated _bang_. Judging by the screams, and the sound of collapsing metal, it had caved in the doorway, temporarily at least, and taken down a couple of advancing hostiles.

The captain saw none of that, however. He had wheeled around to face the opposite doorway, and froze for just a moment as he saw the lithe form ducking through the low arch. Skeletal talons gripped the doorframe, and the Banshee twisted through it, screaming all the while.

_Crack crack crack… _Murphy emptied what was left of his clip in a desperate effort, but the explosions did little more than stagger the monster. Against its barriers, explosive rounds were somewhat mitigated… Black's shotgun had more effect, tearing bloody streaks into the Banshee's flank, and as Black advanced with another round, Murphy had time to toss his rifle to the floor, yank out his own Predator pistol - Lisk's Carnifex was still empty - and stride forward across the room. As he did, he spotted a husk rushing in at the Banshee's heel, and felled it with a quick _crack_, a single shot to the head.

Black, meanwhile, had just one round left - he put it into the Banshee's cut, crippling the creature's barriers, and then dashed in, headstrong as ever, pulling his shotgun up like a javelin before _driving _it down into the Banshee's leg.

The monster stumbled back and dropped onto one knee, Black's shotgun still buried deep by the bayonet. The captain advanced, going for his combat knife-

And before he could do a damn thing with it, a biotic-blazing hand swept up and hurled him into the wall with a _crunch_. That spurred Murphy into action. He dashed forwards, but even as he did, the Banshee was readying another flare of biotics - Black tried to stumble to his feet, only to find a blue fireball racing towards him, slamming him across the floor.

Before the monster could strike a third time, however, Murphy had reached it - in desperation, he hurled himself at its side, clattering into the creature's shoulders and toppling it sideways. A clawed hand swiped at him, but he ducked it, shifted his weight, and found himself staring the one-time asari dead in the eye.

On instinct alone, he pressed his pistol to the Banshee's throat, and _hammered _the trigger.

_Crack crack crack crack crack crack… _he put more than a dozen rounds through the monster's neck before the pistol _click_ed empty, and the Banshee's neck _crack_ed back, head lolling, eyes blank.

Huh. The others had always made killing those things sound more difficult.

"You alright?" he asked, not looking round.

"Argh… fine," Black muttered, but he didn't sound convincing at all. Murphy wheeled around, and his stomach lurched slightly. The captain had torn his helmet off, and was slumped bloody against the wall. "Any more of the bastards comin'?"

Murphy glanced round, and shook his head. The doorway on the far side was still caved in, the near one was empty - the Banshee, it seemed, had been a last resort. They were clear for the time being.

"Those shots look deep," he observed, lifting himself off the Banshee as it began to crumble to ash. In the heat of battle, he hadn't noticed just how much blood was pouring out of his companion's side.

"I'll be… argh… fine. Get the package."

The captain nodded, and crossed over to the middle of the room. Quite suddenly, he noticed his head was _splitting_. He felt sick to his stomach, and he wasn't sure that was to do with the bodies alone. Speaking of bodies, he let out a low sigh as he reached the bomb, and for the first time noticed the figure draped over it.

Clay was on his back, arms out wide, helmet discarded, shotgun still on the floor by his foot. A trickle of blood had dried as it ran from the side of his mouth, and his torso was a crimson mess. It had taken a dozen shots or more to bring him down, by the looks of it, and he'd died quite literally on top of the bomb, guarding it to the last. Tough bastard.

"The code's… Bengal," the other captain muttered, voice increasingly raspy. That couldn't be good.

"Course it is," Murphy replied, acting as if nothing was wrong for the sake of spirit alone. "Typical Singh."

B-E-N-G-A-L. The captain tapped at the keypad on the bomb's side, and it bleeped willingly.

"Timer, right?" Black rumbled, wearily.

"Yeah."

"Set it for ten. No, twelve. I can hold 'em that long."

"The hell are you talking about? You're coming with me, you daft bastard."

"Yeah. _Right_."

Murphy punched in '12:00', but his finger hesitated over the red button. He glanced up at Black…

And sighed. The captain was very still - too still, he knew, from experience. He had recovered his shotgun, and was clutching it in earnest, but however tight his grip was, his eyes were faded, and his head was leant restfully back against the wall. The room was eerily silent, save for the steady breathing of the only living thing left in it…

Murphy jabbed the button. '11:59'.

Time to go.


	377. Operation Tourniquet Part 8

**A/N: So, I may have gone a bit mental. I'm currently writing Chapter 390, which makes twelve chapters and counting written today. That should keep me buffered for a fortnight or so, no matter how bad the workload gets, so that's good. Anyway... enjoy!**

* * *

><p><em><strong>Northern Ice Shelf, Terra Nova<strong>_

_**Day 1, 1315**_

It was probably a bad idea to set the bomb _before _gearing up, Murphy decided. Rather conscious of the timer ticking away behind him, and the horrible growls rising in the corridors, he grabbed everything of use from the room and jammed it onto his belt or his back. He took Black's spare thermal clips, his last incendiary grenade, and his discarded helmet to replace Murphy's own shattered one, but left the captain's shotgun, out of respect - not to mention the fact that he couldn't really use a shotgun himself. He grabbed a combat knife from one of the dead resistance men, and a Mantis rifle from another - the explosive Krysae would be a hazard running down corridors, so he left it behind.

He glanced at the console. '11:05'. _Shit_. He decided to load on the move, and set off at a sprint even as he crammed fresh clips into his Predator, then his Striker, then finally his Carnifex.

The factory ship's interior became a labyrinth at speed, especially with the hisses and the screeches and the thudding of boots that gave away the horde now hunting him, as if intent on dragging him back to die with them. He wound left, then right, then _up _- he was pretty sure the path had never been vertical on the way in - and off along another identical corridor. More pods, more claustrophobic tunnels, a sense of urgency that made his head pound even more furiously than before…

He hit a dead end, doubled back, took another path, and cursed himself for making no record of the timer. It would have taken a mere moment to program it onto his HUD or omni-tool, but in his haste, he had forgotten to, and was now left to _guess _how long he had before the nuke went off. Thundering off down the corridor, it might have been seconds, or minutes, or hours since he set off - the latter though, he realised, was impossible. In _hours' _time, this place would be a smoking crater.

_Crack crack_. Two shots bounced off the wall to his right. The Reapers had caught up.

Wheeling around, he saw a Marauder coming up on his heel, with two husks racing along behind it like hounds. Snatching up his stolen Mantis, he levelled it at the Marauder's head-

And knocked it off with a loud _bang!_ After that, however, the Mantis was empty. Single shot. How the hell had he forgotten that?

He tossed it aside and went for the Striker instead. One round, neatly placed between the two husks' feet, slammed them into the walls with a grisly _crunch_. Then, the captain wheeled around, and he was off again.

Up, down, left, right, forward, and backwards more times than could be productive, Murphy continued to charge along the corridors, all the while imagining leering faces coming up to block his path, shots cracking at his heels, or a dull rumble of nuclear fire chasing him along the corridor.

None of those things presented themselves, however, until he exploded into an open chamber some way down the path. He ducked beneath a couple of hasty shots, and took stock.

Cannibals. One left, one right. He fired a wild shot at each, and ducked through the opposite doorway without waiting to see the result. The crescendo was rising through the surrounding walls, as more and more of the monsters joined the hunt - a baying husk appeared at a junction up ahead, and Murphy smacked it down with the butt of his rifle before _trampling _over it, and rushing onwards.

The radio was useless, else he would have called for help, more to distract himself than anything - the walls were crushing in around him, or so his brain was saying, and he was suddenly quite aware of the stinging glass buried in his face, the pain blossoming in every muscle…

_Crack_. Murphy stumbled, as a round found the back of his knee. Twisting round, he hit the floor on his back, and immediately went for his trigger finger.

Three Cannibals, crowded into the narrow corridor as they jostled to take a shot. Fish in a barrel, so to speak…

_Crack. Bang!_ All three toppled to the floor, various chunks missing. Murphy sent another round at their fallen forms, just to be safe, and staggered to his feet.

He slid the rifle to his back and went for a dose of medi-gel, slapping it on without any pretence of precision. His limp improved to a sort of lope as the anaesthetic set in, and he managed to drag himself up to a running pace again.

_Crack crack crack crack. Bang, bang, bang, bang! _More to distract himself than anything, he vented his frustrations on the pods lining the corridor, drawing his Striker and firing off a haphazard burst. They shattered loudly as the rounds exploded, and shards of crystal went sliding across the floor amidst a slick - Murphy stumbled over them, and continued on.

Turning left at the end of the corridor, he found another two Cannibals barring his way, lumbering towards him with menacing growls. Barely slowing a beat, the captain filled the air with fire once more, pouring the last of his rifle's clip into the two. One of them crumpled to the floor - the other swayed a moment, and Murphy knocked it aside as he barrelled past. The Striker was empty now - he slung it over his shoulder, and drew the Carnifex.

On for another minute or so - if his brain was to be believed - then left, right, left again at the next fork… he doubled back as growls sounded out around the corner, narrowly avoiding a hunting pack and returning to the fork to go right this time. Onward again, right once, left…

Daylight! Tumbling snow, harsh grey sky, and glorious white _daylight!_ The breach was in full view - all that lay between him and it was fifty foot or so of corridor, with an ominous branch off to the right mid-way along it.

He raced to the junction, swivelled right, and found a rather startled pair of Marauders looking back at him. Before his would-be ambushers could strike, he slung one of his remaining grenades at the floor between them, and continued up the corridor. Behind his back, a loud _bang _signalled the pair's demise.

The light was ten feet away now. Eight. Five. _Two_…

And he skidded to a halt with a low groan, as he realised his mistake. He was at the breach, sure enough… but looking down, he didn't remember there being such a _drop _last time. He was two or three decks up at least, the corridor simply stopping in midair. The snowy crater and the _actual _entrance he'd used before were far below…

"Son of a-!" he roared, _punching _the wall. No time to go back. The timer could only have a few minutes left, if that. But the jump was a leg-breaker, and how would he escape then? Come to think of it, how had he planned on escaping the first time? He couldn't _outrun_ the nuke.

_Crack. _As if to seal the desperate state of affairs, a round slammed into the back of his head. He half-expected that to be it, for the world to fade and his life to ebb away, but he hadn't accounted for good old _shields_. They flared, and his HUD lit up with warnings, but the shot did little more than that. He spun around, pistol raised:

_Bang! _Marksman's instincts taking over, he shot down the offending Cannibal almost before he registered it. One round to the head, and it dropped. Two more were coming up behind it, testing his shields with wild sprays of fire…

Murphy staggered back, dangerously close to the edge, but then he retaliated - _bang, bang! _They tumbled to the floor, and slid away - for the first time, he realised the corridor was at a tilt, twisted upwards like this whole deck. He hadn't noticed until the outside world became visible as a reference point once again.

Husks were pouring in from the end of the corridor, and a Marauder too. _Bang! _Lisk's Carnifex cut through the turian creature's shields and armour in one go, tearing a lump out of its head and killing it instantly. The 'hounds' were roaring up towards him, though…

_Bang, bang. _He brought down two, but then his clip ran dry. The _click _that had been his bane all day echoed out one last time.

For a moment, he considered reaching for another weapon, but the first husk had already closed the gap. He slid the pistol to his hip, and drew an omni-blade in the same motion. One quick slash cut the monster's throat, and it slumped dead.

A stab between the eyes killed the next one, and he _booted _the third in the gut, knocking it back into the fourth and stumbling them both for just a moment. The fifth and sixth were piling in behind, the lot of them were closing in, teeth gnashing and arms flailing…

Murphy went for his belt. He grabbed his last charge, pressed his thumb to the detonator, and _slapped _it against the wall at his side. It stuck fast, bleeped once-

And Murphy leapt into the open air, as the corridor _exploded_.


	378. Operation Tourniquet Part 9

_**Northern Ice Shelf, Terra Nova**_

_**Day 1, 1322**_

_Crunch_.

Murphy thudded into the snow on his side, shoulder blazing with pain as it hit solid, frozen ground beneath the snow. A white mass clung to one half of his visor - he swiped it away, noting that _one _arm was still working, at any rate. He rolled over-

And flinched, as a three-round burst hit the snow just inches from his head. It had come from one of the decks above, and looking up through the blizzard - that was new - he saw a Marauder leering down, Phaeston pointed over the edge.

Blotting out the pain - the cold did a lot of the work for him in that regard - Murphy went for his belt, his back, _any _weapon that was still loaded. His Mantis was discarded, his Striker empty, ditto for the Carnifex… that left his Predator, and his Krysae. Which to use? Range, stopping power…

_Crack crack crack crack crack_. To Murphy's astonishment, the matter was taken out of his hands by a loud burst of fire from somewhere behind his head. Golden rounds went shooting back up at the Marauder, and it ducked away - or _fell _away, he couldn't quite tell from this angle.

The captain made a vain attempt to get to his feet, but his legs were objecting. Broken, or numb, or buried, or _something._ He rolled onto his belly - ignoring another shot that thudded down beside him - and crawled back a little way, more out of desperation than anything else. Questions were burning through his mind: Who was the shooter? How long was left on the timer? Why the _hell _wouldn't his legs work?

Finally, he found some purchase. He stumbled to his feet - legs weren't broken, then - and made to dash up the snowy bank in front of him-

But his balance abandoned him, and he went toppling into the snow again as another loud blare of fire rattled past, striking the snow, testing his shields…

"Argh!"

The yell was involuntary, but probably justified - a shot had just glanced his knee, re-opening the wound he had sealed minutes earlier and spilling a fresh glut of blood into the pearly white snow.

"Covering fire!" a muffled voice yelled, and he heard another loud rattle overhead. Beneath it, footsteps thudding through the snow, and then:

_Thunk, thunk, thunk. _Looking back, he saw fire billow up over the breach, consuming several decks and quelling the barrage for a moment. Something very big and blue went swinging overhead, and a wave of heat and pressure slammed him down into the snow again.

"Watch the bloody downdraft!" the voice shouted again. Then, to an unseen fellow: "Grab him, I'll cover you!"

There was a grunt, another loud chatter of gunfire, and then the sound of something heavy being dropped into the snow, before the footfalls started again, at a run this time…

A big form _erupted _over the side of the crater, scattering snow and slipping clumsily onto its back before sliding down the bank a few feet. It swung out an arm to steady itself, and crawled over to the captain even as shots bounced and sprang off its armour.

With a jolt, he realised it was Dax. The big krogan was at his side a moment later, fumbling for something on his belt - after a moment, he brought up an Avenger rifle, one-handed, and began to spray rounds at the Reaper troops massing in the breach above. A couple fell, and as a group of husks tore out of the ground floor, racing towards them, the krogan turned his fire on them, cutting them down effortlessly.

"We need to move," Murphy muttered, making a flailing attempt to stand again as the ticking timer came to mind…

"That was the plan," Dax grunted - before the captain quite knew what was happening, the krogan had scooped him up, slung him over his shoulder, and set off at a graceless run up the bank, tossing his rifle into the snow, empty.

"Dax, come on!" the unseen voice was screaming.

Little more than an observer now, Murphy twisted around on his colleague's shoulder, trying to get a look, and as Dax staggered over the lip of the crater, he got it. Vimes was kneeling in the snow, rifle chattering as he tried to cover them. A stray shot sliced over his upper arm, just breaking skin, but he barely seemed to notice it. He continued firing until the rifle - another Avenger - was empty, then went for the sidearm on his hip.

The pistol lasted another ten seconds or so, but by the time that too was empty, Dax was already over the hill, Murphy still balanced on his shoulder. He clapped Vimes on the shoulder with his free hand, then used it to scoop up the Typhoon he had abandoned in the snow, and set off at a run once more, this time with the C-Sec officer in tow.

A thrill went through Murphy's blood, as he realised a shuttle was hovering a dozen yards or so behind the rim of the crater, thrusters burning away at the snow beneath, hull just a foot or two off the ground. The door was open, and two more figures were leaning out, firing madly.

"Hurry up!" Vor growled, punctuating his words with a harpoon from the Kishock in his arms - it sailed high over their heads, and Murphy didn't see the result from his vantage point across the krogan's shoulder.

In the other corner of the doorway, Lisk snarled and snapped, and drowned the air with rounds from yet another Avenger. Standard-issue, no mods - Murphy's brain was recovering from its confusion just enough to realise they must have restocked on the Logan. Why the _hell _were they here, though?

He was distracted from that question as a round _ping_ed off Vor's helmet - mid-way through reloading, the batarian staggered back and tripped to the floor, but there was no blood. That, at least, had to be a good thing. Lisk continued firing until his rifle ran empty, and as he ducked back for a new clip, Vimes was already springing up into the hold, Dax just a little way behind.

The krogan _hurled _his machine gun ahead of him, and it thudded into the compartment at Vimes' feet just as two more figures stepped around the corner, practically _glowing_. There was a rush in the air, and a moment later, Saffiya and Liselle had produced a roaring wall of biotics, a barrier at Dax's heel. The two asari were _blazing _with the effort, but they kept it up just long enough for their krogan fellow to drag himself inside, slinging Murphy down onto the bench on the far wall as he did.

_Thunk, thunk. _In the background, the breach burst into flames once again as a second shuttle made a strafing run, mass accelerators pounding the factory ship's decks, the little craft shrugging off a hail of small arms fire.

His attention was drawn back to the foreground as Vor staggered upright, pulled the two asari back from the edge, and _swung _the door shut, before collapsing against it, panting with adrenaline.

"Black?" he muttered, asking Dax and Vimes but eyeing their newly-rescued charge. For the first time, he realised he was still wearing the other captain's skull-faced helmet.

Dax shook his head:

"Murphy."

"What?"

"Long story…" Murphy coughed.

The entire compartment turned to stare at him, as if only just realising he was conscious. Then, a clipped voice cut through proceedings, emanating from the cockpit:

"Are we clear?"

"Clear," Sam nodded, still eyeing Murphy.

"Copy that. Cat, pull out, we're done here. Returning to the Cambrai."

"Aye aye. How many'd we get?"

"Just the one."

A pause, for just a moment or two.

"Damn…"


	379. Operation Tourniquet Debrief

_**SSV Logan, Exodus Cluster**_

_**Day 1, 1540**_

"Captain Murphy. I was… sorry to hear about your injuries."

Singh's and Murphy's was an awkward meeting. The latter hadn't even debriefed his men yet - they had forcibly dragged him to the med bay on arrival, where Ria had spent the best part of two hours fixing his knee and extricating glass from the side of his face. The knee would heal quickly, she reckoned, but the face might scar. Better than vice versa, at any rate - he'd rather have a few scars than a busted leg that put him out of service. In that regard, only poor luck on the Reapers' part had saved him. Half an inch to the right, the doctor had said, and his knee would have shattered - messy and expensive, to put it lightly. As it was, the shot had cut a ligament and torn a chunk of flesh off the bone, but little more than that - it had even ricocheted helpfully out of the side of his knee, so as not to hinder his movement. How considerate of it.

No sooner had he been released from the med-bay, however - with his knee wrapped so tightly in a bandage that the leg beneath lost feeling - than he received a summons to the Logan. He had caught a shuttle across with Wendy Arness - the two pilots were hanging around aboard the Cambrai for the time being - and had limped up to the admiral's quarters, receiving tense stares and nods of consolation in equal measure from the dreadnought's crew.

"Take off the kid gloves," he muttered, back in the present. "Ask what you want to ask, admiral."

Nitesh sighed.

"How did he go out?"

"Two shots under the arm. Found his heart, if I had to guess. A Banshee knocked him around a bit, too."

"That's not quite what I meant."

"I know."

There was a pause, and the two men stared at each other for a moment. Then, Murphy looked down, and murmured:

"Last conversation we had, he told me to set the bomb on a timer and make a run for it. He'd hold them off, he said. I said he was coming with me, he just looked at me like I was an idiot."

"Sounds about right…" Singh chuckled, mirthlessly.

"He picked up his shotgun," Murphy continued, "and next time I looked up he was just… gone."

The admiral nodded, grimly, and retreated back towards the window, rubbing his brow. He looked _exhausted_, Murphy noted - the tireless spartan was starting to feel the effects of his campaign, it seemed.

"At least one of you made it out," was all Singh could manage. Murphy nodded briefly.

"Admiral…" he murmured, after a pause. "I've got a question."

"Shoot," the other man replied, over his shoulder.

"Why'd you send my team back down? I ordered them away for a reason, and you put them back into the blast zone."

"I did not."

"Then how-"

Singh wheeled around to face him, and Murphy hesitated, mouth hanging open slightly.

"… they went rogue, didn't they?"

The admiral nodded, with the slightest of smiles.

"If I'd sent them in, Black's team would have been with them, wouldn't they? No, your men landed here, grabbed all the weapons and ammo they could from the marines in the hangar, and persuaded Cat and Wendy to take them back in - speaking of those two, I've completed their transfer documents. They're officially crew of the Cambrai now."

"Appreciate it," the captain murmured, still processing the news of the rescue effort, and frowning: "I'm almost surprised you didn't try to stop them leaving."

"I didn't _know_. By the time hangar control told me the shuttles had touched down, your team was gone."

"Huh," Murphy muttered. Privately, he was wondering just whose idea it had been - Sam's? Dax's? _Everyone's?_

"You know, Black's passing leaves the post of marine captain open aboard the Logan," Singh sighed, "but I can already guess what your answer would be. You're no more likely to leave them than they are to leave you."

"Glad you understand, sir," the captain grinned, half-heartedly. "Will that be all?"

"Just a couple more things. I've got another deployment for you, in a few days' time."

"Where?"

"Eden Prime."

"Branching out, huh?"

"Quite…"

"And the other thing, sir?"

"Zivas. Do you want me to-?"

"No. Send him to the Cambrai when he asks."

"Very well," the admiral nodded. "Dismissed, captain."


	380. Downtime 40

_**SSV Cambrai, Exodus Cluster**_

_**Day 1, 1620**_

The door to the captain's quarters opened with a _hiss_, and Murphy already had a good idea who was striding into the room.

"Captain," Adam called, sure enough. The resistance man was still in his arctic-armour greaves, although he had pulled the top half of his armour off to reveal the Alliance-issue crew shirt beneath. A set of dog tags was hovering over his chest…

"Adam," Murphy grunted, painfully. Ria's anaesthetic was starting to wear off, and his leg was on _fire_. A little of the anger dropped off Zivas' features as he saw the captain's bandaged leg and torn face, but he was still rather stormy-eyed as he drew up at the end of the bed, and muttered:

"Singh won't tell me a damn thing. Neither will your men. First they run off to evac you _without _me, now this! I want some answers."

"I know you do…" the captain sighed, hauling himself up to his feet. "Ask away."

"Are my boys dead?"

Murphy nodded, and Adam cursed viciously under his breath.

"Were they dead _before _the bomb went off?" he added, acidly.

"_Yes!_" Murphy scowled, affronted. "You think I'd leave them if there if they weren't?"

"I… I dunno… sorry."

The captain nodded, but he still felt a little insulted.

"How'd they go?" Adam asked - it was the _second _time he'd been asked that today, and wasn't that a grim fact?

"They were overwhelmed when they got inside the ship," Murphy explained. "They got the bomb a good way inside with half a dozen casualties, but eventually they ran into a killing ground. Reapers caught them on the flank, encircled them, and cut them down."

He was being rather blunt, but that was the pain talking. His leg really was burning now, and he staggered over to the desk for something to do, grabbing it for support.

"All of them…" the resistance man sighed, turning to follow. It was a statement, not a question. Finally, jaw clenched, he muttered: "Did they take many of the bastards with them?"

"About three to one casualties," he nodded. "And they didn't go down easily. Your man Clay died right on top of the bomb, took twenty odd rounds to kill him. But a squad that size couldn't have killed all the Reapers in that ship. A _regiment _couldn't - even Black went down, if that's any consolation."

"It isn't."

"No, it really isn't, is it? Look, Adam, I don't know what to say… your men died fighting, and they went out bravely. There was nothing any of us could have done."

"Not sure about that, captain. I could have stopped them rushing in, could have gone with them…" - he looked up, with a sad smile - "but no, there's nothing _you _could have done. Not alone. Thanks for telling me straight, it's more than the other bastards did."

"Don't blame them…" Murphy sighed. "They were under orders not to tell you."

"Your orders?" Adam frowned.

"Yeah. I wanted… _needed_ to tell you myself. Face to face."

Zivas nodded, understandingly. There was a moment's pause, as he turned and took a couple of steps away, running a hand through his hair.

"_Shit_…" he murmured, finally. "They're all gone, aren't they? Everyone but Carlos…"

"And Klara."

"Not quite what I meant… but yeah, guess you've got a point," the other man laughed, hollowly.

"What are you going to do now? We're headed off Terra Nova, if Singh's to be believed."

"Where to?"

"Eden Prime."

"More resistance," Adam muttered. "Good cause. I'd volunteer to come with you, but… I can't leave this unfinished."

He waved a hand at the wall, but Murphy knew he was really gesturing to the world beyond, to the planet below…

"You're staying with the Logan, then?"

"Nah… I'm going down there. FOB Scott. Take a rifle, a suit, all the ammo I can carry… and that's it."

Murphy raised an eyebrow in surprise.

"Alone?"

"If need be. I'm no good sitting on a ship, Murphy. I spent the last month hiding down there, fighting them in the streets… I'll keep doing it. I've got to believe there's more resistance cells out there, in the sewers and the countryside. Singh's men'll never find them, and they certainly won't gain their trust… so I'll do it for them. Gather resistance, save civilians… and join the fight, till Terra Nova's free."

"Till she's free…" Murphy echoed. He leant over and clapped Adam on the shoulder, with an approving nod. The resistance man saluted, shot him a nod in return, and strode out of the door.

_Shit_. Once Adam was gone, the captain dropped all pretence, and slumped painfully against his desk, clutching his knee. It was blazing, pain coursing through his inflamed knee, and quite suddenly the headache was back, a piercing pain behind his eye.

He fumbled through the clutter on his desk, found the belt of his armour, discarded, and pulled out a medi-gel injector, before driving it deep through his bandages and into his knee. The wound didn't need sealing, but the anaesthetic was blissfully cool, and as the gel gripped his flesh, it stopped the knee swelling any further. His head was still pounding, though.

Damn it, he needed a drink.


	381. Downtime 41

_**SSV Cambrai, Exodus Cluster**_

_**Day 1, 1650**_

"Lieutenant Arness and… Lieutenant Arness. So… twins. How's that work?"

"You don't know how _twins _work?" Arness Number One replied, staring incredulously at Andersen.

"Of course I do," the engineer snapped. "What I mean is… alright, real basics. Who's who?"

"I'm Cat, this is Wendy," Number One muttered.

"She's _Catherine_, I'm Wendy," Number Two corrected. Her twin glowered at her, and she shrugged: "What? Just because Mum and Dad gave you a name you could shorten."

The two twins had arrived just a half hour before, with their transfer paperwork finally completed, and the Cambrai crew had greeted them in proper fashion – with a six-pack. A beer each for the new arrivals, one for Andersen, one for Cash, one for the exhausted Vimes, whose arm was wrapped tight in bandages, and finally one for the strange figure of Akito Yurai. The co-pilot had joined them on the pretence of 'checking out my fellow pilots' – a reasonable excuse – but Andersen rather suspected he was bored, with his ship at anchor and his usual companion back on the Citadel.

The difference between the two Arness sisters was almost immediately obvious. Wendy was sat awkwardly at the edge of the group, still in her flight suit, clutching her bottle tightly. Her hair was tied up in a tight bun, as it was during missions. Cat, by contrast, was sat cross-legged on a cargo crate, wavy hair let down around her shoulders, flight suit unzipped to the waist to reveal a white tank top beneath. She was fiddling with a shotgun, of all things, and her beer was plonked down next to her foot, already drained.

"How come you two are serving together?" Ethan frowned. "Usual practice in the Alliance is to split siblings up. To avoid 'undue attachment', or whatever they call it."

"They tried it," Cat shrugged. "Our efficiency took a nose-dive."

"_Your _efficiency took a nose-dive," Wendy pointed out, with a smirk.

"Oh, shut up Windy."

There was a moment of silence, as Wendy glared, and her sister smiled sweetly.

"There has _got _to be a story in that," Vimes chuckled, breaking the silence.

"_Long _story," Wendy muttered dismissively, but her sister had other ideas.

"We had this flight instructor, during our air-to-ground training," Cat laughed. "South African by the name of Botha… in a whole year of training, he never _once _got her name right. I didn't think it was possible to mispronounce _Wendy_, but he managed it! 'Hello, Windy', 'morning, Windy', 'nice flying, Windy'."

"Actually, I think it was closer to Wundy some days," her sister interjected, trying and failing to master the situation. In the end, Akito swept in to save her discomfort, changing the subject as he asked:

"Where did you do your training?"

"Well, we were posted to Cape Town – the city, not the cruiser – for our air-to-ground module, but our simulator and tactics modules were on Arcturus."

"I thought pilot training was all simulators these days?" Cash frowned.

"It is, mostly," Akito explained. "But simulators are pre-programmed. No random variables in weather, pressure, winds. Fine for flying a cruiser in this big old vacuum we call space, but a ground-side shuttle or a surface-to-air gunship? You need first-hand experience." – he looked at Cat – "Which would make you… Trans-orbital Vessels?"

"Shuttles and gunships," Cat nodded, "specialising in… well, shuttles. Duh. Class of eighty-four."

"Class of twenty-one eighty," he replied, with a grin. "Heavy Vessels, specialising in cruisers."

"Cruisers?" Wendy interjected, brows knitting into a confused expression. "What are you doing flying a stealth frigate, then?"

"I'm actually the co-pilot. I'm good at systems work, and that's a must-have for a ship this complex. My colleague-"

"His girlfriend," Vimes interrupted, with a smirk.

"My _colleague _Erika," he persisted, "is the actual pilot. She did two years as a fighter jock, Light Vessels, then transferred to frigates, so she's pretty much ideal for a ship like this."

"Fighter jock at the helm of a frigate? That's _risky_," Cat chuckled. She turned to the other three men in the room, and continued: "So what about the rest of you? What do you do?"

"Eat, drink, sleep, train, and _occasionally _kill Reapers," Cash smirked. "But it's mostly the drinking."

"Oh yeah, _lots _of drinking," Vimes laughed.

"Speak for yourselves," Andersen piped up, somewhat grumpily. "Unlike you lazy buggars, I have to workbetween missions."

"What work do _you_ do?" the sentinel scowled.

"I fix the bloody ship!"

"Oh."

An awkward silence followed, and Andersen just took another swig of his beer, smirking slightly at Ethan. The sentinel had been well and truly _shut up_. Eventually, however, Cat broke the silence:

"So you're the engineer round here?"

"Mostly electronics and signals," he shrugged. "Lynus and Klara do the real mechanics, but I pitch in."

"Well, if you're interested, I've got a couple of busted circuits that need looking at."

"Never mind busted circuits, you've got a screw loose," Wendy snorted.

"I'm _serious_," Cat frowned. "IFF on the shuttle's broken."

Andersen leaned to one side, peering around her at the shuttle resting in the background.

"Isn't that a brand new shuttle?" he muttered, sceptically.

"Two flights on the clock," she nodded.

"Then how the _hell _is the IFF broken?"

"I don't know. Figure the Yanks must have made it. They always did have a problem with the whole 'friend/foe' thing."

"Oi!" Ethan spluttered, scowling.

"What?" the pilot smiled, sweetly.

"I'll take it from the accent and the wise-ass comment you're a Brit?" he scowled, folding his arms.

"And I'll take it from the lock-jawed macho act you're a Yank?" she retorted, still grinning.

"Well, this got racist quicker than I expected," Vimes chuckled. "Sometimes, I'm _real _glad I ain't from Earth."

"Yeah, same…" Andersen laughed, raising his beer to his lips - he stopped mid-swig, however, as Vimes shot a sideways stare at him, and he frowned: "What?"

"Just realising something…" Sam murmured. "We've been on this ship a month, and you've never actually said where you're from."

"Oh. Citadel," the engineer shrugged, awkwardly - he turned back to the conversation, as Ethan and Cat began to sling insults again, but Vimes kept up his stare for a few seconds longer. For a moment, he expected his C-Sec friend to press the matter, but eventually he shrugged, drank, and looked away without asking anything more, much to Andersen's relief.

That was a story he didn't really want to get into…


	382. Downtime 42

**A/N: No idea why, but I just... *like* this chapter. It feels a little bit funny, a little bit endearing, and just... nice.**

* * *

><p><em><strong>SSV Cambrai, Exodus Cluster<strong>_

_**Day 1, 1800**_

"Drinking for two, captain?"

Murphy chuckled, as Dax toppled onto the barstool next to him. He'd been at the bar for a good half hour now, and there were three beer bottles lined up in front of him, empty, a fourth in his hand. The mess sergeant's shift had finished, leaving Murphy to help himself to the shelf.

"Ran out of anaesthetic, and Ria's off somewhere," the captain grunted. "This is the next best thing."

"I think she's making a call," the krogan mused. "The salarian said Singh's men patched a line to Tyr."

"No shit? That's where her kid is, and her husband…"

There was a pause, as Murphy stared down the neck of his latest bottle.

"Lookin' a bit wistful, Murphy," Dax observed.

"Huh? Oh, just… thinking about someone. Doesn't matter. Are you alright?"

"Better than you," his companion laughed, leaning over the tiny bar and rummaging under it with one massive hand. Eventually, he produced a bottle, and proceeded to tip half of it down his neck. "Couple of scratches, and one of my kidneys got rattled in the fall. Good thing I've got spares, huh?"

"I hope you've got a spare liver, too," Murphy frowned, as Dax emptied the rest of the bottle.

"Two," the krogan grinned.

"Well, that's alright then…"

"How's the leg?"

"Painful as hell. And Ria thinks I got off _lightly_. Doesn't feel like it…"

"You can still walk," Dax shrugged. "That's somethin'."

"Yeah, guess so. And a few new scars never hurt anyone."

He gestured to the far side of his face - Dax leaned around him to look, and gave a wry chuckle at the sight of the red marks criss-crossing his cheek and temple.

"Krogan women love scars…" he rumbled, conspiratorially. As he did, he pointed to the jagged scar _cracked _along his own face, running from temple to jaw.

"People keep saying that," Murphy laughed. "Not sure how much use it is to me."

"Eh, you could do worse."

They stared at each other for a moment. Then, Dax's straight face broke, and he fell into raucous laughter. He _thumped _the bar, and Murphy's beer bottles leapt dangerously, almost tumbling to the deck.

"Sorry, sorry…" Dax grinned, as the laughter subsided. "Besides, I'm sure little C-Sec spitfires like scars too."

Murphy chuckled, and the krogan shot him a wry smile.

"So, Mr Handsome, how'd you get that one?" Murphy grinned.

"Border dispute," the krogan grunted, briefly. "Jurdon bastard took a knife to my face."

And that was it. Dax looked down, found his bottle was empty, and reached around the bar for another, his tale done.

"Wow…" Murphy muttered, sarcastically. "Very eloquent. I'm sure the ladies love that story."

"You haven't met many krogan women, have you?" Dax laughed, over his shoulder. "They don't tend to ask for many stories. It's more a 'mate first, talk later' kind of arrangement."

"How romantic."

"Yeah, we krogan are tender souls…"

"You're also shit at distractions," the captain murmured, going for another beer. "I thought you were meant to be making me feel better?"

"When the hell did I say that? I'm here to drink…" Dax rumbled, with a toothy smile. He relented, however, and continued: "What d'you want to talk about?"

"I don't know, anything that stops me noticing the _fire _in my leg. How about… ah, how about that stunt you pulled back on Terra Nova?"

"Stunt?"

"The… 'raargh, I'm gonna kill everything' stunt," Murphy mumbled - judging by the way his words tripped and stumbled off his tongue, he was a little more drunk than he'd thought. "Care to explain why I had to punch you out?"

"Ah. Blood rage," Dax nodded.

"Yeah, that's the word… the hell is it?"

"I don't know, ask the salarian. It's… adrenaline or something. Anger sets it off. So does fear, but back there… that was me fighting angry. I don't do it often."

"Why do it at all?" Murphy frowned. "Actually, stupid question, you were killing Reapers by the dozen… why not _stop_, though?"

"You can't," Dax shrugged. "Once the rage starts, you're under, until either you're dead, or everything else is. I'm kinda glad you stopped me, actually. Krogan caveman" - he tapped his head demonstratively - "doesn't notice much difference between friend and enemy."

"So it's a… primal thing, then?" the captain murmured. That last gulp of booze had pushed him into the philosophising stage. "Instinctive?"

"Yeah. We couldn't stop it if we wanted to. It used to be a minority thing, but after we bombed ourselves back into the stone and the salarians made us all infertile… let's just say invincibility became a bit of an advantage. Y'know, genetically."

"Survival of the fittest…" he nodded.

"Right. Once you're under, you don't feel pain any more. You can lose an arm and not feel a damn thing. Until you're dead or the threat's gone, your blood just keeps pumping, no matter how many times they shoot you. I even heard of this one berserker with Clan Drau, a couple of centuries back - he went into a rage during a battle with Urdnot. Last one standing, up against half a dozen of our warriors. They knocked his weapon out of his hands, he went for them with his fists and his teeth. They ripped his arm off, he kept swinging with the other one. They ripped that off too, he just hurled himself at them. They shot his legs to ribbons, he _crawled _after them on his belly, gnashing his teeth. They pretty much had to carve him up just to get him to die."

Murphy shuddered a little at the thought.

"That's an extreme one, though," Dax murmured. "Most of us don't get it that bad. Just takes a short, sharp shock to snap us out of it."

"Like a right hook?"

"Like a headbutt," the krogan grinned. "Damned impressive, by the way. Most _krogan _struggle to stop a blood rage."

"Human one, krogan nil," Murphy smirked.

"Nah… far as I'm concerned you're more krogan than human, captain."

"Honorary krogan… I'm touched."

"You will be if you go to the female camp with those scars."

"_Again_ with the krogan women…"

"That joke really doesn't get old…"

"I beg to differ."


	383. Downtime 43

_**SSV Cambrai, Exodus Cluster**_

_**Day 3, 1600**_

"Keelah... this feels too familiar…"

Adam shot her a sad smile, and ran a hand over her cowl fondly.

"Well, the Reapers aren't shooting at us this time," he muttered, trying to laugh but failing.

They were stood in the Cambrai's hangar, a little group clustered around in tense silence. Adam was resplendent in black marine armour, helmet tucked under his arm, at least half a dozen weapons on his person - a rifle, a sniper, a shotgun, a pistol, a knife, grenades… Carlos looked much the same, although he was already wearing his helmet, hanging back to give them a moment.

Also watching on awkwardly were a few of her shipmates. Andersen and Kan were off to the right, looking slightly grubby - they had been working on the shuttle a few minutes prior, and were now standing back as it rumbled into life on the far side of the hangar - and next to them was Zel, hands folded behind her back. On the left was Murphy - as usual, he was forgoing officer's dress for a regular crewman's uniform, and his leg was still bandaged tightly, his face marred by crimson. His features were grim, and Klara saw Adam glance up, exchanging a meaningful glance with the captain that he seemed to think she'd missed.

"Ready to go," one of the new pilots called, matter-of-factly - Klara couldn't quite tell which one it was, but she felt an irrational surge of annoyance with the woman nonetheless.

"You heard the lady…" Adam sighed. "Time to go."

"Again."

"Klara…"

She smiled, and hoped he could see it through the visor.

"It's fine," she lied. "Just… do me a favour, okay?"

"Anything."

"Don't say goodbye this time… goodbye feels final, and I don't want it to be. So don't say it?"

"I won't," he smiled, enigmatically. "Carlos, we'd best get going."

"Right you are," his friend replied. He nodded to Kan, and shook Andersen's hand, then turned to depart.

Adam, for his part, just kept staring at Klara. Finally, he wrapped his free arm around her shoulders, pulled her into his chest, and planted a kiss on the top of her hood as she wrapped her arms around his waist. What she wouldn't give for a sterile room right now…

And then, after far too brief a time, he pulled away. He ruffled her cowl once again, stepped back, and turned to her companions for the first time. A brief nod to Andersen, Kan and Zel, a straight-faced salute to Murphy.

"Captain," he nodded. "It's been an honour."

"Likewise," Murphy replied. They were staring again, some spark of meaning passing between them, but Klara didn't grasp it. She wasn't sure she wanted to - Murphy had his resigned mask on.

Arm dropping back to his side, Adam yanked his helmet over his head, and pulled his rifle into his arms. That battered old gun was his eternal companion, even when he left the quarian behind…

Klara looked down at the floor as he stepped into the shuttle after Carlos. She wasn't too proud to admit she was welling up. Even as she fought back the flood, however, someone was stepping up to her side.

Murphy. She looked up at the captain's face, and found half a sad smile there.

"How's your leg?" he asked.

"Err… fine now," she stammered, quite distracted by the suddenness of the question. "Yours?"

"Painful as hell."

She nodded, and looked away. Adam was leaning out of the shuttle's compartment as she did, flashing another quick salute.

"The thought occurs…" Murphy continued, "that Mr Zivas sent you away last time for your own protection."

"And this time?" she whispered, a little bitterly.

"Well, this time you're not so vulnerable. And this time, you'd be in just as much danger _here _as there. We lose operatives all the time. So… there really is no point, is there?"

Klara looked down… and noticed, to her astonishment, that he was holding out a pistol.

She looked back up at him. He nodded, grim smile still playing across his face, a little broader now. The shuttle door was open, she noticed. It should be shut by now. They should be taking off…

"Well, go on then. You haven't got all day," the captain smiled.

Klara practically _bounced _as she snatched the pistol from his hand and set off a run - a moment later, however, she thought better, and dashed back towards her friends. Andersen and Zel were open-mouthed, staring at Murphy in astonishment. Kan was just blank behind his visor, as always.

Tucking the pistol into her belt, she pulled her turian friend into a tight hug, let her go - Zel was properly gawping now - then moved on to Andersen, hugged him as well-

And hesitated, as she came to Kan. There was an awkward pause… and then she hugged him too, for the hell of it. He went _rigid _with shock, and was still staring at her as she backed away, flicked an excited salute at Murphy, and _bounded _off across the hangar.

Crossing it seemed to take an eternity, but eventually she ducked through the shuttle doorway, skidded across the floor, and almost slammed into the far wall in her excitement.

"The hell?" Carlos frowned, looking at her in surprise.

Adam, however, just grinned. Slowly, he shuffled past her and pulled the compartment door shut, before rapping his knuckles on the door to the cockpit. The craft gave a rumble, a willing lurch, and only now did it lift off, making for the hangar doors.

"You planned that, didn't you?" she asked, breathlessly.

"Murphy's idea," Adam chuckled, pulling her into a tight embrace once again. "He didn't think you'd be _combat effective _if I broke your heart again."

"Damn straight…" the quarian mumbled.

"Oh, _great_…" Carlos sighed - his eyes were warm behind his visor, but his voice was deceptively sarcastic as he continued: "So I'm the third wheel?"

"Not quite," the other human chuckled. "Rae's down in Scott with the Alliance. She's meeting us there."

"Oh, great," his friend replied, genuinely. "Wait… not like _that_, I mean… argh, damn it. You're an asshole."

"Agreed," Klara scowled, jabbing Adam in the ribs even as she buried her visor in his chest. "_Don't _do that again."

"I won't," he smiled. "You'd just keep coming back anyway."

"Took you long enough to realise…"


	384. Operation Viper Briefing

_**SSV Cambrai, Exodus Cluster**_

_**Day 1, 1000**_

A few days after Klara's departure, Andersen was _cursing _the quarian. Rilum was already working at what he'd call 'optimum capacity', which left the signal tech covering his departed friend's engineering duties. He was quickly learning that machines were _much _tougher to fix than computers…

_Clunk. _Whatever had been obstructing the thermal pipe, it fell away noisily, and the engineer flopped onto his back, legs still buried in the access hatch, letting out a half-hearted _whoop _in victory.

No sooner had he started celebrating, however, than his omni-tool lit up, and the dial tone echoed irritatingly across the deck. He glanced down. Murphy. Damn it, that meant he actually had to answer.

"Captain?" he muttered, answering the call.

"Andersen. Not interrupting, am I?"

"_No…_" the engineer murmured, sarcastically.

"Mission briefing. War room. Now."

"You _can't _be serious. I've been up since four fixing the systems, and I've still got half the deck to cover!"

"Then get some coffee on the way up. I need a signal tech, and Kan's not been cleared fit for duty yet."

"Fine, fine…"

With a grunt , he extricated himself from the wall, and clambered to his feet.

"Sorry," Murphy shrugged.

"_That's _better. I'll be up in five, sir."

The captain nodded, and the channel blinked shut. Wearily, Andersen made for the door.

A brief elevator ride later, he was stepping out onto the CIC, and quickly made his way around the corner, heading for the war room. When he stepped inside, he was surprised to find just four figures waiting for him, not the usual large squad. Murphy, Zya, Arrete, and Irving… the captain couldn't be in on the mission, his leg was still in tatters, which made it a squad of four. Positively tiny by their standards - they hadn't run a four-man mission since their first trip to Noveria…

"Sorry to call you all in at such short notice," Murphy began, primarily addressing Andersen, "but we just got our latest briefing from Admiral Singh. Cambrai's moving out as we speak."

"Moving out?" Irving frowned. "Where to?"

"Eden Prime."

The gunnery chief blinked in surprise, and… was there just a _hint _of disapproval there? Terra Nova was Wolfe's homeworld, after all…

"The planet's been under occupation as long as Terra Nova has," the captain continued. "We lost contact some time ago. Intel had assumed, however, that the occupiers were Reapers…"

"Which suggests we now know they're… not," Zya guessed.

"Indeed. SSV Normandy ran a combat mission to Eden Prime recently. They confirmed that the occupying force is _Cerberus_."

"_What?_" Andersen and Irving roared, in unison. Arrete suppressed a little chuckle at their outraged expressions.

"Cerberus forces hit major colonies just after the Reapers struck Terra Nova, according to the resistance's information. They've been bombing and burning for weeks with an objective mind - Shepard and Hackett are keeping tight-lipped about what it was, but whatever it is, the Normandy stole it out from under them. Now, Cerberus is just making the most of their situation. No sense investing an army of soldiers if you're just going to withdraw…"

"I assume _'making the most of it'_ means massacring whoever's left down there?" Irving spat.

"I'm afraid so… however, the resistance on Eden Prime has been somewhat more successful than on Terra Nova. Normandy provided them with key intel to nail Cerberus HVTs, and to put it bluntly, they're not fighting machines the size of city blocks."

"Where did Cerberus get the forces for something like this?" Andersen interrupted, suddenly. "I thought Hackett said they were _spent_ after the Citadel? No more than small raids and sabotage - not a planetary occupation!"

"The war on Eden Prime began _before _the attack on the Citadel," Murphy sighed. "Cerberus wasn't willing to back down, so the troopers down there were never pulled to aid in the coup. With any luck, it's the last major military deployment Cerberus has left."

He didn't sound particularly convinced of that, but Andersen didn't call him on it, as he continued:

"Third Fleet successfully made contact with the resistance a week ago. They flew a company of marines in past Cerberus' fighter patrols, and two days after that, some engineering corps men. They've been working on setting up anti-air defences, removing Cerberus' air superiority. However, they've also provided us with some key targets that they haven't been able to hit. One in particular caught our eye…"

"What is it?" Andersen asked, curiously.

"A safehouse. Isolated from the nearest colony by a few miles - some rich politician's estate, apparently. The guy was Terra Firma, and he gave the estate to Cerberus when they attacked. They still shot him, though - resistance weren't too cut up about it, understandably..."

"So… this is a torch and burn op?" Irving grinned.

"This is a _recovery _op," Murphy frowned. Then, his frown turned into a grin, and he added, roguishly: "But once you've got all the data you can find, you're free to torch and burn to your heart's content, chief."

"That's what I like to hear…"

"What's the plan, then?" Arrete asked, speaking up for the first time.

"A small strike team," the captain replied. "Fast and precise, moving in pairs. Wolfe, Andersen, you're Alpha. You'll move in on foot, breach, and look for… computers, datapads, terminals, whatever you can find. Andersen, I want you to pull every scrap of data you can find that might help us or the resistance. Irving, you're there to keep him alive… and get a little payback, of course."

The big gunnery chief nodded, smiling dangerously.

"Zya, Arrete, shuttle number two will drop you on the roof. Moving from the top down, you should cut off access to any landing pads on the roof of the building. You've got the same objective - mark computers and data sources for Andersen, and wipe out any Cerberus contacts you find on the way. I'm relying on you two for a slightly _quieter _approach."

"That can be arranged…" Zya nodded.

"We won't hit the Utopia system for another hour," Murphy concluded. "Grab your gear, and report to the shuttle bay for eleven-hundred hours. Dismissed."


	385. Operation Viper Part 1

_**Cerberus Safehouse, Eden Prime**_

_**Day 1, 1120**_

"Alpha, Bravo, this is Cambrai. Sitrep?"

"Both teams are down," Irving reported. "Bravo's on the roof, we're advancing along the rear wall."

"Copy that. Breach when ready."

Alpha's shuttle had dropped them off a few minutes prior, hovering below the cliffs that bordered three sides of the estate. While Cat Arness held the shuttle steady, Irving and Andersen had jumped to the cliff face, before scrabbling up it as subtly as possible. With the shuttle remaining out of sight throughout, they had managed to go unnoticed, and had successfully crept across the grounds to the back wall of the two-storey building. It was a modular colony building, only luxurious in comparison to the meagre dwellings that filled the rest of the planet, but seclusion, it seemed, was the main selling point for Cerberus. The nearest colony was miles away, and the estate was silent… _somehow_, however, Wendy Arness had successfully used a combination of stealth systems and engine kill to drop noiselessly over the roof, depositing Zya and Arrete without a single cry of alarm.

Back to the present, Andersen was right at Irving's heel. The two of them had their backs pressed against the wall, and from this corner, they had a clear view along the back of the building…

"Four windows," the gunnery chief observed. "Mind if I take 'em?"

"Be my guest," Andersen smirked.

His companion nodded, grinned, and went for his belt, not his back - his rifle was left on his shoulder, and instead, he plucked three _grenades _from his belt, weighing them in one hand with a look of anticipation… then, he _bolted _along the wall, breaking all pretence of subtlety. It didn't really suit him anyway…

"One! Two! Three!" the marine roared, counting aloud and slamming a grenade through each window as he passed. He got just past the third, ducked low-

_Boom, boom, boom! _A series of explosions rocked the side of the building, belching fire from the windows and filling the air with smoke, shrapnel, shards of broken glass… there were screams and yells from beyond the shattered panes as Irving bounded to the fourth, drawing his rifle.

He smashed the window through with his elbow, levelled his rifle at what Andersen could imagine were two very _surprised _Cerberus troopers, and squeezed the trigger.

_Crack crack, crack crack_. Andersen could only assume the troopers had fallen dead, because Irving, contented, just shot him a glance, nodded, and then jumped through the window, rifle still clutched tightly in his arms.

The engineer followed suit, crossing to the nearest window and swinging himself through the frame. Irving's grenades had blown the windows clean out, leaving no broken glass for him to slash his hands on - he just clattered through, rolled to a halt on the floor beyond, and drew his pistol.

Only two of the corridor's occupants were still alive - Irving, and a Cerberus trooper who was groaning and fumbling for a weapon at Andersen's side.

_Crack_. He put the man out of his misery, and straightened up. Wolfe was waiting for him at the end of the corridor, and he trotted up to join him.

"Lovely stuff," the marine muttered, eyeing the bombed-out corridor and the dead troopers. "A few less bastards in the world, anyway."

There was one door into the next room, right in front of the pair, but Irving seemed in no hurry to open it. Indeed, as Andersen extended a hand to the roundel in the centre, the gunnery chief _knocked _it away, with a shake of his head. He just braced his Valkyrie, aiming it at the middle of the door, head height…

_Thud, thud, thud. _Footsteps sounded out on the other side, and with a grin, Andersen realised what his fellow was planning. There was a little bleep, a hissing noise, the door began to slide open…

_Crack crack. _The door had parted just a crack as Irving let rip, sending a single, clinical burst through the gap. As the door slid fully open, they were presented with the sight of a bulky Centurion, his visor shattered in two places, dropping to his knees. Irving growled, planted his boot on the trooper's chestplate, and _kicked _him to the floor, before finishing him off with another burst and striding into the room.

The engineer followed, and immediately took stock. They were in a small lounge, doors behind and ahead - Irving was already crossing to the far side of the room, making for the shut door there. There was a long sofa and an aquarium to the left, a large holographic screen to the right. It was an entertainment system, clearly, but if it was connected to the same circuit as the rest of the house, he could use it to access the more useful computers remotely. He took an omni-tool to it, barely blinking as Irving opened the door-

And came face to face with two Cerberus troopers who had been rushing up to accost them. Out of the corner of his eye, Andersen saw him lay out the first with a punch, then bring up his rifle:

_Crack crack, crack crack_. The second one went down, chest riddled with shots, and Irving rounded on the trooper at his feet.

"Cover me a second, I'm running a spike into this system!" Andersen called, over his shoulder.

"Sure, sure, whatever you say…"

_Crunch, crunch, crunch. _The engineer looked round, curious, to see his fellow _booting _the grounded trooper in the face, smashing his helmeted head back against the floor again and again, each time he tried to stagger upright…

"Chief…" Andersen frowned.

"Oh, come on, they took a knife to my face! I reserve the right to bounce these fuckers round the walls!"

Andersen paused, contemplating that for a moment.

"Hmm… fair enough," he shrugged, turning back to his work.

_Crunch, crunch, crunch…_


	386. Operation Viper Part 2

_**Cerberus Safehouse, Eden Prime**_

_**Day 1, 1123**_

"I count three snipers below," Zya murmured, under her breath.

"Plus two ninjas," Arrete added.

She scowled at him.

"I mean, err… Phantoms."

The two of them were crouched behind a generator on the very top of the building, just a few feet from where the shuttle had dropped them off. This section of the roof was empty, but it didn't cover the whole of the building - below them, the roof of the first floor held what appeared to be a _garden._ Everything in it was dead, and the Cerberus Phantoms were skulking through it, while the Nemesis snipers guarded the edge. Zya put it down to Wendy's piloting skills that they hadn't been spotted - she had dropped them in the blind spot - but she had to wonder why Cerberus hadn't posted lookouts on the very top of the building. They were getting sloppy…

"How many rounds in that Indra?" she asked.

"Twenty-five. One in your Mantis?"

"Yes. Are you any good hand-to-hand?"

"Hmm… good enough for the snipers. Maybe not the Phantoms."

"I'll shoot one of the Phantoms, you take the snipers. We take the last one together."

"Right."

"On three," she continued, as the two of them took aim. "One, two…_ three!_"

_Crack crack crack- bang! _Arrete peppered one of the snipers with a burst of fire, before Zya broke the silence with a deafening shot from her Mantis. It went spinning down towards the left-most of the two Phantoms, spiralling in slow motion in her mind's eye, racing down at the creature's head…

And glancing it. That was all. There was a little spurt of blood, and a crimson tear appeared in the side of the Phantom's helmet, but it was still very much alive, and going for its blade now.

_Wham! _The other Phantom took a chunk out of their cover with its palm shot, and the two snipers ducked back for a moment.

"Cover me!" Zya snapped, darting out into the open as the plan fell apart.

_Skree…_ a red spotter's laser swept over her flank, but before the Nemesis could actually fire, her salarian squadmate had burst out from the other side of the generator, mowing it down with a quick _crack crack_ - Zya took no small amount of satisfaction in watching it tumble over the edge, to its death.

She slipped down off the upper roof top, rolling to a halt and tossing her rifle aside for the moment, drawing an omni-blade instead. Going up against a Phantom blade-to-blade wasn't ideal, but she knew enough to hold her own, at least to buy the salarian some time to take a shot.

Speaking of Arrete, he was forcing one of the Phantoms to fall back with a spray of fire from his Indra - the creature was summoning up a barrier, falling back towards the snipers, and only the bloodied Phantom was left to charge at her.

It came it swinging, and Zya parried the first blow off to the right before taking a slash of her own at the freakish creature's head. It cartwheeled away with a shriek, shifted to her flank-

Zya stepped back just as the Phantom tried to stab between her ribs - the blade missed by inches, and left its bearer wide open. The assassin _kicked _out hard, striking the Cerberus agent in the hip, then bringing her boot back across to hit its sword hand. She caught the hilt, and sent the Phantom's blade skidding away across the floor. The creature took a half step to chase it, but Zya was too quick - she caught it beneath the arm, swung it around, and _slammed _it into the nearest wall, before driving her omni-tool straight through its gut. The Phantom screamed, and hissed, and snarled, but all of that was drowned out by the yell of warning from the rooftop overhead:

"Zya! Watch your back!"

_Skree…_ She could practically _feel _the spotting laser settle between her shoulder blades, and that gave her just a moment to act. On instinct, she drew her blade back out of the Phantom's gut, grabbed it by the scruff of its neck and _whirled _around. Her dazed opponent swung with her, staggered away as she released her grip…

And walked straight into the laser beam.

_Bang! _The Phantom's head jerked back, as the Nemesis took its shot a moment too late, and it slumped to the floor. While the sniper scrambled to reload, Zya was running through ways to _kill _it. She couldn't reload her Mantis in time, but she also couldn't cross the roof in time. That just left cover-

_Crack crack crack crack_.

_Or_, she could let the salarian mow it down with a burst of sniper fire. She still wasn't quite used to having backup…

"Incoming!" Arrete barked, and sure enough, the other Phantom was now rushing in towards Zya, as the last Nemesis hovered in the background.

She went for her omni-blade, the Phantom took a broad, overhead swing, and Zya found herself buckling to one knee as she blocked the blow inches from her skull. The lithe creature was far stronger than it looked… its blade hovered down towards her eyes, and she pushed it back, throwing all her weight into the effort. The monster above her was snarling and hissing, pushing on relentlessly, then, as they hit a deadlock:

_Wham! _It brought up one skeletal leg and cracked it around her head. Zya tumbled to the side, and the Phantom stumbled slightly as the lock broke, but it definitely had the advantage. The assassin rolled aside as her adversary _stabbed _down, narrowly missing her head. There was a clatter of movement up above, however, a grunt of effort…

And a thin red form jumped down the roof. As he fell, Arrete launched a savage kick at the Phantom's head, _booting _it away, and giving himself space to roll to a halt, draw a pistol, and toss his Indra back to Zya.

She caught it just as the Phantom lunged in, going for the salarian now. The human, meanwhile, took his rifle, peered down the scope, and found the last Nemesis. It was eyeing them carefully, lifting its rifle to take a shot…

_Crack crack crack crack crack… _She squeezed the trigger, encountering surprisingly little recoil as she emptied what remained of the modded rifle's clip. The sniper crumpled beautifully, hitting the floor like a bloody ragdoll, and lying still.

_Clang. _Back in the foreground, Arrete had just parried a swing from the Phantom's blade. Hitting the flat of the blade turned it without it _slicing _his gun in two, and the creature actually gave a surprised gasp as it staggered to one side.

With a growl, Zya did the only thing she could in her prone position - she lashed out with her left leg, planting her boot into the side of the Phantom's knee. It crumpled, the perfect sword form fell apart, and:

_Crunch. _Arrete hit it with a skull-shattering pistol whip, knocking it for six. With his opponent dazed, the salarian swung around to stand behind it, levelled the Phalanx in his hand to the back of its neck…

_Bang, bang. _The Phantom's head bobbed with each impact, and then the whole thing slumped lazily to the floor. Good riddance.

"Alpha, this is Bravo," Arrete muttered into the radio, extending a hand to help Zya up as he did. "Roof is clear."

"Copy that," Irving's deep voice replied. "We're about to storm the main room. Get on down here before you miss all the fun…"


	387. Operation Viper Part 3

_**Cerberus Safehouse, Eden Prime**_

_**Day 1, 1128**_

"Two hostiles on the other side of the door," Andersen muttered.

"Didn't need a security camera to tell me _that_," Irving scowled - the two hostiles in question were currently trying to break it down.

"No, but you needed security access to _lock _the door between us and them," the engineer replied, a little insulted. "Now… six more hostiles in the main room, all troopers. Two more, plus a Nemesis and a Centurion, in the study on the upper level."

"I make that… twelve?" the gunnery chief murmured. "I'll take ten, you take two."

"Very funny… eight and four, at least."

They exchanged a brief grin. The absurdity of the situation was quite amusing - they were stood on one side of the door, Andersen flicking through the hacked security cameras at will, while the troopers on the _other_ side of the door were forced to wait for him to open it.

"Take these two as human shields," Wolfe grunted, nodding to the door, and by the implication the two men trying to _smash _through it from the other side.

"Got it. Ready?"

"Ready."

"Right then… three, two, one."

He swiped his omni-tool, and the roundel in the middle of the door went green. There was a victorious yell on the other side - as if the troopers thought their pounding had somehow _persuaded _the door to unlock - and it hissed open a moment later, presenting two Cerberus troopers who didn't _quite _seem to have worked out a plan for what they'd actually do when the door opened.

_Whack. _Irving swung out a fist, punching the trooper on the right in the side of the head and knocking him against the wall. Then, he grabbed the one on the left, disarmed him, and yanked him around into a chokehold, leaving Andersen to grab the dazed man on the right, knee him in the gut, and do the same, slipping his pistol over the trooper's shoulder.

_Crack crack, crack crack_. Irving opened fire first, mowing down two troopers on the far side of the room with his rifle.

_Bang, bang_. Andersen followed suit with the Phalanx he was wielding, killing one trooper and sending another to the floor, wounded.

The two of them advanced into the room, their 'shields' bucking and trying to wriggle free, unsuccessfully. Irving, however, seemed to have it a little easier as far as _co-operation _went. He merely had to growl to get his man to stop moving. Andersen had to punch his in the kidneys, and by the time he had regained control of the trooper, the others were _pouring _fire at them across the room, a mess of crossfire bouncing off walls, ceiling, floor and furniture.

_Thud. _One stray round punched through the head of Irving's hostage, and the man slumped, exposing the marine chief behind. As Wolfe dove for cover, Andersen did his best to cover him:

_Bang, bang. _He brought down one of the shooters with two shots to the head, and out of the corner of his eye, saw Irving slide down beneath a low sofa, to one side.

"Argh!" a voice cried, and with a jolt, Andersen realised his own hostage had just been hit in the gut. A moment later, with a _thud_, another ricocheting shot finished him off.

The engineer hurled his corpse to the floor, fired off a last _bang bang _that emptied his clip but kept the shooters suppressed, and then dove for the nearest cover, rolling down behind a square, modern-style armchair.

"Well, that worked!" Irving roared, sarcastically. Shots were bouncing off the sofa, and closer to home, another round sprang off the floor by Andersen's foot, sending up a flurry of sparks.

_Crack crack, crack crack, crack crack. _The gunnery chief fired a few blind bursts over the top of the sofa, and Andersen quickly checked the security feed still playing on his omni-tool. To his surprise, he saw an extra form laid out bloody on the floor.

"You got one!" he called out, adding under his breath: "_Somehow…_"

That just left two troopers, and one of them was still on the ground, wounded. One able shooter-

_Crack crack crack bang!_

Or… five. The Cerberus agents in the study above had joined the fight. The Centurion was just watching on for now, but the two troopers were pouring rounds down over their heads, and the Nemesis seemed to be trying to tear their cover to pieces shot by shot…

"I got 'em!" Irving rumbled, going for his belt. He produced yet another grenade, squeezed it, then slung it over his head. It soared up into the study, bounced off the back wall, rolled to the feet of the left-most trooper, and:

_Boom! _The little room was gutted, shrapnel and debris flying in all directions amidst a blaze of fire. The two troopers were torn apart rather gruesomely, the sniper was slammed sideways into the balcony rail that overlooked the lounge, and the Centurion disappeared amidst the smoke.

Taking advantage of the distraction, Andersen swung himself up from behind the armchair, readied his omni-tool - his pistol was empty - and sent an incineration program whistling at the last, startled trooper.

He erupted into a rather satisfying fireball, screamed, and toppled to the floor. Just the wounded one left, then…

The engineer straightened up, nodded to Irving, and set off across the room, fixing his gaze on the trooper in question. He was trying to stagger upright, searching for a rifle with his free hand. Andersen slipped in a new clip, and put two quick shots - _bang bang _- into the wounded man's back. He slumped dead, at last.

"That's all of them…" Andersen sighed, turning round to see Irving emerge from cover behind him. "I make that… eight four. Told ya."

Irving opened his mouth to reply, but his words were cut short a moment later:

_Crack crack crack. _Three rounds came arcing down from _somewhere _up above, and Andersen hurled himself to the ground. He smashed clean through the glass table in the middle of the room, falling on his back amidst the shards, as the three shots bounced and sprang off the floor where he had been standing.

Looking up, he saw the guilty party - the Centurion had survived the blast, and was pelting shots down at him with a Mattock rifle. Worse, a black-hooded Nemesis was kneeling at the officer's side, a spotting later sweeping over Andersen's head…

Or at least, it was until the sniper's head exploded. The Centurion wheeled around in surprise, only to have his rifle cut in two by an omni-blade. A moment later, it was driven through his skull. He slumped and fell away, to reveal Arrete standing over his body, omni-blade glowing. A foot or so behind, Zya's rifle was still smoking from the shot that had killed the Nemesis.

"So… six four?" Irving murmured, guiltily.

Andersen just scowled at him, and picked himself up out of the glass mess that had scattered all around him. _That, _he noted for the record, was too close.


	388. Operation Viper Part 4

_**Cerberus Safehouse, Eden Prime**_

_**Day 1, 1130**_

"Everyone on the second floor is dead," Zya murmured, as the foursome reunited in the middle of the lounge. It looked like a battlefield, with bodies and casings littered around, broken glass on the floor and blood on the walls…

"Are you sure?" Andersen asked.

"Please."

Arrete chuckled, the engineer just looked a little taken aback. Then, he recovered his composure, and turned questioningly to Irving.

"What are you lookin' at me for?" Wolfe frowned.

"Well, I was _sort _of hoping you might have a clue what to do next," Andersen muttered, sarcastically. "You _are_ ranking officer."

"Sod that," the gunnery chief chuckled. "You're the genius - where do we need to go?"

"We don't _need _to go anywhere. I can hack their systems from here."

"Like I said, genius…"

"_But_, I've got a couple of spikes showing in the system - reading spikes, I mean, not spike programmes."

The other three looked at him, with varying degrees of blankness. Arrete looked like he sort of understood. Irving really didn't. Zya reckoned she was somewhere inbetween.

"Point is, I've got two weird readings that need checking out," he continued. "Zya, Arrete, take one each. I'm marking the locations on your HUD. Irving, you check the bodies here for datapads or salvageable comlinks. I'll get to work on the main server."

They nodded, and murmured their assent, and Zya went off after one of the waypoints, while Arrete made for the other. It wasn't far from the main room - she ducked through a door at the side of the room, and passed into the corridor beyond.

There were doors to left and right, and she checked them cautiously, following the same procedure each time - she ducked into the doorframe, drew her Tempest SMG, and slapped the door release with her free hand. When it whined open, and shots failed to rush out at her, she first glanced around the corner, then swung around it once she was sure the way was clear. A quick sweep to all four corners of the room, to be thorough, then rinse and repeat for the next room, and the one around the corner…

Finally, after sweeping those three, she came to the room at the very end of the corridor. The door was locked, but her waypoint hovered beyond, so that would have to be circumvented… She loaded a hack module - automated, she wasn't _Andersen _after all - and slapped it onto the centre of the door, where it whirred and chimed and spun for a minute or so, as Zya tucked herself into cover behind the doorpost.

_Hiss. _The lock gave, and the door came apart, as her bypass program shattered into holographic fragments. Steadying her breathing, she settled into the old routine:

No shots.

She glanced around the corner for just a second. One figure, turning away from a screen on the wall to investigate the door. Was he armed? She couldn't _quite _remember, but she didn't think so…

Time ran out, and Zya rolled around the corner, bringing her SMG up to the figure's chest. She almost sighedwith relief as she confirmed he _wasn't _armed, but that would have betrayed her. Instead, she kept a straight face and took a step forward.

The figure - white-armoured and missing his helmet - took an equal step back, his hands _shooting _into the air.

"Woah, woah, woah!" he stammered. "What is this? Who the hell are you?"

It was a force of habit for Zya not to give her name. Instead, she muttered:

"Alliance."

"Oh, shit…" the figure breathed. "You think we're Cerberus, don't you?"

"Aren't you?" she scowled, coldly. The logo on his armour was most definitely Cerberus.

"We're defectors!" he cried. "Have… have you heard of Project Phoenix?"

She nodded. Ordinarily, she would have just shot him and had done with it, but her time on the Cambrai seemed to have made her soft…

"Then you know… you know what they _do _to people!" the man hissed, desperately. "I ran! I… I took a few of the good people with me, and we ran!"

His face fell slightly, as realisation seemed to dawn on him, and he added, quietly:

"You didn't kill them, did you?"

Zya bit her lip. Her usually sharp instincts didn't know _what _to make of this. The armour did look genuine, based on the guncam shots she'd seen from Talon…

"Andersen!" she called, over her shoulder. "I've got…"

She trailed off. Her eyes had just flickered over the screen on the wall, the one the man had been examining when he walked in. It took a moment for her brain to register the contents, and when it did, her eyes bulged. She turned back to the man-

And realised, too late, that she had given him an oh-so precious moment of distraction. Just the one, and that was enough. His eyes _glinted_, and quite suddenly the fear and the cowardice were gone - a beautifully-constructed charade falling away, she realised. A tendril of biotic blue was bursting up from his wrist, and even as Zya squeezed her trigger finger, he swung it down like a lash, with a vicious snarl.

Two rounds bit into his chest, but even as they did, Zya let out a cry of alarm - _not _a scream, though, her pride insisted - and a moment later found it snuffed out. A burning sensation rippled across her throat…

She tried to cry out again, but nothing came, and that chilled her to her bones. A biotic fireball came rushing at her even as she tried to fire again, and she was _slammed _into the far wall, sliding limply to the base of it as warm blood spilled over her collar.

Footsteps were _pounding _along the corridor outside, reverberating through the steel walls and into her back, but her attacker was already making for the door on the far side of the room. A second later, he was gone…


	389. Operation Viper Part 5

_**Cerberus Safehouse, Eden Prime**_

_**Day 1, 1135**_

_Crack crack, crack crack, crack crack- boom!_ Three bursts of rifle fire and Irving's last grenade went hurtling through the doorway as he and Andersen chased the scream. Over his shoulder, the engineer saw rounds go bouncing around the room beyond, and ducked instinctively as the grenade _gutted _the far side of the room with flames.

"Christ!" he swore, _slamming _an open palm into the back of Irving's shoulder to make him stop firing. "There's a friendly in there you stupid bastard!"

He barged past the furious gunnery chief - whether he was furious at Cerberus or Andersen was another matter - and darted into the room, casting around for their fallen squadmate.

It took him a moment to find her, because she was tucked into the corner of the door _behind _him - as he wheeled around in desperation, however, he caught sight of her, and his blood ran cold.

"Zya, stay with me!" he barked, kneeling down in front of her and placing a hand beneath her chin, tipping it up to face the light. Eyes vague, dull, but still open… he wasn't sure if that was good or bad.

There was no aggressor in the room, and no body. Zya hadn't killed him, then. A window on the far side of the room had been shattered by one of Irving's wild shots, and the holographic screen on the wall had been knocked off its mountings by the grenade blast, a vivid crack visible down the middle, and _nothing _visible in the screen itself. The grenade couldn't have vaporised her attacker, though - he'd escaped. That was the only logical explanation…

Irving seemed to have arrived at the same conclusion, and was already halfway to the door on the other side, which was still hanging open.

"Irving!"

"I've got him-"

"No! Help me, we need to move her!"

"But-"

"_Now!_"

The gunnery chief glared at him, but nonetheless marched back over, slinging his rifle to his back.

"What do we do?" he muttered, briefly.

"I… I don't know, I'm not a doctor. She's been hit with biotics, you can tell by the marks in the wall. Throat's been cut…"

He ran a thumb over her throat, and she winced - he murmured an apology, but cleared the blood away nonetheless.

"Ah…"

"What is it?"

"Voice modulator stopped the impact," he observed, with a sad smile. "It's busted, and the artery's been slashed, but her windpipe's intact. No need to ventilate… we can move her as she is. You grab her, I'll call the shuttle."

"What about the bastard who did this?" Irving muttered.

"Fuck him. We get her out, that's the priority."

"I… right."

Zya barely protested as the big marine slung her over his shoulder - that, perhaps, was a mark of just how bad her injury was - and seemed to be drifting in an out of consciousness as she was hefted into the air.

"Alpha to Cambrai, Alpha to Cambrai!" Andersen called, voice hoarse with panic. "Come in, damn it!"

"What is it, Alpha?" Murphy replied, with a note of concern.

"We've got wounded! Need an urgent medevac - shuttle, with one of the medics if possible!"

"Understood. Who's hurt?"

"Zya."

No reply. Murphy seemed to have ducked away to yell orders at someone - the long-suffering yeoman, probably. After a moment, he returned, and muttered:

"Shuttle's on its way, Alpha. Doctor O'Leiph's running to board now. What's the situation with the safehouse?"

"Clear," Andersen sighed. "All contacts down save for the one that attacked Zya, and I doubt he'll hang around…"

"Understood. Op complete, pull the plug."

"Aye aye, sir. If the Logan wants to run a fire mission on this place, bomb it to hell, I wouldn't object. I've got all the data I could from their systems."

"Corporal, we need to move!" Irving bellowed, taking his turn to be the urgent one.

"Right. Got to go, captain."

He shut the comm channel before Murphy could reply, and they made for the door-

Only to find a red-skinned figure dashing through the other way, slamming headlong into Andersen. Arrete staggered back, took a glance at the three of them, and managed to jabber:

"I… what… oh."

"Quite. Now move!"

Andersen practically _shoved _him down the corridor, and the two of them set off in the lead, weapons at the ready as Irving followed on behind with his charge. They thundered back into the main room, stepped over the bodies, turned left into the one door they hadn't explored yet, and found, to Andersen's relief, that it did indeed lead to the main entrance. He sliced the lock in a matter of moments, dashed through the door…

And heard a low rumble as he stepped out into the light. Something long and rectangular went _whizzing _overhead and disappeared behind the bulk of the complex, leaving an echo to reverberate across the cliffs, and nothing more.

"Skycar," Arrete muttered. "Saw it when we landed. Should have blown it up, but we thought we'd just kill everyone on the way, stop 'em getting to it. Stupid…"

Andersen thought it would be cruel to agree. Instead, he focused his attentions on the radio:

"Where's our god-damn evac?" he swore.

"Coming in now!" a voice replied - Cat? Wendy? He couldn't be sure, and to be honest, he didn't care. Either one worked. "Mark your location for pickup."

_Bang, bang, bang _- he put three rounds into the air with his Phalanx, and _glared _skyward.

"Well, sure, that works…" the pilot murmured - Cat, judging by the sarcasm. A dull whine filled the air, and Andersen staggered back as a blue hulk shifted overhead, passing over the roof of the complex and catching them in the downdraft. Then, it circled round and dropped towards the cliffs, compartment door already swinging open to reveal Dr O'Leiph in the precipice.

"Get her inside!" he barked, to Irving.

"The hell d'you think I'm doing, throwing her off the cliff?" the big man grumbled - nonetheless, he barged past the other two, hopped up into the shuttle, and proceeded to lay Zya out on the bench opposite, as Arrete and Andersen clambered up in pursuit, and the salarian pulled the door shut.

Everything was moving in a very fast blur as they lifted off, swinging into the air with a whine of thruster fire. In hindsight, Andersen would realise why - it was his first casualty in command… wait, in command? No, Irving was in command, he had rank - but then the big man had said himself he was following Andersen's lead, and Murphy had never said-

"Andersen?" Ria snapped, derailing his train of thought. "What happened to her?"

"I don't know," he replied, shuffling over to kneel next to Zya with the doctor. "She called for us to come see something, then a… scream, and when we arrived she was like this. Her jugular's been cut, but she can still breathe - voice modulator saved her."

"I saw. A nice touch of irony there… I'm going to sedate her, prevent any further distress. Prognosis is good if we can get her back to the med bay, but I don't want her going into a panic. It'll just make her bleed out faster… hold her steady?"

He nodded, and leant over Zya - her eyes were roving, unfocused, but they sharpened the moment he put a hand on her arm. Ria was rummaging in her belt for a sedative - the assassin spotted her in the act, and her eyes bulged. She wriggled slightly, Andersen tightened his grip, she _slapped _his hand away-

And then, to his surprise, she went to her belt, pulling out a little round object and forcing it into the engineer's hand, eyes insistent even as her mouth opened and closed wordlessly, struggling in vain to try and talk. He turned the object over once in his hand, as Ria found the sedative and straightened up. Weapon scope. SMG, judging by the size…

Any further musing - or, for that matter, explanation - was cut short as Ria craned down over her patient. Andersen slipped the scope module into his own belt, and placed his hands on Zya's arms - she didn't struggle this time, just lay back calmly, as if what she needed to do was done. The needle sank in, the assassin's arm gave a slight twitch of protest, and her eyes slid shut.

The engineer looked up at the doctor, questioningly. The asari's hand shot to Zya's wrist, fumbling for a moment… then falling away, with a sigh of relief.

"Pulse is there," Ria murmured. "Sedated, but still alive. Let's get her back to the ship, and keep it that way…"


	390. Operation Viper Debrief

_**SSV Cambrai, Exodus Cluster**_

_**Day 1, 1150**_

"Well, shit…" Murphy sighed. "That didn't go to plan, did it?"

The three remaining operatives of the ground team had met Murphy in the war room once everything settled down, standing around in awkward silence for a minute or two before the captain thought up that particular understatement.

"My fault, sir," Andersen muttered. "I sent her off alone."

"Actually…" Irving rumbled, with a meaningful look at the young engineer, "I believe as _ranking officer_, the responsibility's mine. Corporal Andersen kept a cool head when I was losing mine. He did good."

"I… see," the captain frowned. "What about the objective? What kind of data did you grab, Andersen?"

"I'm not sure yet," the engineer shrugged. "I just dumped the entire database onto my omni-tool. Haven't had time to sift through it yet."

"Well, you'll have plenty of time while we're in flight."

"Where are we headed, sir?" Arrete chipped in.

"The Citadel. Zya's stable, but her voice modulator's ruined. Dr O'Leiph says she knows a salarian doctor who specialises in cybernetics - he should be able to help her. Besides which, we're due to pick up Alec and Erika from their R&R. Shouldn't take more than six hours to get us there, Akito's headed for the relay already."

"Understood, sir," Andersen nodded. "I'll have a look through the data, see if I can pick out anything important before we arrive."

"Good man. Now, dismissed…"

Murphy stepped back from the war room table, waving a hand at the three squadmates. Wordlessly, they turned and shuffled out, but Andersen's mind was racing more than it had been when they entered - as they stepped into the corridor outside, he caught Irving by the arm, and dragged the gunnery chief back. Once Arrete had drifted off across the CIC, quite oblivious, the engineer turned to his colleague, and scowled:

"What the _hell _was that about?"

"What?" Irving frowned.

"That 'ranking officer' shit."

"I meant every word," the marine shrugged. "I had rank. I could have belayed your order. I didn't. This is on me."

"Bullshit. If I hadn't given the order in the first place-"

"Corporal?" Irving interrupted.

"Yeah?" he muttered.

"Do yourself a favour, and shut up. You've got enough on your mind without adding this to the pile. Trust me."

Andersen opened his mouth to object, but at the sight of Irving's scarred visage staring back at him, something faltered. He closed his mouth again, and nodded reluctantly.

"That's that, then," the chief grunted. "C'mon."

He nodded his head towards the door, and set off at a brisk march. Bemused, Andersen followed on at his heel.

"By the way…" Irving frowned, over his shoulder. "How _are _you still a corporal?"

"What?"

It was such an abrupt change of subject, it rather caught him off guard…

"You're… what, twenty-four?"

"Twenty-two."

The big man blinked in surprise.

"Wow… point still stands, though," he muttered. "You're a tech, so you did specialist training. Mind like yours, I'm guessing you did well, came out of it on a fast-track program, at corporal rank."

Andersen nodded. It was his turn to be surprised now - the gunnery chief was smarter than he let on…

"So, three years' service, with skills like yours… how the hell haven't you been promoted yet?"

"Alliance Engineering Corps doesn't make a habit of promoting people who modify their own records…"

Wolfe shot him a _'seriously?' _expression. He replied with a guilty grin.

"Why would _you _have to modify your results?" the big marine frowned.

"Not… results, per se, those were fine. It was more… references."

"Ah. I think I'm beginning to get the idea…"

"I only removed the ones that were unfair!" he protested. Then, more diplomatically, he added: "I mean… I _clashed _with a few of my old COs…"

"Because you were smarter than them, right?"

"No, it… actually, yeah, pretty much."

Irving chuckled, and shook his head.

"It's fine to be smarter than everyone else," he murmured, "just don't go pointing it out. They don't like it."

"You have _no _idea how true that is."

"Oh, I can guess…"

As they trailed off into silence, Andersen realised they had crossed the CIC in the course of the conversation, and were now standing in front of the elevator doors.

"Err… thanks," he muttered, as they waited for the elevator itself.

"What for?"

"Covering for me."

"Ah, no worries. Just buy me a drink next time we're on shore leave, and we're even."

"Fat chance. Have you _seen _a corporal's pay grade?"

"I'm sorry, did I sound like I was asking? That was an order… _corporal_."

"Oh. Aye aye, chief."


	391. Citadel II Part 1

_**Level 3, Bachjret Ward**_

_**Day 1, 2100**_

It had been weeks since the crew had any shore leave, and when the Cambrai finally touched down on Shalta Ward, they had scattered off in search of clubs, bars, restaurants, and so on. Only a few had more important things to do - Murphy stayed to arrange Zya's transfer to Shalta General, Andersen had still been poring through the hacked data on his omni-tool when Tyco last saw him, and the bounty hunter himself… he'd made a beeline for Bachjret Ward. No bars, though, no clubs. He had a very different destination in mind.

The lower reaches of the ward were filled with dust and smoke, a true undercity that put him in mind of good old Omega… the markets were crowded, and the alleyways bustled with activity, but Tyco had found the one secluded place in the entire district, a mooring point down on the sub-level which had been left abandoned after the Cerberus attack - the leaseholder had been among the casualties, Tyco assumed. Now, he was just leaning against the railing, looking out over the void of space as he waited, foot tapping nervously.

He'd received the message when they entered orbit over Eden Prime - the satellite carriers over Terra Nova had all been shot down, blocking transmissions - and ever since, he'd been _itching _to get back. He was almost glad Zya had been wounded, as horrible as it was to say it… no, damn it, why should he feel guilty? She was fine, she wasn't dead, or even dying…

"Tyco," a familiar voice muttered, as a grey form drew up to his side.

"Kass. You're late."

"Better late than never, right?"

"Practically your motto… where's the datapad?"

"Have a _little _patience," the salarian frowned, rummaging through his pocket. Tyco just glared at him, until finally, he murmured: "Here it is…"

No sooner had he produced the datapad than Tyco had snatched it out of his hands, eyes poring hungrily over the precious information displayed upon it.

"Drake Frost…" he read aloud, hands trembling with nervous energy. "This is the guy? You're sure?"

"Positive," Kass nodded. "Facial recognition software gets a 97% match between his ID and your guncam shot. Accounting for aging and the poor quality of the guncam, that's almost a perfect match. Not to mention the fact his skill set matches the MO used against your friend _and _both of the Broker's dead men."

"So… who is he?"

"It's right there. You could _read _it."

He scowled at Kass, and the salarian relented.

"Colony kid," he began. "Parents were first-wave colonists on New Canton, right at the edge of the Verge, and Drake grew up there. School records are nothing special. Mediocre intelligence, but a couple of his tutors suspected he wasn't really trying. Biotic potential noted early on, but he never went to BAaT, or the Ascension Project. Trained himself, I assume, or maybe he learned from another biotic in the colony. The records I managed to… _acquire _from New Canton show past involvement with the Terra Firma Party, and a couple of different street gangs. He drops off the radar aged eighteen, and reappears-"

"In Cerberus records," Tyco guessed.

"Precisely. Low-level operative and enforcer, recruited on Omega. Rose up the ranks with a mixture of cunning and brutality, and at the same time received advanced biotic training. Eventually, he was selected for the first stage of Project Phoenix, and… well, you know the rest. He's been operating for about two months now, by my estimate. I'm afraid I couldn't find anything on his current location, but there's enough in that datapad for you to track him. Name, gene print-"

"Family…"

The salarian sighed, and shot him a slightly disapproving frown.

"What?" Tyco snapped. "A year off Omega and suddenly you've grown a conscience?"

"It was always _there_," the salarian retorted, "but working with you and the Broker made suppressing it a necessity. Whether I approve or not, that's a useless road to go down. His parents were killed in the Collector attack on New Canton. His old gang's been wiped out, as gangs usually are. There's a junkie half-sister floating round the slums on Omega, but I don't think he even knows she exists, and if he did he wouldn't care."

"So if I've got no-one to lean on, what's the use of _this?_" the bounty hunter scowled, waggling the datapad.

"You've got a name," Kass shrugged. "Now you know who to look for in their databanks. Also, the Broker got hold of a good few Cerberus communiques - I've noted down his main correspondents for you."

"Thanks," Tyco muttered, vaguely. "You've tracked his location, too."

"Yeah. Everywhere he's been in the last three months… as far as I know, anyway. I figure you're a hunter, that should be enough to put you on his tail."

"It's a start…"

Awkward silence.

"You could at least thank me, Tyco."

"Why? You're getting paid for this."

"I'm not getting paid a damn thing."

The bounty looked up, eyes widening slightly in genuine surprise.

"Neither's the Broker," Kass admitted. "That bank account you gave me access to? It's all still there, down to the last credit. The Broker just wants Drake dead, he doesn't want your money."

"And you?"

"I owed you one," the salarian shrugged, with a thin smile.

"I see… well, thanks, I guess."

Kass nodded briefly, and they stared out over the Citadel arms for a moment more.

"You know…" the salarian murmured, "the Broker was pleased to have you back in the loop."

"I'm not 'back in the loop'," Tyco snapped. "I just needed a favour."

"You sure?"

He frowned.

"Go on."

"The Broker's short on good agents…" Kass muttered, diplomatically. "Shorter still on trustworthy ones. We've come to an accord about… co-operating in future, and he wanted me to extend the same offer to you. He's got a job for you, if you want to take it…"

On any day prior, Tyco would have told him to go to hell. But today, with Drake's identity in his hand, and the knowledge that the _Broker _of all people had put it there…

"What's the job?" he asked, finally.

The salarian grinned, nervously.

"Kill order. Just like old times…"


	392. Citadel II Part 2

_**Shalta General Hospital, Shalta Ward**_

_**Day 1, 2240**_

Zya was _bored_, to put it bluntly. Dr O'Leiph had carted her over to Shalta General as soon as they touched down, and the assassin had had to endure twenty minutes just _sitting there_, the power of speech eluding her as the asari and her salarian colleague chattered over her head, like she wasn't even _there_. Then, Ria had gone off to the Cambrai, and the salarian - Rensel, was it? - had confined her to bed rest, despite the fact that there was _nothing _wrong with her. Okay, she was on a blood transfusion, but that was just fuss, it wasn't really _necessary_.

The worst of it was, she couldn't even sharpen her knives or tinker with her guns. Her armour was gone too. She was wearing one of the bland black crew uniforms from the Cambrai, shirt and boots discarded to leave the pants and her underwear. Better than a hospital gown, she supposed. Those things were just _humiliating_.

With a _hiss_, the door to her room swung open, and a turian orderly stepped in with a patronising smile. He bustled over, checking the drip running into one arm and the heart rate monitor attached to her chest by sticky pads.

"Blood pressure a little elevated…" he murmured to himself - like the others, he was talking as if she wasn't even there. "All fine, though. How are you doing, miss?"

She stared for a moment. It was the first time someone had actually bothered to talk to her since she arrived. After a little thought, she just gave a weak smile, and a thumbs up.

"Good, good. Dr Rensel's set up a pager, so if you need anything, just buzz," the turian continued, pointing to the little remote that had been taped messily to her bedrail. She hadn't even noticed it before. Maybe she'd blacked out - she _was _rather tired, what with the blood loss and all. Even she couldn't deny that…

"Vickus, Private Mitchell's sutures just ruptured…" another voice groaned, through the open door. Zya saw a shock of blond hair and a human head in the window beside the door. "Give me a hand, will you? Surgeons have all buggared off for the night, we'll have to stitch him back up ourselves…"

"Coming!" 'Vickus' replied. He turned to Zya, shot her another smile, and murmured: "We'll come by and check you on again later. Promise."

She nodded - _'I'm fine, you don't need to bother' _didn't translate too well non-verbally - and the orderly darted out of the room to go with his fellow. Zya just let her head fall back against the pillow, and shut her eyes…

She couldn't quite tell how long passed before she opened them again. It might have been seconds - sure felt like it - or she might have been out for hours. She was awoken, at any rate, by a clatter of footsteps in the hallway outside.

"Sir, this is a military ward," the human orderly's voice muttered.

"And I'm a military man," a new, familiar, one replied. "I'm here to see one of your inpatients. Vanyali?"

"First room down…"

Zya felt a little jolt of surprise and… something else at that. Excitement? Why should be excited? No, _interest_, that was it was. It was _interesting _to know Vanyali was here too. In hindsight, _of course _she was - like the orderly said, this was the military ward.

A dull figure appeared in the frosted glass window, and Zya frowned.

"Err, sir?" the orderly sighed, appearing in the window at the figure's back. "Wrong room, this is number two. You're looking for number-"

_Wham._

Had Zya's voice box been working, she would have gasped, because the newcomer struck with the precision and the ferocity of a viper. There was a terrible impact on the reinforced glass window, and she rather suspected the dark mess on the other side was what remained of the orderly's head. He slumped down out of sight, and the figure turned away from the window.

"What the-? Spirits!" the turian orderly cried, somewhere in the distance.

_Thump. _The sound of a heavy impact, and a body hitting the floor. Then, muffled through the wall, a _snap_.

Zya's blood ran cold. A rare enough event, but probably deserved, because the figure was skulking back towards the window, slowly, calmly… she pressed herself down into the bed and _clamped _her eyes shut, playing dead.

_Hiss._ A cool draught rippled over her arms as the door opened. There were footsteps, slow and measured, and her brain went into overdrive, working out how many steps it could be from the door to the bed for a man of that height. Roughly five, she reckoned.

_Three, four, five_… the footsteps stopped. Zya opened her eyes-

And the figure was right over her. Black armour, black helmet, black breather just obscuring the face, but leaving enough to be… familiar. Her first instinct was to swing out a kick, and she planted her heel in the man's gut, but it was bare foot against heavy armour, and he barely blinked…

She slammed a palm onto the makeshift pager, then rolled out of bed as the man dove at her. In the process, she pulled with her everything that was _attached _to her - the heart rate monitor _crashed _to the floor, pads ripping off her arm and taking skin with them, as the drip stand holding up her transfusion toppled sideways. She landed hard on her arm, snapping the needle within rather painfully and causing blood to spill out from the drip tube, forming a sticky puddle on the floor.

Zya rolled away from a stomp of the man's boot, and went for the first weapon she could think of, the drip stand - she grabbed it by the base, and with no small amount of difficulty at this angle, she _swung _it upwards at her attacker.

It clattered into his visor, and he staggered back, but a moment later he came in again, and this time he was ready - he met another swing by grabbing the stand, ripping it out of her hands, and tossing it to the side, snapped in two at the middle.

Then, he was on her. A hefty, armoured knee slammed down on her nearly-bare chest, knocking the wind out of her, and he swung a punch at her head - she felt it _bounce _off the floor, as the world became rather blurry…

A pair of gauntlets descended around her neck, and that _really _frightened her. She tried to struggle back, tried to dislodge him with a kick, tried to jab a finger into his eye, but he was too heavy to shift, and her fingers could do little more than scratch at his visor. His grip tightened, his thumbs began to search for her windpipe - instead, they found the shattered metal implant above it, and pressed hard.

Zya gulped and gasped wordlessly as pain and pressure flared through her neck. She flailed out an arm, reaching for one of the snapped remnants of the drip stand, with half a hope to swing it at him, to knock him away, and-

_Crack._


	393. Citadel II Part 3

_**Level 16, Shalta Ward**_

_**Day 1, 2300**_

_Knock knock_.

God, it had been too long since he'd been here. There were about a million 'what ifs' running through his mind already: What if it had been _too _long? What if she'd met a guy? More importantly, what if she was asleep, and he was stood out here on the front step looking like an _idiot?_

The door opened with a hiss, and he was left to face the music.

The surprise on Kayla's face was palpable. Her blue eyes went very wide, then narrowed, then relaxed and _shone._

"Flowers?" she said finally, with an utterly affected air of cool and calm. "Really?"

"I thought it was a nice gesture," he shrugged, looking down at the bunch in his hand.

"Then you can keep _them_, and I'll take _this,_" she smiled sweetly, liberating the bottle of wine from his _other _hand.

"Somehow, I thought you might."

She smirked, whipped around on her heel, and retreated into the apartment, beckoning for Murphy to follow. He slung himself down on the sofa, dumped the flowers on the table, and leant back with a sigh, running a hand through his hair. Kayla, for her part, went off into the kitchen, and returned a moment later with a pair of wine glasses.

"Celebrating something?" he grinned.

"Well, you're not dead," she shrugged, setting the glasses down and yanking the top off the bottle.

"Hey, I'll drink to that," Murphy chuckled. "It was damn close…"

"It's been weeks," Kayla said, rather abruptly, as she handed him a glass. "I'm hoping you weren't on Palaven the whole time?"

"I… no, we weren't…" he murmured, trailing off thoughtfully.

Christ, had it really been that long? Menae, Project Phoenix, Sarah and Irving's capture, Noveria, Terra Nova, Eden Prime… it felt like no time at all, but she was right, it _had _been weeks, hadn't it? Last time he was here, with Kayla pinning him to the floor, they'd been under Hackett's command. Kamur was still away. Klara was still with them. Maelar was still alive. Vanyali, Sarah, Erika, Alec, they were all still in good health…

"It's been a while," the captain frowned, speaking his thoughts aloud. Then, he realised Kayla was still perched next to him, glass in hand, and muttered: "I mean… sorry. We got called off on a new deployment, some rough stuff happened…"

"It's alright," she smiled, taking a sip. "I know how military life is. You're the only person with hours worse than _mine_, and that's saying something."

He grinned. She grinned back.

"Very understanding… I have to admit, after this long, I was expecting to find some hunk of a detective tied to your bed."

"Oh, he's there," she teased. "Why do you think I'm keeping you out here?"

"Seriously, _that's_ the only reason?" he laughed, taking a swig from his glass. Between the wine and the anaesthetic coursing through him, he was feeling pretty damn relaxed…

She just attempted to give a sultry pout… then failed, and broke into a beautiful chuckle instead.

"Seriously, though," he continued. "You're not as pissed off as I thought you'd be."

"You thought I'd be pissed off?"

"Well, you _usually _are."

"That's because _you_" - she jabbed his chest playfully - "only run into me when I'm getting my ass kicked. Or… when I'm not wearing much. You wouldn't happen to be doing that on purpose, would you?"

The C-Sec officer was smirking, and Murphy realised what she meant. Just like last time, she was wearing little more than a long t-shirt and her underwear - the gentleman in him felt a little pride that he'd only _just _noticed that.

"What kind of guy do you take me for?" the captain grinned.

"Hey, I'm just saying," she shrugged. "You always show up in the middle of the night. A girl might think you've got an ulterior motive…"

"_Always?_" he backtracked. "Twice."

"Two for two."

"… okay, point taken. Next time, I'll show up when you're wearing more."

"I never said _that_…" she purred. "But come on, you were telling me about your 'deployment'."

"I… really wasn't," Murphy muttered.

"Oh… okay."

"No offence," he added, quickly. "It's just… this hasn't been the best of months. I've been shot, beaten up, blown up, and that's just me… To be honest, I came here to forget about it all."

She perked up a little at that explanation, and nodded contentedly.

"So, how about you?" the captain asked.

"Really? I can't ask, but you can?"

"If you've had as bad a time of it as I have, then the Citadel's gotten a _lot _worse since I left. Come on, distract me…"

"There's nothing much to _say_," Kayla sighed. "Arrested a few idiots, saved a few people… you know, day-to-day stuff."

"Day-to-day stuff," he echoed, with a nod and a grin. There was an odd tension in the air, but he couldn't quite put his finger on it…

"I should really put these in some water, shouldn't I?" she murmured, looking down at the flowers on the table.

"I didn't think you cared for them…"

"Yeah, well… it is a _bit _sweet. Never had a guy give me flowers before. Or wine. The wine's _very _good."

He chuckled, and she clambered to her feet, grabbing the flowers and heading off into the adjoining kitchen. She rummaged through the cupboards for a minute, before producing a small metal pitcher, filling it hastily with water, and plonking it down on the counter. As she hurriedly stuffed the flowers into it, Murphy leant down, and proceeded to pour himself another glass of wine.

"Much better…" Kayla murmured, after a moment. She came padding back into the living room, Murphy looked up-

And he almost choked on his drink. Somehow, she was wearing even _fewer _clothes than before - the t-shirt lay abandoned in a heap on the kitchen floor.

"I… wow…" was about all he could manage, as she slid down next to him on the sofa, leaning into his side.

"Cat got your tongue?" she smiled, sweetly.

"_Something _has…"

There was a lovely burble of laughter, which sent shivers down his spine, but at the same time, Kayla was staring up at him with a look of concern in her blue eyes. Finally, and somewhat tentatively, she reached up and ran her hand over his cheek. He winced, as her fingers brushed against the freshly-carved scars…

"_They're_ new," she observed, sadly.

"Yeah."

The mood had dropped. Labouring on, however, she forced a cheeky grin, and added:

"Oh well. I hear krogan women like scars."

"_Why _do people keep saying that?" he groaned.

"Don't worry…" she purred, laughing a little at the same time, and pulling herself up into his lap. "I like them too…"

Dax grinned at Murphy in his mind's eye. All things considered, that _wasn't _a helpful image right now.

Then, quite suddenly, that image and every other was _forced _out of his brain by current events - Kayla grabbed him by the collar, pull his face up to meet hers, and kissed him rather forcibly on the lips. When they broke apart a minute later, both rather breathless, she was blushing vividly, but covering it with a smirk.

"Well, I _did _promise…"

"That you did," he chuckled. He was about to pull her in again, but then:

_Knock knock_.

Kayla froze, and her eyes went wide. Silently, the two of them seemed to reach the consensus that if they stayed _very _quiet, whoever it was would go away.

"Kayla, it's Sam," the voice on the other side called, putting paid to _that _plan. "I need to speak to Murphy."

"Bastard!" Kayla swore, loudly. She dove for the nearest pillow to cover her modesty, as Murphy, despite himself, let out a little chuckle.

"I'll get the door then, shall I?" he laughed, rising from the sofa and heading for the door. It hissed open willingly, and sure enough, Sam Vimes was standing on the other side.

"You've got a real sense of timing, you know that?" Kayla hissed, from the sofa. She was clutching a pillow across her chest, but Vimes barely seemed to notice her.

"Captain, you need to come with me," he muttered.

"Really? That's the best you could come up with?" Murphy frowned, grinning nonetheless. As pranks went, this was quite a bad one by Vimes' standards…

But Vimes wasn't kidding around, he realised. His face was cold and hard, and wasn't that frightening? He didn't bother to tease Murphy, or Kayla, or even to make a grinning apology as he usually would… something was wrong.

"What's up?" the captain asked, serious now.

"I…" Sam trailed off. Eventually, he just sighed, and muttered, sadly: "You need to see this…"


	394. Citadel II Part 4

_**Shalta General Hospital, Shalta Ward**_

_**Day 1, 2330**_

Shalta General was abuzz with activity when Murphy and Vimes arrived. Doctors, nurses and orderlies were all dashing to and fro around the reception room, trading datapads and charts, tense conversations accompanying every exchange along with the odd sigh of relief… The captain's initial, sad suspicion was that Vanyali had coded, but this… this was something else. As they stepped through into the next ward, C-Sec officers were going room to room, and they weren't patrolmen - they were _heavily _armed. Special Response, then…

Vimes had been silent ever since they left Kayla's apartment. Wordlessly, he shepherded Murphy into the elevator at the end of the ward, pressed a button - the captain didn't see which - and leant back with a sigh, as they rumbled upwards.

"Come on, Sam," he murmured after a moment, letting just a shade of panic enter his voice. "What's going on?"

Vimes kept his silence at first, but then, he noticed the expression on the captain's face, and gave another sigh, before relenting.

"There was an attack," the detective muttered, rather hoarsely. "A patient on the military ward set off a pager just before eleven, and one of the nurses hit the panic alarm five minutes later. Commander Marin's team hit the hospital inside ten minutes. Special Response has been on alert for something like this ever since the Cerberus coup… Marin called me afterwards, told me to find you."

"Why?"

Vimes just shot him a sad stare. They both knew damn well _why_.

Any further conversation was interrupted by a subtle _hiss _as the elevator door opened, to reveal the military ward in a state of pandemonium. Forensics teams were scanning every inch of the place, there were armed officers everywhere you looked, and at the end of the hallway, watching them every step of the way as they emerged, was the commander himself.

The big turian was leaning next to the door of room number two, arms folded, a rifle on his back just like the others. As Murphy crossed towards him at Vimes' heel, he couldn't help but notice the two shrouded figures on the floor. One of them was off to the left - judging by the sharp edges under the cloth, a turian - while the other rested at Marin's feet. Murphy had a horrible suspicion the brown-grey stain on the window above had originally been the contents of that particular man's skull.

Sam and Murphy drew up opposite Gabriel, but none of them said a word. Eventually, the turian turned towards the door, pressed the release, and gave Vimes a little nod, laced with meaning - the younger officer shuffled off silently, moving to block off the hallway as the captain and the commander stepped inside.

Murphy groaned as he did.

Zya was laid out, still and unmoving on the floor of the room, a scene of mild carnage around her. Her eyes had been closed, out of respect, but her limbs were still splayed out, and she was still only half-clothed. The necessity, he supposed, of preserving the scene. Damn forensics.

"Her chart didn't list any next of kin," Marin murmured, with painful sympathy. "You were first point of contact. That means we, ah… we need a formal identification."

The captain was only barely listening to him. He stepped forward across the room, not caring a damn if he put footprints on the crime scene, and knelt at the assassin's feet, hanging his head. He opened his mouth to say something, to give Gabriel his 'formal identification', but no words came out. There was somethingabout it all that choked him… a squadmate dying on the battlefield, he could handle that, but this… this was _sick_.

"A nod is all we need."

Murphy nodded.

"Thank you. We can, err… we can move her now. Do you know of anyone we should be informing? Family, friends?"

"I… no…" Murphy croaked, still looking morbidly down at her. Then, after a slight hesitation, he muttered: "What was the cause of death?"

"Captain, are you sure you're alright discussing this?" the turian frowned.

"I asked, didn't I?" the captain snapped.

He blinked.

"Okay… cause of death was asphyxiation. Her… windpipe was broken, and she choked out before anyone could get to her."

"Broken by what?" Murphy backtracked.

"Forensics thinks it was a pair of gauntlets," he replied, coming to kneel next to the captain and pointing up at her throat with a single talon. "There were pressure marks along her neck, like fingers, but no fingerprints. They also found some fragments of metal buried in the broken windpipe which they couldn't explain…"

"She had a…" - Murphy waved at his own throat, forgetting the words for a moment - "a modulator. Artificial voice box. She was waiting for surgery to fit a new one."

"Which… would have been on her chart, if they'd bothered to look," Marin sighed. "I swear, sometimes…"

"I'm surprised they could find _anything_ in here," the captain scowled, looking around the room. "What'd they do, turn the place upside down?"

"It was like this when we arrived."

The room was certainly a mess. Zya's bed had rocked away from the wall, the heart rate monitor beside it lay _shattered _on the floor, a drip stand to the side had been snapped in half, the window was broken… and there was a puddle of blood on the floor.

"We tested it, before you ask," the turian sighed, following his gaze. "Didn't belong to her _or _her attacker."

"How can you be sure?"

"Because the DNA match is a middle-aged human female who died in the Cerberus attack. It came from the drip."

"Oh… any other marks?"

"No. There's a bruise over her chest, and another on her temple, but they're both clean too - the attacker would have been sterilised as he entered the ward, and we're assuming he was wearing armour."

"Assuming…?" Murphy murmured, looking up at the turian. Something clicked. "You didn't catch the guy, did you?"

"He was gone before we got here."

"How? How did he get down _five _floors out into the streets before your men reached the entrance?"

Marin just pointed across the room, at the broken window. Looking across, Murphy really for the first time that there was _no glass on the floor_, unless you counted two or three shards from the heart rate monitor. The window had been smashed outwards.

"He jumped?"

"We think so. I mean, it could have been taken out by a bullet, but nobody downstairs heard shots, and if the guy had a gun, why would he _strangle _your operative instead of shooting her?"

"That's a five storey drop…" the captain mused. "How'd he survive it?"

"He must have had an accomplice waiting," the commander shrugged. "All I know is, the security cameras show him killing the two orderlies, then marching in here. There's no surveillance in private rooms, so we don't know exactly what he did in here, but he _didn't come out_, and he was gone by the time we reached the scene. I sent a team to track him, but they couldn't find a damn thing, just broken glass on the pavement outside. The rest of us locked the place down and moved all the other patients to a secure C-Sec facility. We couldn't take the chance he'd left something behind - explosives, a bioweapon, you know the drill… Your lieutenant - Vanyali, is it? - she's safe, by the way."

"Vanyali was here?"

"Oh yes," Marin chuckled, hollowly. "She was in the room next door."

Yikes. That was an uncomfortable thought…

"Have you got any suspects?" he asked, after a moment.

"I… can't tell you that," the turian replied, hesitating slightly. "Ongoing case."

"Bullshit," Murphy retorted, a surge of anger bubbling up in his gut. Second stage of grief… "There's no 'can't' about it, you _won't _tell me. Why the hell not, Gabriel?"

"Because you won't like what you hear…" Marin scowled, almost instantly.

"Try me."

The turian bit his plated lip, then muttered:

"Everyone who comes up to the ward has to sign in at the nurse's station. Hospital staff punch their work cards, visitors sign into the logbook. Doctor Rensel checked out at half ten, after that, there were just the two orderlies inside."

"The ones who were killed?"

"Yes. Only one visitor signed in after that. He came up at quarter to eleven to visit your lieutenant."

Murphy's stomach lurched. Like Zya, Vanyali didn't have next of kin listed, and Murphy didn't know of any old Alliance buddies floating around, certainly none who'd be privy to her location… that just left the crew, he noted, with another horrible jolt.

"Who?" he asked, after a moment's pause.

"Tyco Maffei."


	395. Citadel II Part 5

**A/N: So, Double Monday... just for the hell of it.**

* * *

><p><em><strong>Shalta General Hospital, Shalta Ward<strong>_

_**Day 1, 2340**_

"I told you you wouldn't like it…"

Murphy just glared at the turian, who was taking on a horribly _reasonable _tone that just sounded condescending in his current mood - his anger had become full-grown in the space of a few seconds, completely overwhelming his prior shock.

"You have to admit, captain, it doesn't look good… Someone using your man's name checks into the hospital, kills two orderlies, and strangles Zya to death. He even tells the ward nurse he's there to visit Vanyali, and that they were in a romantic relationship – both things that check out with the psych profile, both things that a stranger _wouldn't _know."

"The psych profile… have you been at our files?" he spluttered.

"I didn't _need _your files," Marin replied, and the flicker of his eyes towards the hallway betrayed him, or rather, his colluder.

Murphy was going to _kill _Sam.

"Don't blame him," the turian muttered, as if psychic. "I'm his boss, he had to answer. And I had to ask. I'm dealing with a triple murder here, and your man's the prime suspect…"

"You can't rule out an attack on our crew," the captain scowled. "Kill one, frame another… there are plenty of people with an axe to grind against us, against me, against _Tyco_, for that matter…"

"The rooms, Murphy!" Marin snapped.

"What?"

"The _rooms_. Zya was in one, Vanyali was in the one _next _to her. If this was a vendetta, if it was targeted against your crew in general, why would the killer leave the comatose, helpless girl, and instead kill the one who was capable of fighting _back?_ Logical conclusion is he had a reason _to _target Zya, or a reason _not _to target Vanyali. Like, for instance, loving her."

"Okay, so leaving Vanyali alive fits, but _why _would he kill Zya?" Murphy stressed, asking _himself_ the question for the hundredth time in the space of a few minutes.

"They were both mercenaries, the way Sam tells it," Gabriel sighed. "Contract killers, for that matter. It's only been an hour, and Network's _already _found data exchanges between Tyco Maffei and a known associate of the Shadow Broker. That would suggest Maffei takes, or _used to take_ contracts for the Broker, and it's not too far a stretch to say Zya would have taken a contract or two against the Broker in her time. Maybe she did it regularly. Maybe, when the Broker heard a thorn in his side was lying wounded in a hospital bed, defenceless… he sent a merc to finish her off."

"That's a lot of maybes, commander. I repeat: _why?_" the captain growled.

"Money makes the world go round. A large pay-off, the promise of security for his injured girlfriend… Better than dying on a battlefield."

"He wouldn't do that, Gabriel."

"Says you, captain. You've only known him as a soldier on your crew, but he's _not _a soldier. He's a hitman, for spirits' sake!"

Murphy so _wanted _to argue with that, but he just couldn't. Marin's logic was sound, and the captain couldn't counter that with his _gut feeling _– he trusted it, but why should anyone else?

"Err, Commander?" a new voice interjected, from behind Murphy's back. An asari girl had appeared in the doorway, nervously poking her head into the turian's office.

"The results, I assume?"

"Yes, sir."

"Good work, officer. Give them here."

The asari flitted across the room, handed the commander a datapad, and then turned on her heel, leaving as quickly as she had arrived.

Gabriel spent a good few minutes poring over the datapad, completely ignoring Murphy as his bright eyes roved up and down, searching the 'results' with a piercing glare. And then, finally… his eyes flickered shut, and he let out a long, sorry sigh.

"What is it?" Murphy muttered, finally. Marin flipped the datapad round, and pressed it into the captain's hands, as he replied:

"Network extracted the killer's ident from the hospital scanners. Positive match for Tyco Maffei."

The captain's heart sank in his chest. He didn't even bother to read the datapad, not properly. There was a vague ringing in his ears, and it took a minute or two before he could bring himself to look up, meeting Marin's tense gaze once more.

"C-Sec's got to move on this, captain. I'm sorry."

The turian made for the door, but Murphy intercepted him halfway, grabbing him by the arm and pulling him back. It was no mean feat, in hindsight – Marin was at least half a foot taller than him, and looked _very _big as he rounded on the smaller man, growling:

"You're lucky, Murphy. Shooting in a military ward? That comes under Special Response, my guys. But tracking the bastard down? That's Investigation. Now, I'm off-duty at the moment. So this information" – he waggled the datapad, demonstratively – "doesn't hit their desk until eight o'clock tomorrow."

He gave Murphy a meaningful – but still rather threatening – look, then swept around and stormed out of the office, leaving the captain alone in silence. Almost instantly, he went for his omni-tool, and dialled in the first number he could think of:

"Mac'Tir?" he murmured.

"Yes?" the drell replied, confusion clear in his voice.

"I need you to get out onto the Wards, quick as you can."

"Hmm?"

"Find Tyco. Bring him to the ship. You've got until oh-eight-hundred."

"Understood," Mac'Tir nodded. To his credit, he didn't _bother _to ask why, and they closed the comm channel without saying anything more - there was nothing tosay, at any rate.

Quite suddenly, alone in this god-awfulroom with Zya's body, the captain felt something, some _dam _in the back of his mind break. Rage and frustration and sorrow all came coursing up through his veins, and wasn't that unfortunate for the figure now stepping through the doorway?

"Captain?" Vimes muttered. "Are you-?"

_Wham! _With a speed and ferocity that surprised even himself, Murphy crossed the room, grabbed the C-Sec officer by the collar and _slammed _him into the wall. Sam's eyes went very wide, with shock more than anything else, as Murphy leaned in close, and growled:

"I'll deal with _you_ later…"

And with that, he shoved Vimes off to one side, leaving the stunned officer in his wake as he stormed out of the room and made for the elevator. _Someone _was going to answer for this shit.


	396. Citadel II Part 6

_**Level 12, Shalta Ward**_

_**Day 2, 0030**_

"Thank you for assisting me, siha. I think the captain sometimes forgets you're as accomplished a hunter as I am…"

"No, I think he just knows you've got more _restraint _than I have."

The two of them smiled knowingly at each other, then looked down. The narrow bridge they were currently sitting atop overlooked the rooftops of the buildings below - small tenements, shops and dining establishments, mostly - and gave them a perfect view of the sprawling alleyways beneath. Using a few tricks of the trade that Raziel wasn't willing to divulge, even to Saffiya, it had been child's play to track their sniper colleague into these alleys, and put the two of them in a position to cut him off.

"It feels strange," the drell admitted. "Hunting a friend."

"The captain wouldn't ask us to do itif he didn't have reason to."

"I know."

"But all the same… we should try to do this as peacefully as possible."

He nodded, and murmured:

"The alleys are abandoned. It seems the people here respect the night, even without a sunset. That should make things easier."

Her turn to nod, and then:

"I see him."

The drell started slightly - maybe it was arrogance, but he'd been expecting to spot Tyco first, keen eyes and all… She was right, though. The bounty hunter was unmistakeable, even from high above. His helmet was discarded, but the black shoulders of his armour were visible below the buzz cut, and the slightly-tanned neck…

"Drop behind him," he murmured to his companion, business-like for a moment. "Use your biotics to cushion the fall, then give chase. I'll cross the rooftops and cut him off."

He glanced down, and for a moment regretted not choosing the direct approach, accosting Tyco in honesty, but to do that would be to throw away their chances of this second approach succeeding, and if he ran from them face to face, what then? Better safe than sorry, he supposed…

"Now?" Saffiya whispered.

"Now," the assassin nodded, sliding gracefully to his feet, and keeping his eyes trained on the black form below as he did.

He marched a little way along the bridge, knowing full well Saffiya would be moving into action behind his back, and counted the steps. _Four, five, six…_

On seven, he hurled himself over the side. It took surprisingly little cajoling to get his brain to jump - an effect of doing it fartoo many times in the past, he supposed - and after a moment of weightlessness he dropped, feet first.

He hit the roof of the four-storey building below, dropped into a neat roll, and immediately set his sights on the next edge. He had planned his route within an instant of spotting Tyco - it was down to another apartment block now, three storeys this time…

The drell leapt silently as he hit the edge - his arms and legs swung freely for a moment as he dangled in mid-air, then after two more moments he hit the roof below. His knee clattered down first, he threw himself into a motion that was half-slide, half-roll, and finally he came to a crouching halt, staring off to the left across the top of the alley.

Saffiya was just dropping down onto the opposite rooftop, biotics welling up around her slender form as he drifted down to a rather more graceful landing than his own. She looked up, shot him a brief nod, and then, as footsteps came echoing past in the alley, the justicar strode confidently to the edge and simply _dropped _into the street below. A flicker of biotic blue mingled with the fiery gold of the level's lighting, to produce a rather alluring glow about her figure…

He coughed. No time for that particular distraction - not right now, anyway. As Saffiya disappeared out of sight, his eyes lingered on the far side of the alley, because that was where his route now led.

The jump over the alley was a good deal larger than the two before it, but there was no time for nerves - two pairs of footsteps were ringing out from below now, and they were _running_. Raziel straightened up, set off for the edge at a dash, and jumped, giving himself a _kick _of biotics to aid his flight. Even so, it was a close thing - he ground down on his knees, slid across the level rooftop for a foot or two, then rose dextrously to his feet, twisting around to the right.

Out of the corner of his eye, he saw two figures clad in black darting through the alleyway below. He set off at a sprint after them, hopped the divide to the next rooftop, which was level with the current one, crossed it in a few bounds, dropped another storey to the roof of a small, dilapidated shop, and set off for the corner of that one, preparing to jump back across the alley once more.

His gaze was not fixed on the opposite rooftops, however - instead, he was aiming for the metal fixture which held up the neon sign of the store below. He made out the letters 'Sare-' before his adrenaline took over and action became the priority - he hurled himself into the air with another burst of biotics, hung weightless for a moment, and then clattered into the steel beams, feeling the holographic display dissolve around him as he did. He managed to swing out an arm, grabbing one of the upper struts in one hand and planting a boot on one of the lower ones.

Hanging from the sign by an arm and a leg, he was able to swing back and look down into the alley, just in time to see a black-armoured figure barrelling towards him in the street below. If Tyco had seen him, he didn't stop. It was too late to do so, anyway - a little way behind the bounty hunter, he saw Saffiya pull up, slowing to a jog already. She knew it was over…

Mac'Tir waited just a moment more for the sake of timing, then _hurled _himself off the sign, twisting around in the air…

And slamming down right on top of Tyco. One long, powerful leg caught the bounty hunter in the head, and as he tumbled over Tyco's shoulders a moment later, the drell latched an arm around his neck, dragging the human to the floor with him.

They thudded down, and his target began to struggle almost immediately. A flailing arm caught him in the stomach, and he released his grip, but even as the bounty hunter struggled uprights, fists rising…

_Whoosh_. He froze, a glittering blue stasis field enveloping him from head to toe. Saffiya went striding past, her hands and wrists ablaze, and a moment later:

_Wham! _A biotic palm rattled the bounty hunter's skull, the stasis field erupted with a bright flash… and Tyco toppled sideways to the floor.

"The thought occurs…" Mac'Tir panted, "that you could have just done that to begin with."

"Well…" the asari smiled. "You wouldn't have gotten to show off then, would you?"


	397. Citadel II Part 7

_**SSV Cambrai, Shalta Ward Docks**_

_**Day 2, 0100**_

"You set the _drell _on me?" Tyco growled.

"And the justicar," Murphy added, sarcastically.

"I'm flattered…"

The captain just shot him a hard stare. If he hadn't been so damn angry, he would have noted the irony of the situation - Tyco was slumped in a steel chair in the middle of the starboard cargo hold, right where Nick Shelton had been just a few weeks prior. His hands were cuffed behind his back, and his face was livid with bruises where Saffiya had hit him.

The two of them were alone in the room, with just the gentle hum of the drive core for a soundtrack. Andersen was outside the door, recording proceedings via the cameras, but Tyco didn't know that. Mac'Tir and Saffiya were guarding the airlock up on the CIC, both to keep Tyco in, and to keep C-Sec _out _if they got bold - in hindsight, Murphy would admit he was more than a little paranoid at the time. Aside from those three, however, the entire crew was ashore. Even the doctors had abandoned their empty med bay...

"Where did you go when you went ashore?" the captain asked, after a minute and a half of silence.

"To visit Vanyali," the sniper rumbled in reply. "You already know that - I told you before I _left_."

"Uh-huh? When?"

"_This evening_," Tyco growled, frustratedly. Murphy's eyes narrowed at him, as he replied:

"What time, smartass?"

"I dunno… nine, half nine-ish?"

"Really? The hospital logbook says you signed in at quarter to eleven."

"Book's wrong, then," the bounty hunter grunted. "I wasn't there that late."

Murphy glared again.

"Bullshit."

"Look, captain," Tyco sighed, "what's this about?"

"You want to know what this is about? You want to know what the _hell _this is about? This is about you being the prime suspect in a triple _fucking _murder, Tyco!"

It was incredible how quickly the mood of the room could change. In the blink of an eye, Tyco's bored, rather surly expression turned into a wide-eyed mask of surprise, and Murphy didn't know what to make of that. Genuine shock, or a knack for acting he'd never seen in the bounty hunter before?

"I… what?" Tyco murmured, weakly.

"Someone walked into Shalta General, went up to the military ward, killed two orderlies and strangled Zya," the captain muttered, bluntly.

"_Shit. _Is… is Vanyali okay?"

Murphy frowned.

"She's fine. But the logbook says you were the only one there, Tyco. _Minutes_ before the attack… as far as C-Sec's concerned, you're the only god-damn suspect, and if you can't tell me someone else was up there, that's the way it stays!"

"I don't know. I didn't see anyone else. I didn't kill anyone, Murphy…"

"I want to believe that…" the captain growled. "But that must mean someone else was up there unrecorded, and if you were there, you must have seen them!"

"Yeah, well I wasn't!" the bounty roared, suddenly, and it was Murphy's turn to blink in surprise. "I wasn't there!"

"You weren't?" Murphy frowned, cagily - it was very hard to believe what Tyco was saying when the logbook and the scanners both said otherwise… "You _told _me you were going to visit Vanyali-"

"And I was lying, alright? I haven't… I've not set foot in that god-damn hospital since you sent her there."

"Then why tell me-?"

"I didn't want you to know what I was really doing…" Tyco blurted out, desperately. "I didn't want anyone to know…"

"Then… that begs the obvious question," the captain scowled. "What _were _you doing?"

"Take the cuffs off and I'll show you," the bounty hunter muttered, rattling his bonds demonstratively.

"Nice try."

"Oh, come on, what the _hell _am I gonna do in here anyway? You've locked the door, you're armed, and you've got the justicar upstairs! She already kicked my ass once, I ain't goin' anywhere now!"

Murphy hesitated. Then, against his better judgement, he circled around behind Tyco's chair, and released the cuffs with a swing of his omni-tool. Almost instantly, the bounty hunter clambered up onto his feet, circling around to face the captain warily. With one hand, he went rummaging through his belt, until he finally produced…

"A datapad?" Murphy muttered.

"You want to know where I really was?" Tyco growled. "I was getting this from a contact."

He slung it roughly towards Murphy, and the captain caught it one-handed, before proceeding to read aloud:

"Drake Frost? Who the hell is Drake Frost? A target?"

"_The _target," his crewmate snarled. "That's the bastard from Noveria."

"The one who…?"

"Yeah."

Murphy went silent, reading further while mentally trying to piece it all together. Okay, so Tyco's story _kind of _made sense… but then so did C-Sec's, and you couldn't argue with the evidence they had. The logbook, the scanners… the latter in particular couldn't lie. Tyco could.

"Christ…" he muttered absent-mindedly, as he read one of the data files contained within - a _heavily _encrypted communique between Cerberus operatives. "This is all top secret stuff, Tyco. Cerberus files, Alliance colony records… what the hell kind of contact gave you this?"

"One who works for the Shadow Broker," Tyco replied, bluntly.

Murphy gave no outward reaction to that, but in his head, the cogs were turning. That explained the data exchanges Marin had mentioned, then… and it also gave unwilling testimony to the commander's theory, that the Broker had commissioned a hit… This was getting more confusing by the second.

"How long have you been working on this?" the captain murmured, finally.

"Since we got back from Noveria," the bounty hunter admitted.

Well, that couldn't be healthy. But Tyco's obsession was the least of his worries right now…

"You realise there's still hard evidence?" Murphy muttered, thinking aloud. "The logbook, your bio-scans on the door… even _this_" - he waggled the datapad - "backs C-Sec's theory. It shows them you really were working for the Shadow Broker."

"_With_," Tyco corrected.

"Oh, wise up," he snapped. "Nobody works _with _the Shadow Broker. He just lets them think that… what were you doing for the Broker in return for this data?"

"I…" the bounty hunter hesitated, tellingly. "Nothing."

There was an awkward silence, as Murphy looked up from the datapad. Tyco was staring back at him, and… was that a little flicker of _fear _in the hunter's eyes? He'd never seen that before…

"Boss, I really didn't do this," Tyco said again.

Murphy hesitated on the cusp of saying _'I know'_. Because he didn't.

"My gut agrees…" he sighed, as a compromise. "But the evidence doesn't. They've got your signature, your gene scan… you even listed Vanyali as your reason for visiting - you _told _the nurse the two of you were involved!"

"_I _didn't tell her shit."

"Alright, 'you' told her," the captain muttered, adding air quotes as he spoke. "Point is, if this goes to any court of law…"

"I'm screwed."

"Pretty much… I want to believe you, Tyco, but I'm not sure I _can_."

Another pause, and Murphy sighed again.

"Look, I shouldn't be telling you this… but here's what C-Sec thinks. They reckon the Shadow Broker paid you to kill Zya. They picked up your transmissions to this contact of yours - not the contents, but they traced the addresses. They know you're involved with the Broker, they've got two sources of evidence putting you on the scene… Nobody could have gotten through the hospital scanners without being logged, and according to the scanners, nobody else came in after you…"

"But I didn't do it," Tyco countered, rather firmly.

"Sure. I'll go submit _that _as evidence. I-"

_Hiss_. There was a flood of light in the far corner of the room, as the door opened and Andersen's head appeared in the doorway.

"What, corporal?" Murphy snapped, irascibly. His head was _pounding_.

"Situation's changed," Andersen muttered, briefly. "You need to hear this."

The captain and Tyco exchanged a brief, tense look, and then Murphy swept wordlessly out of the room after Andersen. He slammed the door shut behind himself, locked it for good measure, turned to ask the engineer what was going on-

And froze slightly at the sight of the figure standing by Andersen's side. Regaining his composure, he folded his arms, glared vehemently, and growled:

"What are _you _doing here?"

"I'm here," Vimes scowled back, "because this just went from bad to worse."


	398. Citadel II Part 8

**A/N: Updated the Cambrai Files with our new shuttle pilots. Also, four hundred on Saturday. *gulp***

* * *

><p><em><strong>SSV Cambrai, Shalta Ward Docks<strong>_

_**Day 2, 0115**_

"Talk quick," Murphy muttered, a hard stare fixed on his features.

Sam glared in reply, and standing between the two of them, Andersen felt _awkward_, to say the least.

"I don't know what kind of deal you cut with Marin," Vimes sighed, finally, "but it just got revoked."

"_What?_" the captain hissed. "He went back on-"

"He didn't go back on shit," Sam interrupted. "Not willingly. He got called into the Executor's office half an hour ago. All the evidence Special Response and Network uncovered was turned over to Investigation on the spot, and they've changed priorities."

"To what?"

"A manhunt. Special Response was still looking for suspects - Investigation's going right for number one. Tyco's all over the bloody NewsNet."

Still observing from the sidelines, Andersen couldn't help noticing how Murphy's hands balled up into tight fists, or how his eyes flashed furiously at the news. Maybe it was his injured state, maybe he just took the whole thing personally, but the captain was getting angry. _Really _angry.

"Why are you telling me this?" he growled, finally.

"Because Gabriel's a good guy, but I _know _Investigation, and I wouldn't trust most of them as far as I could throw 'em. No matter how much the commander tries to run a full investigation, they'll run a witch hunt instead. They'll go for Tyco, catch him, and call it a day. Think what you like, captain, but I don't _want _that. Let's face it, none of us really think he did it… _right?_"

He had added the last word rather tentatively as he saw the expression on Murphy's face. A mixture of confusion, disgust, anger, pain…

"I don't know," Murphy sighed. "My brain's telling me he did. It's also telling me he was holding back in there, that there's something he isn't telling us. But my gut's saying that if he did it… I'm done with this shit."

"What?" Andersen and Vimes echoed, aghast.

"If he did it…" the captain growled. "It means one of my crew _killed _another of my crew. That's just… if that really happened, then I don't know how the _fuck _I'm meant to trust any of you."

He glanced at Vimes, and the C-Sec officer looked to the floor, guiltily. Andersen, for his part, felt more than a little hurt, but he tried not to let it show.

"I've got to go," Murphy mumbled, absent-mindedly heading for the elevator.

"You're going to Marin, aren't you?" Sam guessed, disapprovingly.

"Damn right I am. If I fight him enough, maybe I'll start believing Tyco's innocent myself."

"That's not healthy, boss. It's not _helpful_, either."

"Who the hell cares? It's better than doing nothing…"

With that, the elevator doors slammed shut, and Murphy disappeared from sight. Andersen and Vimes were left alone in the engineering corridor, staring blankly off into space as if in a daze.

"We should have stopped him," Sam muttered.

"No, we shouldn't."

"But he's going to go nail Gabriel for this!"

"To be honest, Sam, I don't care."

Vimes' eyebrow rose.

"Marin's been good to us before," Andersen sighed, "but he's accusing Tyco of _murder_, for God's sake!"

"You don't think he did it, then?"

"Hell no. Wait… do you?"

"I don't _want _to, but the evidence they've got… it's pretty watertight, mate. DNA scan and everything."

"I know, I know," the engineer grumbled, head falling back wearily as he clamped his eyes together and tried to think of _something_.

Nothing came, just an awkward silence, as the elevator rumbled to a halt several decks above them. Finally, Andersen fixed his friend with a sideways stare, and murmured:

"Why'd you do it, by the way?"

"Do what?"

"Sell Tyco out?" he scowled, rather more harshly than his friend deserved.

"I didn't sell him out," Sam snapped, eyes narrowing. "I told Gabriel about him when he asked, that's all. We all know Tyco went to visit Vanyali, right?" - Andersen, in fact, knew otherwise, having listened to Murphy and Tyco's conversation, but he nodded nonetheless - "So I expected him to be in the logbook. When Gabriel asked, I figured he was looking for him as a witness, or to let him know Vanyali was okay. I didn't realise he was the bloody suspect…"

Andersen nodded, slowly, and flashed an apologetic smile. Vimes just nodded gratefully in reply.

"Standing here isn't going to help, is it?" the engineer sighed, finally. "C-Sec's got evidence… we need some of our own."

"Do you even know where to find it?" Sam chuckled, mirthlessly.

"Not a damn clue… but I know where to start."

He glanced at the door to the cargo hold, with a grim expression on his face.

"I'll keep watch," Vimes muttered. "I ain't goin' back to C-Sec tonight."

"Alright. Keep an ear on their frequencies, though."

"I… sure," the detective nodded, as if it were against his better judgement. Andersen just made for the door, swiping away the lock with his omni-tool and stepping through into the cargo hold.

The hold's current resident was at the back of the room, hands balled up into tight, frustrated fists like Murphy's. He was examining the geth pod in the corner of the hold - it looked rather intrusive in what was now an interrogation room - but wheeled around as Andersen entered, and let out a sigh of relief at the sight of him.

"Thought you were Murphy…" the bounty hunter grunted.

"And that'd be bad?" Andersen frowned, caught off-guard by the remark.

"He thinks I did it," Tyco muttered, with a scowl that added _'Doesn't he?'_. "He thinks I'm a killer…"

"Everybody on the _ship _thinks you're a killer, Tyco. But we don't think you're a murderer. Neither does Murphy - he's gone to C-Sec to fight your case."

"He's doin' that to convince himself, Andersen. He don't really believe it."

Andersen shrugged. Surprisingly perceptive, and he'd give him that one - he was probably right…

"That's why I need your help," he sighed, finally. "To convince him."

"What d'you want?" Tyco asked, quietly.

"I want you tell me everything you told Murphy," Andersen murmured, reasoning that he could cross-reference the tale Tyco spun now with his previous alibi. "And everything you _didn't _tell him. And then I've got some questions of my own…"


	399. Citadel II Part 9

_**C-Sec Headquarters, Shalta Ward**_

_**Day 2, 0230**_

"Err, can I help you, sir?" the little asari at the front desk murmured. She was trawling over a laptop amidst a general clutter of datapads and memos and empty mugs of coffee. Network officer, if he had to guess.

"I need to speak to Commander Marin," Andersen muttered, fingers drumming nervously against the datapad in his hand. He was in a hurry, all things considered…

"I'm sorry, the commander's-"

"Busy? Yeah, I know, that's why I'm here. Corporal Andersen, Alliance Navy. SSV _Cambrai_" - he added the last part with emphasis, and realisation seemed to dawn on her.

"Your captain's already here," she frowned. "I'm not sure-"

"The captain hasn't seen _this_," he interrupted again, and with an angry flourish, he slammed the datapad in his hand down in front of her.

She glanced down, read it briefly… and then read it more thoroughly to check she wasn't mistaken, as her eyes went wide.

"I…"

"Yeah, quite. Marin's office, _now_."

The asari nodded, and clambered to her feet still holding the datapad, ushering him after her with her free hand. She led him off to the side, down a curving corridor and through an investigation room _packed _with officers, all poring over documents and terminals like her in a state of frenzied activity. They clambered up the stairs to the upper level, crossed to the middle office - _'Commander Gabriel Marin' _was etched on the door in white - and she swiped her omni-tool over the door console. It fell open willingly, and Andersen felt a thrum of excitement at what he was about to do.

As he stepped into the office behind the nervous young Network officer, however, the air was thick with shouting and cursing. Murphy and Gabriel were engaged in a standoff across the C-Sec commander's desk, and didn't even seem to notice the two new arrivals.

"Commander?" the asari murmured.

"You can't ignore the damn evidence!" the commander roared, still fixated on Murphy.

"You don't _have _all the damn evidence!" Murphy replied, holding his ground. "Your buddies in Investigation just gave up looking once they found an easy collar!"

"Captain?" Andersen frowned, but he too went unnoticed.

"You know where he is, captain! I've got a _duty _to turn that information over to Investigation!"

"What, so they can fit him up and go home?"

"Justice must be seen to be done!"

"And _justice _must be thorough! Your mates rather _fuckin' _forgot that bit, didn't they?"

It was right about then that Andersen snapped. He stepped past his asari companion, into the middle of the room, and glared from one man to the other for a moment, before he bellowed, at the top of his lungs:

"Will you two just _shut up a minute?_"

A moment later, that seemed like a mistake. Both men rounded on him, glaring angrily, and for a few seconds he wished the earth would swallow him up, embarrassment and all.

"_What?_" they snapped, in unison.

"Tyco Maffei…" he muttered, taking a deep breath and regaining some composure, "never set foot inside Shalta General."

Commander Marin groaned.

"I've heard that line already, kid," the turian sighed. "Maffei says he wasn't there. Maffei says he was meeting a contact. But why the hell should I believe him?"

"Because I'm not talking about Tyco's testimony. I'm talking about the ident on the hospital scanner."

The turian turned to his asari colleague now, with a frown that seemed to be a mixture of anger, confusion, and… disappointment?

"I thought you said it was positive?" he murmured, suddenly very calm – _icily _so.

"It, err… it was, sir," she replied, looking at the floor. Quite suddenly, Andersen felt a wave of pity for the girl, and interjected:

"It's not her fault, commander. You asked her to check what the computer said – and the computer said there was a match."

"What are you implying, then? That the computer was _wrong?_"

Andersen nodded, and Marin's eyes went a little wider. Off to one side, the engineer could see Captain Murphy fixing him with an equally puzzled expression.

"Computers…" he began to explain, "even the most advanced Vis in the galaxy… they do what we tell them. Ones and zeroes. The computer in the hospital scanned for the killer's genetic ident. It took it, and cross-checked it at the speed of light against every ident in its database. And it found a 100% match with Tyco Maffei. Now, the scanner didn't malfunction, and your men have triple-checked the match – it holds. So, the only room for a mistake…"

"Is in the database," Murphy interrupted, eyes bulging as the truth dawned on him. Andersen smiled, ever so slightly, and nodded.

"The scanner matched up our killer's ident with what it had been _told _was Tyco's. What if it was told wrong? What if the Tyco in the database isn't the man himself?"

"How is that possible?" Marin asked, still sounding doubtful, but a good deal less hostile than before. "Every citizen in Citadel Space gets logged. Genetic scans, _impossible _to dupe. If what you're saying is true, either the killer had _billions _to spend on complete – not to mention illegal – genetic modification, or he's Tyco's evil twin."

The commander folded his arms, frowning slightly, clearly waiting for the young engineer's explanation. Andersen was all too keen to oblige:

"I had a chat with Tyco after you left," he explained, nodding at Murphy. "I had a hunch, so I went into his background. He's twenty-eight. He was two years old when humanity made contact with the Council."

"The Alliance turned over genetic records when they became a Citadel species," Gabriel pointed out. "If he was born on Alliance soil, he's in those databanks. For real."

"He _wasn't_ born on Alliance soil, though…"

"What?"

"His family were miners. _Spacers_. Tyco was born starside, and he never touched down on an Alliance world. When our first wave of colonisation began in the Terminus, Tyco and his family ended up on Omega, where he remained for the rest of his childhood, and his adult life. He'd never set foot on the Citadel before he joined our crew – he never got put into the databanks, commander."

"But, your crew's been here on shore leave…" Marin challenged again – he was certainly _thorough_, and more observant than Andersen had given him credit for…

"Short-stay trips, cleared en masse under the CO's ident as per Alliance regs," Andersen shrugged, coolly. "We never had to use our idents at customs, so Tyco stayed off the database."

"Which would have made it all too easy for someone to register themselves in his name…" Murphy surmised. "Their genetic scan passes for his, and they send C-Sec off on a witch hunt. Bastard."

"Can you prove it?" the commander muttered, finally – and was it Andersen's imagination, or did he sound more like he _wanted _them to prove it than doubtful that they could?

"Yeah," Andersen nodded. "I did a little trawling. Tyco Maffei's entry in the Citadel database was created a week ago."

"I don't want to _know _how you got into that database…" the turian muttered, biting his plated lip. "And it's not conclusive, anyway…"

"Then we can bring Tyco down here, and you can scan him," the engineer scowled, crossing his arms. "It won't match the genetic scan from the hospital. I'll bet good money it won't match the one in your database, either."

"Shit…" Gabriel snarled, closing his eyes and bunching his taloned hands into two _very _tight fists. "This is why you don't trust _bloody _Investigation with evidence - Vimes was the only half-smart bastard there. They cross-checked the hospital scan and the database a dozen times to back their hunt - never thought to scan the man himself and check _that_."

"They would have had to catch him first," Murphy smirked.

"I've got to go," the commander snapped, suddenly. "Need to call them off. Officer, on me. You two…"

He seemed to falter, unable to find words – instead, he just sighed, growled a little in frustration, and then bolted out of the room with a formidable air of _purpose _about him. Andersen didn't fancy being in the other officers' shoes when the turian caught up to them…

The asari officer flashed him a quick, nervous smile, then darted out of the room after her boss, leaving Andersen and Murphy alone. The engineer found himself drifting over to his captain's side, and before long the two of them were sat on the edge of Marin's desk, staring dead ahead in perfect silence.

"You know it's not over yet, don't you?" Andersen murmured, finally.

"'Course I do," Murphy snapped, and quite suddenly the very relieved, very fake smile _dropped _from his face, revealing a tense, angry glare. "Tyco didn't do it, but it sure as hell wasn't random. Someone framed him on purpose."

"More importantly…" the engineer sighed. "That person knew who he was. And that person knew he was in a relationship with Vanyali. Everyone on our crew knows, but they all have their own entries in the database-"

"You actually had to find a _reason?_" the captain glared. "I don't have a reason, but I know damn well none of them did it!"

"That's the kind of blind faith that got us into this mess," he pointed out. "We all know it's true, but without evidence, you can't prove a damn thing. Now, the question is, who else could have known?"

"Shadow Broker?" Murphy suggested, desperately. "Tyco said he went to his contact to get information on Vanyali's killer. What if he told his contact _why? _Told them he was trying to avenge her?"

"What's the motive?" Andersen sighed. "Tyco was an associate, according to the transmissions Network dug up. And he was _paying _the Broker for information to strike at Cerberus – which we know lines up with the Broker's own aims. I can see why a powerful information broker might try to bump Zya off, but why would they frame Tyco? He was helping the Broker fight… Cerberus."

They looked at each for a moment, and a visceral _spark _seemed to crackle through the air between them.

"Cerberus…" he murmured again.

"Oh my God…" Murphy groaned. "How the _hell _did we not get that? Tyco got too close to tracking down Vanyali's killer, so they went after him."

"And Vanyali's killer was on Noveria," the tech nodded, mind _racing_. "He would have heard Tyco's reaction when he shot her. Everyone _else _did. Wouldn't take much for a smart guy to work out the connection… The killer was a biotic, too. That's why the hospital scanners didn't pick up a weapon – he didn't need one. The wounds those orderlies had… they were blunt force traumas, severe ones. Even for a big guy like Tyco, they were… savage blows. Makes a lot more sense if they were fuelled by biotics."

"Why Zya, though?" the captain frowned. "Like Marin said, they could have taken the easy route and killed Vanyali, framed him for _that_. Or why not just kill Tyco?"

"Nobody would have believed he'd killed Vanyali. They could have painted it as a mercy killing, but then there would have been a chance for a jury to let him off. Mercy killers get sympathy, murderers don't. As for killing Tyco – well, we both know that's not an easy thing to do. I guess Zya was just the safest option…"

He trailed off, as something fresh occurred to him, something that rattled around in his brain, yelling and screaming to be heard.

"What?" Murphy frowned.

"Zya went off on her own," Andersen murmured. "On Eden Prime. That's when she got shot. She went to recon a room, we were holding outside, and next thing we knew, she was screaming. We never found her attacker – what if it was the same guy from Noveria?"

"She saw his face," the captain growled. "And when he found out she survived his attack, he came to finish the job. Stop her revealing his identity, and frame Tyco in the process, to stop him finding it out himself."

"But Tyco already _found _it. Drake Frost."

"Are you telling me…" Murphy muttered, voice _laced _with anger once more, "that she died for nothing?"

Andersen couldn't find a reply to that, at first. He just looked at the floor, very sober for a moment. Then, finally, he sighed:

"Don't they all?"


	400. Citadel II Part 10

**A/N: So, Chapter 400... After 100, 200, 300, I don't think I actually have anyone left to thank, and even "here's to the next hundred" is getting old. I'll simply say thanks to the lot of you, readers and reviewers, and say here's to however many we've got left. To be completely honest with you, Galaxy at War is entering its endgame. With the amount of missions and plot arcs that need to be tied up, I imagine we'll get past 500. I can almost guarantee it, in fact. But 600? That seems unlikely, and 700? That seems impossible. I wish I could say this thing's going to keep going to 1000 or something ridiculous like that, but we all know it's best to quit while the story's still good. **

**That said, we've got a ways to go yet. The next hundred-and-a-bit chapters are going to be explosive, exciting, and emotional, I promise you all that, so I hope you'll keep reading, reviewing, and giving me the kick I need to keep writing. We've gotten through 400 chapters together, and I really hope you guys'll stick around for whatever's left...**

**So thanks for 400, and thanks in advance for one-and-a-bit hundred more. Now, I'm going to recycle a joke from 100. Here goes: Today's chapter? Sorry...**

* * *

><p><em><strong>SSV Cambrai, Shalta Ward Docks<strong>_

_**Day 2, 0500**_

The ship was quiet. Of course it was, it was five in the morning. But more than that, she was _deserted_. Everyone was still ashore, even the regular crew, and unless they'd seen C-Sec's bulletin, plastered with Tyco's face - or the subsequent retraction that was circulating now - they didn't have a damn clue what had happened that night. They didn't know Zya was dead, they didn't know Tyco had been framed, they didn't know Cerberus was behind it all… the Cambrai had arrived late, and the first thing most of them did was find hotels so they could go get plastered tomorrow night.

Andersen was the sole occupant of the hangar, now Vimes had been called back to Marin's office to 'clean up', as the turian put it. Even the Arness sisters had gone off to find board on the Citadel. Murphy was somewhere on the upper decks, Akito was at the helm, and a few of the Alliance crew were in the bunk room, having stayed to make final checks on the systems when they arrived. Tyco was drifting around somewhere too, but given the night he'd had, he was probably in the training room, kicking seven types of shit out of one of the droids…

The engineer bit his tongue distractedly as he continued to pore over his work. Bloody thing wasn't-

"What're you doing?" a voice muttered, breaking his concentration utterly, and he swore under his breath.

He should have heard the elevator, really, but wrapped up in his task, he'd been oblivious to Tyco's arrival. The bounty hunter was standing over him now, peering over his shoulder at the crate he was using for a workbench, and the small object upon which he was in the process of dismantling.

"Just working on something," he replied, dismissively.

"Is that a scope?" the sniper continued. "Might want a new one, mate, that one's busted."

"I _had_ noticed," Andersen scowled, tetchily - he was on his fourth cup of coffee, and his nerves were wearing thin… "It's Zya's. She gave it to me on Eden Prime. Haven't had time to look at it since, what with the Cerberus data we pulled, and your little predicament…"

"Looking for the guncam?" Tyco guessed.

"Yeah… she seemed to think it was important. I already know what she saw, though…"

"What?"

"Drake Frost."

Tyco growled under his breath.

"If I recover it, and he's there, and she saw his face… it vindicates everything we thought. Proves he was the one who… y'know."

"Framed me."

"Right…"

"That's… actually what I wanted to talk to you 'bout. Thanks."

"What for?" he frowned.

"I talked to Murphy. He says you're the one who saved my ass."

"Oh. Guess so. Don't worry about it, you would've done the same…"

"Nah, not smart enough. I would've shot Marin in the head…" - Andersen turned to scowl at him - "…but that probably ain't fair."

"No, it's not…" the engineer murmured, turning back to his work and attempting to strip away the last layer of casing around the scope's lens. "He was just doing his job. Not his fault his men did a shit job of checking the evidence…"

"Right. Well… thanks all the same. I'll leave ya to it."

"You're heading out onto the ward?" Andersen frowned, looking in surprise at that.

"Yeah. Figured I'd find a hotel, somewhere outta the way."

"Well, keep your head down. C-Sec's put out a retraction saying you're innocent, but it might not have circulated to everyone yet. You'll get a few funny looks."

"I'll get a few anyway," Tyco grinned, pointing to the bruises covering the left side of his face. Andersen didn't laugh, he just turned back to his work. "Alright… see ya."

The engineer nodded, and his friend swept back off towards the elevator, departing a moment later.

Andersen had barely registered the conversation. All the time he'd been talking, he'd been focusing on the scope in his hands. The damn thing wasn't making life easy for him - whatever weapon had wounded Zya had cut a deep groove in the side of the scope, not severing it but taking a chunk out nonetheless, and presumably damaging the guncam within. This was going to take a lot of omni-gel…

_Click_. At last, the final piece of casing came away, and he tossed it aside. He was left holding the guncam, and noted with some annoyance that it almost fell apart in his hands - the two halves, cut through by Zya's attacker, were hanging to each other by a single red wire, a thread.

He ran his omni-tool over it, trying to play whatever remained of the footage, but there was nothing. Not even a corrupted file or a video full of static. The thing was dead.

He prised the two halves apart, taking care not to break the wire that kept them together, and swore as he spotted two more wires, both of which had been _severed_. On any other occasion, he would have been fascinated by the weapon strike alone - a solid, deep cut, but no traces of metal from a blade, no burns from plasma or an omni-blade… - but right now, it was five in the morning, his brain was refusing to shut down for the sake of obsession, and that obsession was getting him nowhere.

He pulled out the errant cables that had been cut, and proceeded to strip their ends bare with thumb and forefinger, using his nails to rip away the plastic coating and leave the wire itself exposed. Then, he took blue wire to blue, green wire to green, twisted the snapped ends together as tightly as he could, and reached for a cartridge of omni-gel.

Fusing the wires together was a task of infinitesimal precision, and he worked in silence, blotting out even the gentle hum of the Cambrai's idling systems. It took a good few minutes, but when he was done, there was some semblance of togetherness about the thing. He ran his omni-tool over it again…

And still, nothing.

"Son of a bitch," he muttered, under his breath.

Taking a different - and rather more annoyed - approach, he grabbed the two ends of the guncam and _yanked _them apart, snapping the intact red wire as well as the ones he'd just fixed. He set one half down on the top of the crate, lifted the other up to eye level, and slipped the top of both thumbs into the hollow opening where it had been shorn away from the other half.

_Crack_. With a little application of pressure, he forced the ceramic case to split down the middle, and the two halves fell into his hands. The internal workings were laid bare, but the camera lens was released as the case came apart, and clattered down onto the floor, rolling away somewhere.

He ignored it, and examined the insides of the guncam - or at least, this half of it - carefully. After a few minutes, he decided that what he was looking for wasn't there, and went for the other half, giving it the same treatment with his thumbs, until-

_Crack_. This one two came apart, and it took just one quick glance at the internals to find what he was looking for. A little black square, wired on one side, traced with a number of narrow, copper-coloured strips that his brain told him could just as easily have been placed on the inside, save for the residual heat excess… not important. He discarded the other… _quarter _of the guncam, and held the one with the memory card level in his left hand. With his right, he slipped his thumbnail under the edge of the little black square, and tugged.

Nothing doing. Carefully, for fear of snapping the card, he applied a little more pressure, then a little more… the black square began to _flex _ever so slightly, but it was coming loose at the same time - a final quick twist of his thumb pulled it free…

And it sprang into the air, thudding down somewhere amidst the other fragments of broken camera. He swore, tossed aside the bit he was holding, and went rummaging through the bits and pieces on top of the crate…

At last, he found it, and he set it down very carefully on the corner of his impromptu workbench, as he reached into his belt for a datapad, eventually producing the one with Dr O'Leiph's prescription of painkillers for his arm. That'd do. She could remember the prescription, surely?

Andersen set the datapad down in the middle of the 'workbench', clearing some space amidst the clutter, and then went through the broken remnants of the guncam. He salvaged a couple of lengths of wire, no more than an inch or two in length, and stripped them with his nails as he had before. He was buzzing with anticipation, now - he _knew _what he was looking for was on that chip, he just had to get it out. He wrapped them carefully around the memory card, fused them in place with omni-gel, and silently _prayed _they were fragments of the data transfer cables that took the guncam's recording to its 'brain'. If they weren't, he was basically just putting a current through the memory card, and that probably wouldn't be good…

He loaded a hack program on his omni-tool, applied it to the firewalls on the memory card - designed to stop an enemy doing exactly this, as it happened - and left it running in one hand as he picked up the datapad in the other, switched it on, and found a memory card slot. It wasn't designed for this format, of course, so the guncam's card wouldn't fit, but he could get around that… he set the pad back down, grabbed the memory card as his omni-tool gave a victorious chime, and quickly pressed the bodged wires into the corners of the datapad's card slot. Another quick hack to get it to _accept _that as an insertion, and then:

"Ha!" he whooped. A quick check with some editing software showed that most of the recording had been destroyed, and it had cut out - presumably when the camera was damaged - but twenty seconds or so of footage was still intact. Flicking over it, he found it was blurry as hell, grainy and full of static. It was _something_, though…

The first recoverable clip showed a rather familiar room. It was Eden Prime, the same room they'd found Zya in, except this time, she wasn't alone. She was aiming squarely at a now-familiar figure, and with what Andersen knew now, Drake Frost's face became a hateful mask, despite the expression of presumably mock fear on his features. He opened his mouth to speak, but nothing came - audio was busted, then. Zya twisted around-

And her gun, just as her eyes had, roved over the screen on the far wall. Andersen hadn't noticed it before, and only now did he realise it was intact, where a minute later it had been destroyed by Irving's assault. Zya seemed to freeze, staring at it for just a moment, and that was worthy of investigation, surely.

He paused the footage, drew up the editing software once more, and went to work. A quick zoom, a rotation, a clarification of the quality and the resolution. The image on the screen crystallised… and Andersen's eyes went wide.

He shot to his feet, snatching up the datapad with him - he had saved the footage, so it didn't matter that the wired memory card tumbled out as he did - and headed straight for the elevator. Any vestige of tiredness was gone, replaced by sheer horror, and haste, and a _rage _which was rare for the young engineer…

A quick jab of the controls, and he was racing upwards, mentally charting the course to Murphy's office... Merely a minute later, he was there. He yanked the door open with a swing of his omni-tool, and marched in without waiting for an invitation.

Murphy was at his desk, poring over a mess of paperwork which, had he been thinking clearly, Andersen would have realised was officialising Zya's _death_. He glanced up, and the anger which had been fixed on his face all night was now replaced by a kind of resignation, a bored and tired resignation which had kept Andersen going at his own task for the last few hours.

The engineer, however, wasn't _bored _or _tired _now. His blood was pounding, and his eyes were just a little wild.

"Corporal…?" Murphy frowned, looking up from his work. "What is it?"

Andersen didn't reply. He just spun the datapad round, and _slammed _it down in front of the captain, knocking his files in all direction. There was a flicker of annoyance across Murphy's face… but then he caught sight of the datapad's contents, and his eyes widened, as Andersen growled:

"Creed's alive."


	401. Shore Leave Shalta Ward II 1

_**SSV Cambrai, Shalta Ward Docks**_

_**Day 2, 0520**_

"How?" was Murphy's first question.

"I don't know," Andersen admitted, "but this footage was taken on Eden Prime. We're talking _days _ago."

"Bullet to the head," the captain scowled. "Since when did people _get better _from a bullet to head?"

"Three bullets, even…" the engineer sighed. "I don't know, sir. But we know Cerberus has some damn good technology. Gene mods, cybernetics, and God knows what the Reapers gave them… That said, we can't rule out the possibility of it being a forgery."

"It's not, though, is it?"

"Sir?"

Murphy just raised an eyebrow, and frowned.

"Come on, corporal. We both know hell wouldn't take that bastard."

"Six feet of earth, however, would have been quite accommodating… This _could _be a mind game, captain. Maybe Drake was playing with us, setting the whole thing up to make us thinkCreed was still alive?"

"To what end?"

"To scare us?" he shrugged. "Or to make us waste resources looking for Creed when we should be focusing on Drake…"

"He doesn't seem like the kind of guy to pull a con like that. He's more a 'blood and chaos' type, from what we've seen…"

"I disagree. He was slippery enough to talk Zya down and get the jump on her, and she isn't… _wasn't _exactly stupid. Back on Noveria, he kept Holstein thinking he was on side right up to the moment he shot him in the back. He's violent, I agree. Maybe even sociopathic. But he's not a psychopath, he's not like Creed - he knows _exactly _what he's doing, and he plans for the long term."

"Point taken. But if he set _this _up" - Murphy pointed at the datapad in his hand - "it means he leaked his own safehouse's location to the Eden Prime resistance…"

"Plausible."

"… _gambled _on us taking the mission…"

"Not such a gamble given our history."

"... let his men be slaughtered by the dozen…"

"Nothing new there."

"And he let us wreck his safehouse, steal his files, almost _kill _him…"

"Hmm… granted. Unless he _really _wanted us to fall for it, he would have wiped the data. And if he was expecting us to get to him, he would have killed Zya the moment she came through the door, not talked her into a stalemate which got him _shot_."

"So…" Murphy muttered. "All things considered… what's your bet, corporal?"

"My bet, sir?"

The captain nodded, and Andersen paused a moment, mulling it over in his head.

"Most likely scenario…" he replied, finally, "is that Drake didn't know we were coming. He called Creed to report it, but we got to him mid-transmission. He decided to try and bluff his way out - come to think of it, he wouldn't have known _we _knew about Project Phoenix if he wasn't working for Creed, so that fits. I don't know if he was planning to bluff it all the way, or just wait for a distraction, but the moment he got one, he took Zya down and ran for it."

"Why run for it?" was Murphy's immediate response. "He can fight as well as any of us, we know _that _from Noveria."

"Drake's a calculator. He didn't know how many of us were going to come through the door. Sure, he could have taken one or two of us, but if a squad of half a dozen came storming in he wouldn't stand a chance. He played it safe. And _that's_ the most worrying thing about all this…"

"He's canny," the captain nodded. "Not like Creed. We won't catch him out on an ego trip."

"No. Although… no, no, silly idea…"

Murphy just scowled at him.

"Spit it out," he muttered. "If you're nuts, I'll tell you."

"Well…" the engineer murmured. "That screen in the background, the one with Creed on it? It got blown up a few seconds later. Irving lobbed a grenade into the room - that's why we didn't see it originally. I guess it's also why Zya made sure I got hold of her guncam footage. But… surely it wouldn't have been hard for Drake to destroy it? Remove the evidence?"

"Probably," Murphy shrugged. "Powerful biotic, all he had to do was lob a shot at it. Guess he didn't think about it at the time, though. Fight or flight."

"No… the whole reason he _ran _was because he thinks about these things. He didn't just scream and run away, he paused. He weighed up his odds, and _then _he ran. A smart guy like that would've considered destroying the evidence…"

"And you're saying he chose not to?"

Andersen nodded.

"_Why?_"

"It's all in the profiles, sir. Creed's an opportunist - he joined Cerberus so he could kill under their banner. He's got no loyalty we've ever seen, save for the fact they cover his backside. To all intents and purposes, he's a rogue agent."

"And Drake's a loyalist," Murphy muttered. Andersen grinned despite himself - clearly, someone else had been reading Tyco's dossier… "Joined Cerberus because he agreed with the ideals, and he owes them everything."

"Both powerful biotics," Andersen nodded, "both ruthless, both smart in their own way. If we're right, Creed picked Drake out of Project Phoenix himself, so they must have something in common. The only difference is…"

"Cerberus trusts one and not the other," the captain concluded.

"Right. Creed's the senior of the two, and he's got a penchant for destruction that none of their old agents could match. But with Project Phoenix, and Drake, they've got an operative with the same skill set who's _loyal _to them. I don't think Cerberus would object if Drake were to replace Creed, and he's smart enough to know that…"

"You think the apprentice is moving against the master?"

"I think he's already eclipsed him. I think he _left _Creed's transmission open, hoping we'd find it and realise the bastard was still alive. We focus all our energies on Creed - naturally, because to an outside, Creed's the superior of the two - and Drake slips under our radar for a while."

"You realise, even if that's true, there's not a damn thing we can do about?" Murphy sighed. "The only way we could use that information is if we got face-to-face with either of 'em, and I don't know about you, but I'm gonna be distinctly shoot first, talk later when I catch up to Creed…"

"Noted, sir. It's still interesting, though…"

"If you say so. I was more _interested _when Creed was dead. This is just making me angry."

"What do we do about it then, sir?"

Murphy paused, with the slightest of smiles.

"We bide our time. Wait till we find a sniff of the bastards, then bring the hammer down on them. _Both _of them."

"I quite agree. If I can get a small team together, start sifting through the data from Eden Prime-"

"That's a negative, corporal."

Andersen frowned.

"Sir?"

"A… _not yet_, at least."

"You don't want me to tell the others," the engineer guessed, presciently.

"No, I don't," Murphy admitted.

"Why not?"

"Something Kayla made me realise… it's been a _bloody _long time since we had a break, Andersen. Menae, Project Phoenix, Noveria, Terra Nova… the crew's had a rough time of it. They should be enjoying themselves out there, not grieving over Zya or stewing about Creed and Drake. They can do that later, but right now, they deserve a break."

"And me, sir?"

"Oh, come on, corporal. You worked it out before I did - if anything, you should have been giving _me _a break."

They both chuckled a little at that, but Andersen still had a few concerns:

"What about the news, sir? Tyco's face is all over it, and they'll hear about the raid, Zya's murder… you can't count on them _all _being too hung over to watch the news."

"Oh, I don't know…" the captain sighed. Then, more seriously, he added: "If they find it, they find it. But C-Sec's already pardoned Tyco, and they won't name Zya among the dead, not this early in the investigation."

"Understood, sir. One condition on my silence, though."

"What is it?"

"I start going over those files right now, and _you _don't force me to go on shore leave. Not knowing all this…"

"I'd expect nothing less," Murphy smiled. "Get to work, corporal."


	402. Shore Leave Shalta Ward II 2

_**Level 12, Shalta Ward**_

_**Day 2, 0600**_

One of the benefits of the wards, Zel had come to realise, was that the lack of day and night made one or the other eternal, depending on your mood. At present, she and the rest of the crew were definitely enjoying the eternal night…

"Damn it, this stuff's good…" Kamur muttered for the hundredth time that night. "Humans can't really do dextro. They make it too weak."

"As opposed to this stuff, which is roughly the same as getting punched in the head…" the biotic frowned, knocking back a shot nonetheless, and gasping slightly.

"You're still drinking it," he pointed out, with a smirk.

"Well, sure. I wouldn't want to look _weird_…"

"I _think _that's what the humans call peer pressure."

"Right…"

Kamur chuckled, and took another swig. He had made good on his promise from a few days ago, and the two of them were currently occupying a booth in what was, undeniably, a _turian_ club. It was rather different to the human and asari venues the girls had dragged her to before - the drinks were stiff, yellow dextro, the music was bombastic, and the bar was crowded out by a squad of turian marines fresh off the campaign, still in armour and bearing that familiar odour of sweat and smoke. Angular forms were jerking clumsily around a dance floor on the level below. All in all…

"It's a bit boring, isn't it?"

"Oh, spirits yes," Kamur nodded, something of the mask dropping from his face as if he'd been waiting for her to say it. "Half the fun's in watching the aliens get drunk!"

Zel laughed, a surge of relief washing over her. She'd been sitting here thinking Kamur was _actually _enjoying himself.

"I guess the liquor's good, though…" the hastatim mused.

"Ah, that would explain it," she murmured, quietly.

"What?"

"Nothing. One for the road and then we go find the humans?"

"Sure," he grinned. "Let's take it at the bar."

The two of them shuffled out of the booth, and made the short trip over to the bar, ears still ringing as the music blasted away. It was like someone was running a regimental anthem through a synthesiser… They slid in to one side of the buoyant marine squad, all of whom were chucking back shots with reckless abandon, and drew the barman away for a moment.

"Two more," Kamur muttered, sliding their glasses towards him and reaching for a credit chit. The man just nodded, as Zel twisted around to lean against the bar, looking out across the club with a bored expression.

"Palaveni?" a voice interjected, from her side.

It was one of the marines - glass in hand, he had turned to look at her, and for a moment his mode of address confused the crap out of her. Then, she remembered the bright, painted lines across her face - neither she nor Kamur had been bothering with them for the last few weeks, allowing them to fade slightly without a fresh coat, but the two of them had decided it was best not to go almost barefaced amongst so many turians. _That _was how the young marine had identified her homeworld - the same crimson pattern was daubed across his own visage, although it was smudged and broken in places from whatever battle he had been in.

"Err… yes," she nodded, quietly.

"Been a while since I saw another Palaveni," the marine muttered, amiably. "This lot are all from Carthaan."

"You're not fighting with a Palaveni regiment?"

"I _was. _My old regiment was wiped out. I linked up with these boys, and I've been with them ever since. We got through Oma Ker together, I'm not applying for a transfer after that…"

Spirits, he was chatty. His eyes roved down as he talked, too, taking Zel in with an appraising glance, and thus she was glad of her rather _large _companion, who quickly butted in with:

"Oma Ker? My old unit's serving there. How is it?"

"Grim," the marine admitted, but his mandibles dropped for a very different reason as he spotted Kamur at Zel's side. "We've still got a few beachheads around the major spaceports, but the fighting's bitter. Urban combat, building to building stuff…"

"Sounds right up their alley…" Kamur chuckled, wryly.

"Who are your old regiment?"

"Taetrus Fifth. Hastatim."

"Spirits… I heard about the Fifth. They're still fighting down there."

"They'd better be… I'm sorry, where're my manners. Captain Kamur Destra - Taetrus Fifth, but you already know that."

"Private Anali Shartan, Carthaan First. Latterly of Eighth Palaven."

"Good regiments both," the captain nodded. "Carthaan's a bit backwater, lacks experience, but Palaven's a good pedigree."

"Quite… what about you?" the private murmured, turning to Zel with a warm flicker of sub-harmonics. "I don't think I caught your name?"

"Private Zel Manado," she nodded, nervously. The next question was going to have an awkward answer, and sure enough:

"What's your unit?"

"Third Specialist Corps."

A slight, awkward pause.

"Cabal?" said the marine, sub-harmonics going very cold all of a sudden.

She nodded. He looked her up and down again, with a very different expression. Zel wasn't surprised in the least - what _did _surprise her, however, was the almost inaudible _growl _from behind her.

"Problem, private?" Kamur asked, coolly.

"Err, no, no problem…"

"That's no problem _sir_," the captain muttered, eyes narrowing.

The private blinked, then finally:

"No problem _sir_…"

"Attaboy," Kamur nodded, before tipping back his drink, and slamming the glass down on the bar. "Come on, Private Manado. We've got humans to find."

She smiled a little despite herself, finished off her own shot, and then swept off at the captain's heel, leaving the startled marine in their wake. Privately, she was glad they'd left before Kamur did to him what he'd done to the two squaddies on Aephus… They wound their way out of the bar, over to the exit, and stepped out into the cool, bright air of the ward - it was daybreak, not that that made any difference to the constant light.

"Thanks for that," she murmured, quite suddenly.

"For what?"

She just gave him a _'you know' _look, and he grinned.

"No problem, private."

"Excuse me!"

Another newcomer had cried the last two words, and as the two turians looked round, a pretty little asari girl was crossing over towards them, with a stack of holos in her hand.

"You look like you're out for a good time!" she continued, before either of them could ask who she was. "Shore leave, or just for fun? Ah, no matter, we're good for both. Here, take a flier! The drinks are cheap, the dancing's good, we're just on the other side of this level! Got to go!

The hyperactive little maiden dashed off to accost another group of ward-roamers, leaving the two turians in a state of utter bemusement. Looking down, Zel realised she had somehow managed to slip a glowing blue holo into each of their hands. As Zel chuckled to herself, however, Kamur was staring down at his own flier with a roguish grin.

"Oh, that is _perfect_," he laughed. "I've gotta call the guys…"

As he wandered off, drawing up his omni-tool, Zel allowed her brows to knit together into a confused frown. She glanced down, and read the headline of the advert in her hand:

_Lusia, Grand Re-Opening Today!_


	403. Shore Leave Shalta Ward II 3

_**Level 12, Shalta Ward**_

_**Day 2, 0700**_

"I don't get it," Zel murmured. "Why was Kamur so excited about this place? It's just like every other asari club…"

"I _think_ he's being sentimental," Kan replied, absent-mindedly twirling an 'emergency induction port' between his fingers. "We came here on our first shore leave, after Benning. Then it got blown up in the Cerberus attack before we could come a second time."

"Wait, so this is the place you were talking about back then? Where Tyco drank the…?"

"Yeah."

"And Yui hit on the the…?"

"_Yeah._"

"I'm surprised they let you back in," she chuckled, after a moment's pause.

"You and me both…"

Zel laughed again, and took a look around the bar. Kamur had sent out messages to damn near everyone on the crew, and to her amazement, most of them had shown up. Mac'Tir and Saffiya were keeping to themselves, as always, and Lisk had given up after the third failed attempt to get past the doorman, but most of the others had made it by now. Yui and Dax were by the bar, the former grinning at a scowling asari matron. Next to them, Araya was chatting with the Arness sisters, and further down, Ekris was exchanging rather animated stories with Arrete, presumably about their escapades with the hanar and the STG. Dr O'Leiph and Alicia were on the dance floor below, taking a rare break from their duties, and in a corner booth, she could see Ethan deep in conversation with Irving and Victor. Her gaze lingered a moment in surprise - he looked bulky beside Andersen and Vimes, his usual companions, but the two big men dwarfed him completely. It was curious…

Her attention was torn away, however, as Kamur returned, a dextro beer in one hand. He slung one over to her, kept the second for himself, and slumped down into the booth beside them.

"Two ryncols," Yui was rumbling loudly, from the bar.

"No way," the matron replied, flatly.

"Oh come on, why not?" the krogan protested.

"You know damn well why not, krogan."

"Fine, I won't get to six this time."

"Six? You're cut off after two."

"Better than none," he chuckled.

"And I swear, if you call me a _ripe fruit _this time, you'll be sucking food through a straw."

"Heh."

There was a slight _chink_, and looking across, Zel saw two bright green glasses slide across the bar to Dax and Yui. They chugged them back easily, and she suddenly felt rather sorry for the matron…

"Either of you seen Vimes?" Kan muttered, probing the dregs of his glass with the straw in his hand. "Son of a bitch bailed on me before, said he got an urgent call. I tell you, it's _way _harder for a quarian to get a drink on his own. Everybody thought I was a damn pilgrim…"

"Ha!" Kamur chuckled. "I don't know where he got to, he didn't reply. Gimme a minute."

The turian pulled up his omni-tool, dialled in a comms address, and let his arm rest in the middle of the table, displaying the radio screen between the three of them. There was a pause, then a rather frustrated face appeared in the middle of the comms.

"Kamur?"

"Is that C-Sec armour?" the captain frowned, noting the blue collar around Vimes' neck.

"Huh? Oh, yeah…" Sam mumbled, distractedly. "What's up?"

"Where _are _you? Get your ass down to Lusia!"

"Err… no can do, mate." - he scowled - "Wait, didn't Lusia blow up?"

"They rebuilt it, now what's your excuse?"

"I'm… about to go out on patrol?"

"O…kay. My second question is, _why the hell are you on patrol with C-Sec?_"

"It's a paperwork thing," Sam sighed. "Commander Marin's sorting out the paperwork for me to stay transferred to the Cambrai, but it's been months since I left. If I don't do a couple of patrols now, they can't actually call me an officer… which means I don't get paid."

"Oh. That's bad."

"Yeah… huh? What is it?" - he turned away to look at someone out of shot - "Ah, damn it. Be there in a minute! Got to go, guys."

The channel blinked shut before any of them could say another word. Some time later, Zel and the others would discover Vimes had been lying - the first clue, in hindsight, should have been that he was a detective, not a patrolman. In reality, he was helping Gabriel reel in the last of the detectives who were out pursuing Tyco, and subsequently joined the turian as he _barracked _the head of Investigation. At the time, however, they were all a little too tired and a little too drunk to call his bluff. Instead, they just sat back and went for their drinks again.

"This sucks," Kamur muttered, after a moment. His two companions just blinked, and shot questioning stares at him.

"Huh?" was all Kan managed. The straw was still hanging out of his mask.

"Last time we were here, there were _seven _of us," the turian grumbled.

"And there's way more this time," Zel pointed out, probably unhelpfully, because he retorted:

"Not what I mean. Remember last time, Kan? Yui was up there swigging ryncol. Tyco was trying some-"

"Dumb bastard," the quarian chuckled, under his breath.

"-and Colburn was sat next to them, pissing himself laughing. We were here drinking, Vimes and Andersen were with us…"

"It was good," Kan nodded.

"Yeah, it was… and where are they now? Sam's off doing spirits-know-what for C-Sec, Andersen didn't answer my call, Tyco hasn't spoken to either of us in a week… and Colburn's dead."

The quarian looked down, wordless, and Zel too could do little more than stare down into the bottom of her glass. It was true, that was the worst part. Now they actually stopped to think about it… last shore leave, she'd been toasting Kyra and Vresh with Vanyali, Araya, Ethan, and the quarian himself. Andersen as well, if she remembered rightly. That had been bad enough, but Vanyali was gone now, too. Araya seemed to have other things to do these days, Maelar was dead, Aeryn was a nervous wreck. And that was just her girlfriends - Andersen was more insular by the day, Ethan hadn't spoken to her in a while… with a jolt, she realised that this was the first time she'd talked to _Kan _in a few days. He was never exactly _chatty_, but it was still weird…

"I'm outta here," Kamur mumbled, tipping back the rest of his drink and clambering to his feet.

He made for the exit after a moment's pause, and Zel didn't have the heart to stop him.


	404. Shore Leave Shalta Ward II 4

_**Level 12, Shalta Ward**_

_**Day 2, 0710**_

When Kamur finally exploded into the open air of the ward, he didn't have a _clue _where to go. All he knew was, he couldn't sit in that club being a mopey old git. He needed to find something to do - something strong to drink, someone beautiful to court, someone big to _fight_. Wow. That one was new. The stress was building up, he supposed. He hadn't been training since Terra Nova - after that fight, his muscles had felt worn to the bone, the bones themselves ached, and his blood was thin. It had taken some of the fight out of him, and that wasn't a comfortable feeling for a turian.

Had Dr O'Leiph been around, she would have told him it was natural, he'd be fine after a week or so's rest, the disturbance was just psychological because he'd never been knocked like this before… but she wasn't, so she didn't.

He had half a mind to march up to the ship and see what Andersen's excuse was - or at least punch the _crap _out of a training dummy - but even as he wheeled around with that half-idea in his head, he caught sight of something... just something, a little flash of movement, no more than that. The pedestrians milling past didn't seem to notice it, but the turian's hawk-like eyes flashed across the rooftops, searching for-

There. A shimmer, just a shimmer, but he knew damn well what it was. Tactical cloak, and a flicker of black disappearing over the lip of a hanar deli's roof.

Kamur's brain began to move like clockwork, and purpose forced every other thought from his mind. He ducked through the throng of passers-by, slid between two conversing hanar, and made a beeline for the alleyway next to the deli, eyes scanning it as he did. Nothing on the left side. Shame. Emergency stairwell on the right side, hanging off the side of the apartment building next to the deli. The ladder was up, intended to be dropped from above, but it'd do.

After a brief glance over his shoulder - no-one was particularly watching - he launched himself at the left wall of the alley. His taloned feet found a purchase on the sheer wall, if only for a moment, and just as they started to slip, he kicked off hard, spinning around to grab at the stairwell. He hit it with a loud _clang_, but managed to latch one arm round the railing on the first floor, and hauled himself over it with ease. The turian rolled to a halt on the platform beyond, scrambled to his feet, and made for the staircase, climbing just one floor before looking out over the roof of the deli.

Just as he expected, a black-armoured figure was crouching by the far edge, unfolding a rifle. He cursed C-Sec customs for his lack of a gun, and took the next best option in his adrenaline-soaked mind. He hopped over the railing, dug his heels into the ledge to stop himself from dropping over the other side, glanced out…

And jumped. He cleared the alleyway easily, but came thudding clumsily down on the far side - he was no drell, that was for damn sure. Stumbling slightly, he made straight for the assassin kneeling on the corner of the rooftop, alarm bells ringing out as the sniper's rifle rose to aim over the crowded street. Kamur yanked his arm back, threw his weight behind his fist, and:

_Crack! _He caught the sniper with a vicious left hook, knocking him to the floor from his crouched position. As the man fell, however, Kamur had to try very hard to suppress his surprise.

"Argh!" Tyco cried, hands shooting up to the left side of his head. "Twice in one _fucking _night? _Really?_"

Marshalling his surprise and suppressing it, Kamur kept quiet. He just strode over to Tyco's fallen rifle, slid one boot beneath it, and _kicked _it up into his hand.

"Viper, not your usual rifle," he observed. "And you've fitted a silencer. You're hunting."

_Crunch. _He brought the rifle down like a club, letting his pent-up frustration get the better of him for a moment. Tyco swore, loudly:

"What the f-"

"_Why _are you hunting?" Kamur growled.

"Favour for a friend," his colleague muttered.

"Bullshit. _Who _are you hunting?"

"The target," Tyco snarked.

"Smartass," the turian rumbled.

"Yeah, I get that a lot… what the hell are you even doin' here, turian?"

"Me? I was standing outside Lusia without a damn clue what to do, when I saw this _idiot _of a bounty hunter running over the rooftops. He really needs to learn how to use his cloak properly…"

They glared at each for one sarcastic moment, before Kamur's features softened slightly. Unaware of the night's events, he was a good deal less worried now he knew Tyco was the 'assassin'. The question still remained, though:

"Who?"

"A bad man," the hunter laughed, mirthlessly. "Do you really need to know?"

"Unless you want me to kick you off this rooftop, yes."

Tyco glanced over the edge.

"Only one storey. I've had worse," he shrugged. "But… how about I tell you anyway?"

"That'd be nice."

His friend shifted upright, motioning for Kamur to get his head down, and the turian dropped onto his haunches - practically a feat of acrobatics on turian legs - as Tyco pointed off across the street.

"Alleyway off to the right of the club," he said, "d'you see the batarian?"

"Yeah," Kamur nodded, as his keen eyes picked the man out. A batarian on this ward was certainly odd, even more unusual than a batarian on the Citadel in general - Shalta was all asari and drell and hanar, with the occasional turian thrown in for good measure. "Dark skin, red armour, smoking' a cigarette."

"There's… only onebatarian _there_," Tyco murmured, "but sure, that's the description. "His name's Hallion Grek. Slaver out of the Terminus."

"What's he doing here?"

"Whaddya think? _Slaving_. He preys on the refugee camps up by the docks. Offers them a contract for shelter and employment, then ships them off like lambs to the slaughter."

"Nasty piece of work…" Kamur frowned, hefting Tyco's rifle and using the scope to get a better look. On closer inspection, Grek was a scarred bastard, with a pink line along his left jaw, and a milky white orb where one of his eyes should have been.

"An old contact of mine wants him to stop," the bounty hunter nodded. "Or rather, wants him _stopped_."

"Why not leave him to C-Sec?"

"C-Sec doesn't know he's here. They can only go off their precious databanks. I've learned that the hard way" - he added the last part in a mumble that was a little too low for Kamur to hear. "Long story short, he's been here for two months and they haven't caught him yet."

"Point taken. Aren't you worried they'll catch _you_, though?" Kamur muttered absent-mindedly, talking sideways as he continued to peer down the scope.

"Please. You think I just went for him the first time I caught up to him? I've been hunting him all night. Almost had him in the markets, but Saffiya and the drell… _interrupted _me."

"How've you been tracking him?" the turian frowned, tearing his eyes away from the scope a moment.

"Omni-tool," Tyco shrugged, flashing the article on his wrist. "I've been wired into _his _for hours now - everything it sees, hears…"

"You can _hack?_"

"Not like Andersen, I can't do _doors _or nothin'. But I can do omni-tools, use 'em to track a guy. It's pretty easy-"

"Hey, you!"

They stared at each other for a moment, dumbfounded. Then, they realised the noise was coming from Tyco's wrist. Glancing back down the scope, Kamur saw Grek accost a figure in the street, who promptly wheeled around to face him, hiding his identity from the two men on the roof.

"Yeah?" the other figure replied, voice echoing through the hacked radio.

"Don't I know you?"

"Don't think so."

"No, I definitely… wait, Khar'Shan? Yeah, that's where I know you from… you're-"

"Probably best if you don't shout our names out loud," the newcomer interrupted, stepping closer and cutting him off with a cautioning hand.

"Course, course… what the hell are you doin' here?"

"That's my business. You?"

"_My business_."

A pause, and Kamur imagined a frown had flickered over the other man's features, because he replied, in clear confusion:

"Here?"

"Sure," Grek shrugged. "Plenty of suckers."

"On that we agree, but… how?"

"Ton of refugees wanting to get outta the docks," the slaver grinned. "Mugs one and all."

"You're shipping off the refugees?"

"Yup. Easy money, I tell ya. I give 'em a 'safe passage contract', a fake ticket to Sanctuary, and they go linin' up for the transports. Two days' time they step off the boat on Illium and my boys are waiting. If they actually _read _what they signed, they wouldn't fall for it. Stupid-"

"_Desperate_," the second man corrected. He was helmeted, but had to be wearing a clear visor for Grek to be able to recognise him. With his back to them, however, Kamur and Tyco still couldn't see his face, as he continued: "Where the hell are you selling 'em? Hegemony's all but gone…"

"Really?" Grek smirked, "You never went outside the Khar'Shan market? Plenty of guys in the Terminus lookin' for slaves, buddy. Warlords, gangs, pirate crews - either they want easy labour to prop up the business, or they figure they can use 'em like bargaining chips with the Reapers."

"That's… _really_ dumb. Reapers'd just take the slaves _and _the owners."

"Prob'ly. But I get paid the same either way. Ethics ain't for me - you know how this business is."

"Yeah, guess I do. You ain't worried about C-Sec, though?"

"They're too busy huntin' proper criminals," Grek laughed. "Not _businessmen _like us. Besides, I got a present if C-Sec comes snoopin' around."

Still peering through the scope, Kamur saw him reach inside his belt, and draw a small pistol out. It looked like a Carnifex or a Paladin, but it was black, with _something _protruding from the barrel which he couldn't identify at this distance.

"The hell is that thing?" the unseen figure asked.

"M-11 Suppressor," the batarian grinned. "Alliance made it for murderin' people quiet-like, but there's a whole load on the black market. Somebody jacked a shipment, I guess…"

"That thing's silenced?"

"Yup."

"Hmm…"

_Wham! _The stranger struck out like a viper, nailing Grek under the chin with a heavy fist and sending him staggering back into the alley. Before Kamur quite knew what was going on, he'd wrenched the pistol from the batarian's hands, sent him stumbling into the wall… and squeezed the trigger.

The pistol was indeed silent, but the effect was very visible. Grek shook twice as two rounds bit into his back - he dropped to his knees, the stranger pressed the long silencer into the back of his head… and it jerked with a third shot, blood and brains spattering quietly onto the wall.

"Jesus…" Tyco swore, as Grek toppled to the floor, dead. He didn't have a scope, but that scene would have been hard to miss from this vantage point, even at a distance…

The whole thing had gone from start to finish in no more than ten seconds. The stranger examined Grek for a moment, shook his head, and tossed the slaver's pistol off along the alley - it thudded down in a dark corner somewhere, for C-Sec to uncover _eventually_. When they did, Kamur knew there would be no prints save Grek's - the killer was wearing gauntlets to match his armour. He twisted, around, lifted his visor…

And the turian saw four eyes amidst a flash of muddy-brown skin. Another batarian… that made sense. The figure reached to his belt, pulled out a carton of little red cigarettes, and popped one into his mouth. He took a lazy puff, glanced back at Grek, and then set off into the crowd.

Neither Kamur nor Tyco would ever find out who killed Hallion Grek. Tyco just claimed his payment for the hit like any other, and though the turian had his suspicions… Vor would always _strenuously _deny them.


	405. Shore Leave Shalta Ward II 5

_**Level 12, Shalta Ward**_

_**Day 3, 0000**_

"Urgh… what time is it?"

"Midnight…"

Ethan blinked.

"That's messed up," he groaned. "Shouldn't we be drinking at midnight?"

"We _were_," the filtered burble at his side pointed out.

"Ah. Right."

He levered himself upright with roughly the same noise a bear would make on awakening, and glanced around the room. It was dark, for starters, and something in the back of his brain told him that was good. Light, the voice explained, was _bad_.

"Keelah…" Kan muttered. "I have _got _to stop doing this. You guys are a bad influence…"

The quarian was sat on the floor, the top of his hood just visible over the side of the bed Ethan found himself sprawled on.

"Hey, don't blame me for this…" the marine replied. "That last triple was your idea."

"I don't remember that one…"

"Figures. Where the hell are we?"

Kan looked up.

"Inside," he answered, after a moment.

"Wow… c'mon, we should go see if anyone else survived."

"You go. I'll stay here, get acquainted with the floor…"

"Fine. I'll venture out into the big wide world alone, then."

"Brave man. I shall list your name on the… argh… the Wall of Heroes!"

"Is that a real thing?"

"I have _no _idea. Maybe?"

Ethan sighed, and rolled off the bed with another groan. His legs were leaden, his temples throbbing with each pesky heartbeat, and he was sure there was something living behind his good eye. After a moment or two… or four, or an hour… not the point… after however many moments, he picked himself up off the floor, and stumbled towards the door. After a minute's fumbling with the lock, it slid open, and he stepped through into a scene that could only be described as an _aftermath_.

It was a rather spacious apartment, arrayed with modern-looking furniture. Sofa, footstool, a couple of armchairs, a lamp that _burned _the back of his retinas - it was still switched on from last night, and the shutters were down over the windows. At least half the crew was strewn across the room, unconscious to a man. Dax and Yui were slumped in the hallway that led to the front door, snoring loudly. Wendy Arness was splayed out on the couch, and her sister was on the floor beside her, face-down in the plush footstool. By the far wall, Alicia Carter was tucked under Irving Wolfe's arm, but it looked more like a protective brother and his sister than anything untoward. And rounding out the ensemble, Red was curled up cat-like in the armchair, drawing a little smile from the sentinel. She looked more relaxed than he'd ever seen her - that'd probably change once she woke up and the headache started.

Speaking of which, she gave a little stir, three long fingers tensing on her left hand, and her eyes blinked open a moment later to reveal two very bright amber bulbs staring up at him.

"Ah, sleeping beauty awakes," he murmured, with a grin.

"Where's your shirt?" was the first thing she asked, frowning.

Ethan looked down.

"So _that's _why it's cold…"

"You're an idiot," Zel replied, but she was smiling nonetheless.

"Food?" he muttered, nodding towards the kitchen.

"Maybe when my legs are working… gimme a minute."

The human chuckled, and padded off to the kitchen, leaving Zel to her hangover. As he turned the corner into the corridor that led to it, however, he caught a glimpse through the open door of the adjacent bedroom. There was an asari dancer on the bed, still in her costume - half of it, anyway - and tangled up with… Araya?

_Damn._

He slapped himself around the jaw to stop it dropping, and stepped into the kitchen. As he did, he had to step over Arrete's slumbering form - the salarian was propped up against the counter, out cold, a bottle of bright blue liquor at his side and a cluster of shot glasses abandoned on the counter above. Ethan had half a memory of taking shots with Arrete and Ekris, but where the drell had buggared off to, he didn't know…

Whoever the apartment belonged to, he wanted to _kiss _them as he discovered the coffee maker on the side counter, and the glass jar next to it containing coarse grounds. He pulled the lid off - after three attempts to twist it the wrong way - and took a sniff. They smelt… _expensive_, and he could feel the hangover fading away already.

He tipped a quarter of the jar into the only opening he could find on the machine, pressed the big silver button on the front, and set about searching for a mug as it began to hiss and whir. The two cupboards overhead were barren, however, and he didn't dare bend down to the ones below his waist - it made his head spin.

Glancing around, he saw the shot glasses on the island counter, and shrugged. Reasoning that liquor would _probably _kill any germs, and washing it out in the sink to make sure, he took one, finishing his task just as the coffee maker did. He filled the glass, knocked it back… and then knocked back three more for good measure. There was a slight tang from the remnants of the liquor, clinging stubbornly to the glass, but it put a buzz in his blood, and the headache faded a little…

"What is that stuff?" Zel asked, crossing into the room behind him. She was massaging her brow and watching him with bleary eyes, sleek turian dress now crumpled up about her.

"Huh? It's coffee," Cash frowned. "You really haven't… of course you haven't. Dextro."

"Yup," she laughed, wearily. "Vanyali mentioned it a couple of times, but I didn't think it'd be so… _brown_."

"What, turian food's more colourful?"

"It's usually red…" Zel murmured, thoughtfully. "Is there any dextro food in the fridge?"

"Check for yourself," Ethan scowled, going for another glassful of coffee and gulping it down. Sure enough, Zel went rummaging through the fridge, and after a moment declared:

"Nope. Not a damn thing. Just some round things. Brown _again_."

"Eggs," he muttered. "You really haven't spent much time around humans, have you?"

"Just the last few months," she grinned, smiling properly now. "You're a weird lot…"

"And turians aren't?"

"Nope."

They exchanged a _look_.

"Fair enough," he shrugged. "Hey, I'll run and buy some dextro stuff once my legs are working."

"You don't have to do that, you know…"

"What, you're gonna starve instead? It'll wake me up, anyway."

"Oh. Well… thanks. That's kinda sweet."

"I'm a sweet guy," Cash chuckled.

She snorted with laughter.

"What?" he frowned, feigning insult.

"I've seen you be a lot of things, Ethan, but _sweet _isn't one of them…"

"Tell yourself what you like, Red, but I'm practically a teddy bear."

"A what?"

"Oh, for God's sake…"


	406. Shore Leave Shalta Ward II 6

_**Level 22, Shalta Ward**_

_**Day 3, 0020**_

It was easy to forget the wards had no day and night cycle, given how their residents seemed to follow them regardless. It wasn't _really _one in the morning, but the park was abandoned nonetheless. Vimes had been here half an hour, and the only passers-by he'd seen were a hanar and his drell attendant by the fountain on the far side. Soon, however, a new pair of footsteps began to echo down the path…

"Alright," Kamur muttered. "Do I want to _know _why you called me out here?"

"Because no-one else would answer?"

"Seriously? They're still out of it?"

"Been a while since we all cut loose," Sam shrugged. "Speaking of which, how come you're not with them?"

"I was…" the turian murmured, "but I quit early. Got caught up in some stuff with Tyco."

"Tyco?" the human frowned, raising an eyebrow. "Where'd you hide the bodies?"

"See, that'd be funny if you didn't work for C-Sec," Kamur laughed, slumping down next to Sam on the bench.

"Well, that's ironic. I actually wanted to talk to you about C-Sec."

"Me? I'd have figured you're the expert on that front. Unless you're trying to recruit me, in which case… no dice. I've got two jobs already, three would kill me…"

"Number one and two could easily kill you too," Sam pointed out, with a chuckle.

"Yeah, but the perks are great…"

They broke into laughter again, but as Sam shook his head, he blurted out:

"I got offered a job."

"Don't you… already _have _a job?" Kamur muttered, dumbly.

"Well, a promotion, then. I spent yesterday with Commander Marin-"

"He was patrolling with you?" the turian frowned.

"Yeah," Sam lied. "We were short on officers. Point is, we talked. I caught up on everything I've missed since we last came ashore, one thing led to another… and he offered me a captain's post."

"Seriously?" Kamur blinked.

"Yeah… head of Investigation."

"That post's open?"

"It will be as soon as I take it," Vimes smirked.

"Call me a stick in the mud, but that doesn't sound… _above board_."

"You don't know the current head," he laughed. "Rotten bastard called Calloway. We used to be partners, back when we were both detectives. Our old captain was killed in the Cerberus coup, I was off on the Cambrai, Calloway stepped into the breach."

"Rotten?" the turian interjected.

"Not… _rotten _rotten," Sam sighed. "He's not… corrupt, but he's a trigger-happy son of a bitch. He's got no qualms about shooting someone he thinks is guilty."

"Sounds like he'd make a good turian," Kamur muttered.

"Sure. But he doesn't make a good C-Sec officer. There's no… _place _for that kind of guy, not up top. A few thick-necks in Enforcement or Special Response, they're useful for when things get rough. But a detective, the _head _detective? He needs to be a proper leader, not a thug."

"You're not exactly a featherweight, Vimes…"

"I'm not a _thug_, though," he scowled. "I've beaten up a fair few guys to get 'em in cuffs, sure. But I've never killedone, not unless he was shooting back."

"So what's the issue?" Kamur asked, eyes narrowing.

"I… you know, I'm not even sure. It'd take some explaining."

"Then explain."

He smiled, hung his head, and began at the start:

"I was a colony kid, turian. Bekenstein, parents were first-wave. We lived there before the place got rich, and we… _really _weren't. My parents were barely around when I was a kid, I spent most of my time as a courier on the docks to make a few credits...first thing I did when I was old enough was hitch a ride to the Citadel. It's not far, so it didn't cost much, and I had ideas about joining C-Sec. I wanted to put bad people away, but I didn't want to be a soldier, or a militiaman…"

"You knew what you wanted to do and you followed it," Kamur shrugged. "Sure, I respect that. But I'm guessing it didn't go to plan…"

"I got rejected."

That _did _seem to surprise the turian.

"What? But you're…"

"In the job now? Yeah. I didn't get it through what you'd call normal channels…"

"Why'd you get rejected?"

"God-damn literacy tests," Vimes laughed. "Go figure - backwater upbringing, backwater education, and I skipped the last few years of that education to _work_. I could read… kinda, but not well enough. I had half an idea about re-applying, but I needed money, so I started working on the docks, just like I did back home. Had this old volus for a boss. He was kind enough, even helped me learn to read alright, but the job didn't pay well. I got pulled into a… side business for a few months."

"Crime?" Kamur guessed.

"Boxing," he smiled. "Unlicensed, 'course, it wasn't the clean stuff they broadcast on holo. But I was young, and fit, and I threw a good punch, and there were plenty of betting men to rip off. Used to fight in this old warehouse down on the level two dockside. I'd go ten rounds with a turian or a batarian or another human, and I'd make what they paid me in a _week _for shifting cargo. Eventually, though… C-Sec got wind of it."

"Ah."

"Yeah… they sent a bunch of patrolmen to clear the place, and I… well, I legged it. Made it to the door, better than most, but when I turn around, I see this big turian in uniform _charging _at me."

"Marin."

"_Yup_. He came at me outta the door. No guns, no stun baton, just his fists, and that after he'd seen me knock a guy out in the ring."

"He's a proper turian," Kamur shrugged. "Whatever you did, it got you a job… what _did _you do?"

"I put him on his ass," Sam grinned. "Sure, one of his guys got me with a few hundred volts two seconds after I did, but still… he's a turian, he respected me for it."

"Enough to give you a job?"

"Enough to forgive me a few bruises. I mean, come on, what did I do, _really?_"

"Knock him out?"

"_Apart _from that. I beat up a few guys in the ring, but they went for me just the same, and we all agreed to _do it_… I wasn't organising the fights, I didn't bet on them… the only thing they could get me with was assaulting an officer of the law. And after he spoke to me, he dropped those charges too."

"And gave you a job?"

"Yeah… a lot of people weren't happy about it. The Commander sure as hell wasn't, and Kayla hit the roof when Marin partnered me with her. But he's got an eye for these things. Sure, I wasn't as smart as a lot of his guys, but I was younger and fitter than most, I had more street smarts… he knew a good deal when he saw one."

"A _good deal_?" the turian smirked. "Little arrogant, don't you think?"

"Sure. But it's vindicated," he shrugged. "Gabriel got me to sit the literacy test I failed first time round, so they couldn't argue with my recruitment. And after a month, I had the second best arrest record in Enforcement behind Gabriel himself. Made sergeant inside a year. Eighteen months, though, I hit something big. Cracked a slavery ring."

"That doesn't sound like a regular task for Enforcement," Kamur grinned, slyly.

"Okay, you got me, I went a little… _off-road_. But it worked. Executor bumped me up to Investigation for it, proper detective's post, not to mention a detective's salary. I spent a year there, but then Gabriel goes and gets himself promoted to head up Special Response. This was… just after the geth attack, they needed a new head, and he pulled me into a free spot as a marksman. That's when I learned to be a sniper."

The turian just nodded for him to continue, and he did:

"That lasted eighteen months. Then, the Executor slashed our budget."

"Cutting armed response… _six_ months before the Reapers attack," Kamur mused. "Gotta love the irony."

"Tell me about it… we had to cut people out of the team, and much as I hated to go, the others were lifers, ex-military and so on. For them, it was Special Response or nothing. I had my old detective post to fall back on, so I fell back on it - hated it, though… for a start, that prick Calloway was my senior by then. I went back to Marin inside a _week_, but there was nothing he could do. I kept my head down, did my job… but a few months later, Marin comes to me. He says he can't transfer me directly back to Special Response, but he can do the next best thing - sign my papers for this new Alliance initiative Hackett was recruiting for, under his supervision…"

"And that's how you ended up on the Cambrai."

Sam nodded.

"You know, that story explains a lot," the turian rumbled.

"It does?"

"Sure. It explains how a C-Sec detective knows how to handle a sniper rifle. It explains how he's on a first name basis with a commander who never _ran _the unit we all thought he came from. And it explains why the hell he's so cut up now…"

The detective looked up, eyebrow rising. Even _he _didn't quite know that…

"Go on," he muttered.

"You fought your way into C-Sec," Kamur began. "Quite literally. You did some… amazing thing you won't tell me about to get promoted to detective-"

"Long story."

"Then save it. You got pulled into Special Response because of your loyalty and, I suspect, your skill set, you _left_ Special Response because you volunteered. You came onto our crew for the same reason… Everything you've done in your career, you did on your terms. You fought for the promotion, or you _earned _it. Always the latter, and usually the former too."

He hesitated, and shot Vimes a sideways stare.

"Say it," the detective sighed.

"You don't think you earned this one."

"Nope."

"You think it's political, you think Marin just wants Calloway gone and you're a convenient fit. And you know how I know that?"

"How?"

The turian paused, and then muttered, on something a tangent:

"You remember Grattus? My second in command?"

"Sure."

"He's the best god-damn soldier on my squad. Most loyal, too. He's saved my life three times by my reckoning, and one of those times, it was from the _rest _of my squad. But I never promoted him up to captain, because that's not what you _do._ You don't promote your best guy to another squad, you keep him with you. Watching your _back_."

"What does that have to do with me?"

"You're Grattus, Marin's me. Except you're doubting it. You think if he trades you away to Investigation again, it means you're not his best guy any more."

"And what do you think I should do about it?"

"I think you should test him."

Sam straightened up, turning to look at the turian for the first time. He had a sly smile on his face.

"You tell him…" Kamur continued, "that you don't want the captain's job. You want Special Response. Not the captaincy, just second in command to him. You're his protégé, not his peer - you should be in position to take over his department, not run a different one. Same as Grattus did with my team."

"And if he's the guy I think he is, he'll say yes?"

"If he's the guy you _hope _he is, he'll say yes," the turian nodded. "If he is that guy, he gave you Investigation because he thinks you want it - you don't like Calloway and he knows it. But if he finds out you want his right hand instead, he'll give you that. And he'll be willing to wait until you're finished on the Cambrai before he takes you back."

"And if he says no?"

"Then you've got your answer, for better or worse."

Sam let out a weary sigh, and hung his head again. He felt like he'd got a lot out in the space of a few minutes.

"Thanks," he muttered.

"No worries. Handling panic attacks comes with the rank."

They both laughed, and then fell silent again. After a few minutes, however, he looked up to find Kamur shooting him yet another sly smile, chuckling to himself ever so slightly.

"What?" Sam frowned, with a smile nonetheless.

"You reallyused to box?"

"Why's that so hard to believe?"

"Because you're thin as a twig and you _never_ spar with the rest of us?"

"The word's _trim_," he smirked. "And unlike you and Ethan, I don't feel the need to show off."

"You think you're up there with me?" Kamur teased.

"I _know _I am. You wanna go ten rounds, turian?"

"Sure."

"Tough, you wouldn't last three."

Kamur roared with laughter, and Sam allowed a chuckle to escape his jaws, as the nerves and the doubt faded away.

"Those are big words for a little guy," the turian grinned, finally.

"You've seen Gabriel, right? Six foot five, built like the average tank? This 'little guy' laid him out when he was seventeen."

"Hmm… point taken."


	407. Shore Leave Shalta Ward II 7

_**Presidium Commons, Presidium**_

_**Day 3, 0700**_

"Geez, this is a medical centre? Looks more like a resort."

"Yeah, this is it. I could save up my Alliance pay for a _decade _and I wouldn't be able to afford a place like this…"

Irving and Alicia had quit from the apartment in the early hours of the morning, after gulping down coffee and Ethan's rather burnt eggs, and were on their way to pick up their now-recovered colleagues. Dr O'Leiph was _meant _to be handling it, but she was still out of it from last night. Alicia, who was slightly _less _hung over, had offered to handle it for her, and Irving had been only to happy to tag along, given who they were visiting.

On that note, they had decided _not _to tell Alec about their waking up together that morning. Irving had had his pants on, and Alicia hadn't been overcome with shame, so it was _probably _safe to say nothing had happened.

"_Overcome with shame?" _his brain echoed. _"Wow, even for you that's self-deprecating…"_

He silenced his brain - it was being rather too loud for his liking, given the pounding in his head that last night's whiskey had produced - and stood by as Alicia rapped on the door. They waited a minute, it gave a _hiss_, and then it sprang open to reveal a surprisingly bright-eyed flight lieutenant.

"Morning," Erika muttered. "You two look like shit."

"Says the inpatient," Alicia laughed, exchanging a grin with Irving.

"Long night?"

"Long _month_."

"Can't wait to get back to it, then. Come in."

She stepped aside, they followed, and Irving let out a low whistle. This place was even grander on the inside…

"Hey, look who finally showed up," a voice chuckled, from the sofa. Alec was sprawled out along it, still in Alliance fatigues. Irving suppressed a chuckle of his own at that little observation - like him, the kid didn't really know how to switch off…

"We're right on time, thank you very much," Alicia retorted. "Are you two doing alright?"

"Well, my head hasn't exploded yet," the corporal muttered.

"Mine neither," Erika added.

"Good. More importantly, the medics downstairs say you're fine. No secondary symptoms, you're well out of the observation period... Dr O'Leiph will probably want to check you over when you get back, but you're good to go."

"I was good to go a fortnight back," Alec smirked. "I'll get my things."

"Where's Sarah?" Alicia asked, ignoring him.

"In her room," Erika answered, pointing to the bedroom in the back corner.

"How's she doing?"

"About as well as you'd expect, for a girl with a busted kidney."

"I'd best check on her," the medic nodded.

"I'll, err… help these two with their things," Irving muttered.

That drew a glance from both of the Carter siblings, but to their credit, neither of them called him on it. Instead, as Erika led Alicia off into the back room, Alec headed wordlessly for his room, with the big gunnery chief on his heel. The moment they were inside, however, Irving scooped up his friend's footlocker, only for the young corporal to slam the door shut and round on him.

"So, that was shifty," he frowned. "You're shit at that guile stuff, by the way."

"Doesn't take _guile _to shoot a rifle," Irving shrugged.

There was a pause.

"What, you're not gonna explain?" Alec murmured.

"Explain what?"

"Why you chickened out the second my sister mentioned speaking to Sarah?"

Another few moments of silence.

"Come on…" the corporal rumbled. "If you don't tell me, I'm gonna start guessing."

"Feel free."

"Okay, I'll rephrase. I'm gonna start guessing, and _spreading it._"

Irving glared at his younger colleague a moment, and Alec just grinned.

"I can't face her right now," the gunnery chief mumbled.

"What?"

"I said I can't face her," he repeated, a little louder this time.

"Are you growing _feelings?_" Alec smirked.

"All I'm _growing _is a guilty conscience," Irving growled.

"Over Sarah?" - the kid looked genuinely taken aback by that.

"She got hurt on my watch," he replied, with a hard stare.

"She got hurt _on duty_."

"Still happened right in front of me."

"Yeah? And I got my skull smashed right in front of you. Don't tell me you're getting sappy over me too…"

"I'm your superior. It was my job to watch your ass."

"And Sarah? She's _your _superior!"

"Which means it's my job to watch her back."

"My ass, her back?" Alec smirked, trying to lighten the mood. "Don't you think that's the wrong way round?"

Irving just glared at him again, as if to say: _"What's that supposed to mean?"_

"Oh, come on," the corporal muttered, answering his unspoken question. "We both know there's more to this than-"

"Shut it, corporal."

That had the desired effect - Alec blinked, and promptly _shut it. _After a moment, however, he seemed to regain some bravado, and ventured:

"You _really _need to talk to her."

"No, I don't. And neither do you."

"I'm not allowed to _talk_ to her?" the kid frowned, folding his arms.

"Not about this," Irving growled.

"Or what?"

"Or I tell your sister you've got a rifle in this trunk," he smirked, hefting the case demonstratively.

"How'd you-?"

"Know? Fatigues don't weigh this much. So you either brought your gun, or a set of dumbbells. And, judging by those little chicken wings you call arms, it wasn't the latter…"

"Low blow, chief."

"Fully deserved, corporal. Now forget the heart-to-heart, and let's get back to killing bad guys."

"Aye aye…"

Alec pressed his palm to the door console, and it slid apart with a hiss. The main room was still deserted - Alicia and Erika were in the back with the lieutenant. The two marines shuffled back through the door, Irving slinging the kid's footlocker up onto his shoulder.

"You _do _have feelings, though," Alec smirked.

"Prove it, smartass."


	408. Shore Leave Shalta Ward II 8

_**SSV Cambrai, Shalta Ward Docks**_

_**Day 3, 0830**_

"Shore party is aboard," the VI chimed.

Akito just smiled to himself, and even as he flicked through the extranet, reading a news report on Reaper sightings near Thessia, he was mentally charting the course from airlock to cockpit. Five seconds for the interior airlock to open. Five _paces _to reach the corridor. Turn left, take ten more steps, hit the door console…

"Welcome back," he called without turning round, right as the door hissed open.

"You have _got _to stop doing that," Erika chuckled, boots echoing off the deck as she stepped onto the helm.

"Fair enough. How's the head?"

"Fixed. How's my baby?"

"I'm fine. Thanks for asking."

He spun round in his chair, smirking, as she crossed her arms and perked an eyebrow.

"You know damn well I'm talking about the ship," she smiled, a moment later.

"I do… she's doing fine too."

"You didn't break her?"

"Does she_ look_ broken?"

"No, but I've seen you fly in the simulator. You treat every ship like a cruiser."

"And you treat every ship like a fighter," he retorted, good-naturedly. "Luckily, you haven't treated this one like the half dozen you crashed in training. _Yet_."

They paused for a moment, then grinned at each other. Erika slumped down into the pilot's chair, as Akito turned back to his screen and pulled up a game of solitaire.

"You're sure you're alright?" he asked again, over his shoulder.

"I'm _fine_," she stressed. "Carter gave me the all clear."

"What about O'Leiph? You know, the _actual _doctor? What did she say?"

"No idea. She's ashore."

"She is?" he frowned, even as he flicked the three of clubs across the screen.

"Yes. Have you actually been out of the cockpit?" Erika asked.

"Sure."

She swivelled around, fixing him with a dubious stare.

"Well, a few days ago," he shrugged.

"Figures. And… have you cleaned up in here?"

She was glancing around at the cockpit walls. They were certainly a shade brighter than the last time she was here, he'd admit that.

"It took hours to get your blood off the console," he pointed out. "I figured the place could do with a lick of paint."

"And a few new pieces…" Erika murmured, scratching the smooth new console with the nail of her index finger.

"You dented the old one," Akito explained, shortly.

"Oh, I am _so _sorry," she laughed, mirthlessly. "From now on, I'll try not to get my head smashed into the console."

"You'd damn well better."

Two of hearts on the second stack, and it shuffled off into one corner to meet the ace…

"Same software as before…" Erika commented, flicking idly through the flight controls. "You didn't buy upgrades?"

"Not for the software," he muttered. "I can do that myself."

"Which implies you _did _make some other upgrades."

"Fixed the air-con, greased the squeaky co-pilot's chair… oh, and I installed _that_."

He pointed to the side of the radio console. Erika followed his finger, and frowned as she spied the machine on the wall.

"What is that thing?"

"Coffee maker."

"Seriously?"

"Yup."

"I don't suppose you installed a minibar too?"

"No, I couldn't quite persuade the captain to give us _beer _on the flight deck."

"Health and god-damn safety," she smirked.

He looked up, and flashed the slightest of grins. There was a pause, and he couldn't help noticing that Erika's fingers were drumming anxiously against her leg, like a nervous tick.

"Go on," he muttered, simply.

"Go on what?"

"Test her out. I know you want to…"

"Damn right I do. I need to iron out whatever the hell you broke."

"I didn't _break _anything."

"Right…" she murmured, spinning around to face the console again.

Akito paused his game to listen - and send off a quick _"It's okay, she's just testing them" _message to Murphy - as she powered up the thrusters. One, then Two, then Three and then Four. Then the port pair, One and Two…

"They're off," Erika frowned. She went for the controls again, and Akito listened carefully. One and Three, then Two and Three… clever girl.

"Mismatch in One and Two, Two and Three, but not in One and Three," he rattled off. "Logical conclusion, the fault's in Two."

"What did you do?" she asked, spinning round with an accusatory glare.

"Oh, you just assume-"

"_What did you do?_"

"I _may_ have pushed Two over the safe limit," he admitted.

Erika stared at him.

"You pushed it over the safeguards?" she smirked, incredulously. "Who are you, and what did you do with Akito?"

"There were… exceptional circumstances."

"That's putting it lightly. What kind of circumstances?"

"We were being attacked by three Reapers at close range."

"Oh yeah, that'd do it… you realise the thruster's going to need a mechanical fix, not a software patch?"

"Then get Andersen to do it."

"Andersen? What about Klara?"

He blinked. In hindsight, _of course _she didn't know.

"Klara's… kind of _gone_," he muttered. "Long story."

"She's dead?" the pilot frowned, sadly.

"Not dead, just… gone."

"Oh. That's too bad, I liked her," Erika sighed, although there was a flicker of relief on her face at the news the quarian wasn't dead. "Any other personnel changes I should be aware of?"

"Vanyali's in the hospital," he answered, after a moment's thought, and her face fell. "Maelar's dead" - her face fell further - "and we've got two new shuttle pilots. First Lieutenant Arness, and Second Lieutenant Arness."

"Brothers?"

"Sisters."

"Huh. Anything I should be worried about?"

"Professionally?"

"Duh."

He smiled.

"They're good, but they're not you."

"Kiss-ass."

Akito just laughed, and went back to his game. With the two of spades, a second stack disappeared. Five of diamonds on the six of the same suit... and his attention was drawn away a moment later by the slightest of scratching sounds. He looked across to see Erika fiddling with the tight bun her hair was pinned up in.

"Missing something?" he said, with a conspiratorial smirk.

"Hmm?"

The co-pilot didn't reply. He just reached for the blue beret he'd been keeping hold of since she left, and tossed it effortlessly onto the console in front of her. Erika glanced down at it, cracked a little smile, and pulled it on, spinning around to face him.

"Am I _that _predictable?" she asked.

"Only to me… good to have you back, Erika."

"Good to _be_ back, Akito. I'm still pissed about the thruster, though."

"I know… make it up to you with a drink?"

She quirked an eyebrow, and folded her arms with a bemused expression. Akito just leaned out of his chair, around the console, pressed a button on the coffee maker, and handed the resulting steaming cup to his colleague.

"Now _that_ was predictable," she smirked, taking a sip and spinning back to face the controls. "You are _such _a smart-ass."

"I am what I am," he chuckled. "Don't try to change me."

"Wouldn't dream of it…"


	409. Shore Leave Shalta Ward II 9

_**SSV Cambrai, Shalta Ward Docks**_

_**Day 3, 1600**_

"So, when I said we should give them a break, I meant more than a _day_," Murphy muttered.

"What can I say?" Andersen shrugged, at his side. "They came back early. It's time…"

The crew had come filtering back early that afternoon, and now the lot of them were milling around in the hangar, wondering just why they were being asked to wait at attention. The captain himself had only awoken a few hours prior, having fallen asleep at his desk mid-morning. Coffee and busy work could only keep you going for so long…

"Go on," the corporal murmured, with a nudge. "I've got your back, sir. Time to take the plunge."

Murphy nodded, and stepped out of the shade of the elevator. All eyes turned to him as he paced into the room, skirted around the requisitions terminal, and leant against it, sweeping his brow with a tired hand.

"Alright!" he called, and the hangar went silent. "You're all probably wondering why I wanted to speak to you…"

He hesitated, as almost thirty faces turned to stare at him. For some reason, the words wouldn't come. He paused, and bit his tongue thoughtfully, and tried to pick _just _the right phrase… and then he simply said:

"Zya's dead."

The crowd exploded into a frenzy of hushed chatter and angry exclamations. Only two of the assembled crew looked unsurprised - Tyco and Vimes, both of whom had been keeping the news quiet until now. They didn't know the rest, however, and he predicted _the rest _would get an even more emphatic response…

"Did you catch the bastard?" Thorne called out of the crowd. Murphy exchanged a hard stare with a Tyco, before replying:

"No. But we know who he is. One Drake Frost, of Cerberus…"

Another vague roar of dissent from the crew at _that _news. That didn't exactly fill him with confidence about how they'd take the _other _Cerberus news.

"We've encountered Frost before," Murphy continued, "on Noveria and on Terra Nova. He's a graduate of Project Phoenix, the chosen apprentice of Christopher Creed, and this is the second time he's taken someone from us…"

Tyco looked down at his feet, but none of the others seemed to notice - if they did, they tactfully didn't draw attention to him.

"The thing is, I'm not here to talk to you all about Drake Frost," the captain sighed, and everyone, Tyco and Sam included, looked a little surprised at _that_. "I'm here to talk to you about Christopher Creed."

The silence was deafening. Murphy glanced to Andersen at his side, the corporal gave him a brief nod of approval, and he continued, very quickly:

"Evidence has come to light that Creed may have survived our last encounter."

_Wham. _Murphy almost _felt _the wall of noise which slammed into him a moment later. The crowd became a seething mass of people baying and roaring, and those who stood in shocked silence were a minority. The krogan were particularly loud, as were Irving and Tyco. Only Andersen looked impassive - he, of course, had known before Murphy himself.

Eventually, the mood of the mob presented itself through Ethan Cash - it was his voice that asked the first discernible question:

"How the _hell _did he survive?" the sentinel glowered.

"I…"

"We don't know," Andersen answered, taking over as Murphy hesitated. "We can only assume Cerberus managed to repair the damage we did on Trident. Cybernetics, Reaper tech… something like that. Ethan, you know damn well it's possible to survive a shot to the head. You _did_."

Cash admitted that with a nod, and his cybernetic eye flickered from brown to blue as he did.

"So when do we get to crush him?" Yui called out next, thumping his fists together in that very krogan way of his…

"As soon as we find him," Murphy replied, firmly. "No more sitting around waiting - we go for the throat. We carve up the Reapers when command tells us to, but we go for Cerberus wherever we find them in between. We hit their operations, their operatives, and we _keep_ hitting until somebody tells us what we need to know."

"And _then_ we crush him?"

"Yeah. Then we crush 'em both."

The krogan gave a little rumble of approval, and the rest of the crew had quietened down somewhat by now.

"Ideally, I'd send you all back to enjoy your shore leave," the captain concluded, "but somehow, I doubt you'd agree to."

A few _'damn straights'_ in response to that.

"Corporal Andersen is going to be sifting through the files from Operation Viper searching for targets of opportunity. Lynus, Arrete, I want you assisting."

"Photographic memories," Andersen muttered, under his breath. "Nice touch…"

"Understood, captain," Arrete nodded, from the midst of the group.

"The rest of you, get your gear together. If you want to buy fresh ammo or weapons ashore, do it sooner rather than later. Lynus, Ria, I'd also like a copy of your research into omega-enkaphalin, ready to be forwarded to Alliance R&D if necessary. Everyone, dismissed."

There was a moment's pause, before slowly, the gathered crew began to drift apart to the sidelines of the hangar. Andersen threw a salute and went off to talk with the salarians about their task, leaving the captain alone… for a moment, at least.

"Boss," Tyco called, approaching out of the blue. "Word?"

Murphy nodded, and they made for the elevator at the back of the hangar, stepping inside alone and waiting for the doors to shut before either of them said a word.

"Don't think I didn't notice that."

"What?"

"You didn't tell 'em about me. About the… C-Sec thing."

"Why would I? C-Sec was wrong, no need to stir things up."

Tyco nodded gratefully, and they lapsed into silence for a moment more, until:

"There's only so much Andersen can get outta those files," the bounty hunter said, cautiously. "I ain't exactly gonna broadcast where it comes from, but if you want information on Cerberus…"

"Then the Shadow Broker would be pretty damn useful," Murphy agreed, fixing him with a knowing stare.

"I'll get onto my contact," he nodded. "Can't promise anything, but if he turns up a lead… I'll let you know."

"Appreciate it. Now-"

"Captain?"

He looked down. His omni-tool was flashing, the yeoman's voice echoing around the elevator.

"What is it?" he frowned.

"Incoming transmission, sir. Admiral Singh. He says it's urgent…"

"Of _course _it is…" Murphy groaned. Tyco grinned for the time in a long while, and rolled his eyes. "Patch it to my quarters, I'll be there ASAP…"


	410. Operation Nomad Briefing

_**SSV Cambrai, Shalta Ward Docks**_

_**Day 1, 1615**_

"Captain."

"Admiral."

With their usual greeting out of the way, Murphy and Singh got to business. The latter was floating an inch above the former's desk, in hologram form, arms folded tightly behind his back.

"I… heard about what happened on the Citadel," Nitesh ventured.

"How?"

"Alliance Embassy. As for how they knew, they didn't say. C-Sec channels, the news, or… something. For what it's worth, I'm sorry."

"Thanks. Now what's this emergency?"

"Straight to business? Fair enough. We've lost contact with one of our supply convoys, captain."

"I didn't know we had any supply convoys _left_," Murphy chuckled, mirthlessly.

"Fewer and fewer each day," Singh replied, straight-faced. "This one was bringing arms and equipment to my own fleet. If it stays lost, that's a huge chunk out of our armoury, and our ground operations take the hit."

"A hit they can't afford," the captain surmised. "You can't afford to let up on Terra Nova, but your marines can't advance without guns, and you need stockpiles to arm the resistance."

"Exactly."

"You want us to track this convoy down, then?"

"Yes. If they were lost, salvage what you can and mark the rest of the retrievable cargo for our ships to pick up. If they're still in one piece, find them and get them back on course."

"I'll need a few more specifics, sir. Number of ships, technical specs, flight plan…"

"Five Athabasca-class freighters, plus a cruiser escort, the São Paulo. Technical specifications should be freely available over Alliance channels, they're not prototypes or anything. Callsign is Bishop, and the convoy was assigned to bring supplies from the Citadel to our current location in the Exodus Cluster. FTL waypoints in the Annos Basin and the Horse Head Nebula. We suspect the convoy came under attack from Reapers and dropped off the radar."

"The Annos Basin's salarian territory," Murphy murmured. "Practically the doorstep of Sur'Kesh. Reapers couldn't have gotten to your convoy there… could they?"

"Doubtful," Singh shrugged. "At any rate, contact was lost after they completed the jump to the Horse Head Nebula. SSV São Paulo checked in at twelve-fourty to report arrival in the system, and at twelve-fifty to confirm all five ships were through. After that, nothing."

"If you've lost contact, it means their attackers tore through the São Paulo, admiral. You want us to take on those same odds in a _frigate?_"

Singh just shot him a _look_, as if the answer was bloody obvious.

"No, I want you to use your _stealth systems _to get in there, and guide the convoy out again."

"Oh, right. All the same, I'd feel a bit more secure with backup."

"Tai Shan will be waiting on the far side of the Exodus Relay with a heavy squadron," Singh nodded. "Get the convoy back to the relay, and they'll chase off anything that follows you through."

"Appreciate it, sir."

"No problem. Now get moving, captain. We don't have all day."

"Aye aye."

Singh's hologram faded, and Murphy felt a dull _thrum _of excitement in his blood. It had only been a few days, but he was missing the campaign… The first thing he did was pull up the ship-wide intercom, and call out:

"Change of plans, people! Admiral Singh just came through with an assignment. _An emergency_. If you want to stock up, do it now, we're departing at twenty-one hundred hours. Murphy out."

Silence for a moment - there was no-one to protest or assent in his empty cabin - before the intercom began to flash, a private communique coming up from the helm.

"Departing twenty-one hundred?" Akito's voice murmured, as Murphy let it through. "Less than five hours… that can't be good."

"Like I said, it's an emergency. Search and rescue for a missing convoy."

"Search and rescue?" Erika interjected, and he could almost _hear _the frown. "That's not our usual fare, captain…"

"I know. I think your expertise is gonna be a damn sight more useful than mine on this one."

"So, you need our _expertise_ on a long hunt, full of unknowns, and we're flying from midnight?" the pilot sighed. "That's twenty-four hours awake before we even start the search."

"At least we've got coffee…" Akito grumbled.


	411. Operation Nomad Part 1

_**SSV Cambrai, Horse Head Nebula**_

_**Day 2, 0320**_

"Status report?" Murphy called, as he dashed up to the corridor to the cockpit - the door was already open, waiting for him.

"Well, while you were _sleeping_," Akito frowned, from the co-pilot's chair, "we jumped through to the Horse Head Nebula."

Murphy at least had the decency to look guilty - he had indeed caught a few hours' sleep once they were off the Citadel, and had come down to the helm in such a rush because he'd only just awoken…

"Any sign of the convoy?"

"Not a whisper," Erika sighed. "Their flight plan has them stopping at the fuel depot on the edge of this… system…"

Jaws dropped throughout the cockpit. The pilot had just pitched the Cambrai around on its course, and a terrible scene loomed through the cockpit window. It looked, quite simply, like the world had exploded. There was metal _everywhere_, the amber light of Pax's sun turning a mass of wreckage into a glittering cloud. Shards of scrap and chunks of debris, all dancing around two halves of a structure far bigger than the frigate now observing.

"Bastards tore right through the depot…" Akito muttered. "I knew the Reapers were targeting our fuel supplies, but this close to Noveria?"

"They're pressing…" Murphy nodded, quietly. "Pushing on the flanks."

There was a sombre silence, just for a moment or two.

"Scan for any intact fuel tanks," the captain instructed, without much optimism. "We need to recover what we can. And see if you can find any trace of the convoy."

"I think we already did," the co-pilot murmured, to the surprise of both his colleagues. "Look through there, behind the depot…"

Murphy squinted, staring off into the darkness… and then he saw it. A long, angular slice of metal, a shade lighter than the depot's wreckage. The tail end of an Alliance emblem was visible in one corner…

"Scan it."

Akito nodded, leant over the scanner screen, and let it whir away. Then, the display lit up, and he merely nodded:

"SSV São Paulo."

"Son of a bitch…"

"Can you tell anything from the wreckage?" Erika chipped in, practical as ever.

"Err, yes…" Akito muttered, shaking his head to snap himself out of his thousand-mile-stare. "Traces of ferrous metals on the wreckage, but not consistent with Alliance shipbuilding materials. It was… probably molten to begin, came from the Reapers' magnetohydrodynamic weapons."

"Magneto _what?_" Murphy frowned.

The co-pilot ignored him.

"There are… pieces from other human ships, too. They _should _match the schematics for an Athabasca-class…" - he drew up said schematics with a free hand, and glanced over them - "yes, they do. So we know the convoy took hits, but there isn't enough wreckage for all of them to have been destroyed. Maybe not even one. There's an atomic residue … a few antiprotons, that'd be from a military drive, probably the São Paulo's. But I see trails from fusion torches, too - that's a commercial drive, probably what the transports were fitted with."

"If there's a trail, can you follow it?"

"Not for any kind of distance, but maybe for a klick or two. Expanding the scanner range, running diagnostics…"

He cursed, thumped the screen, and began to fiddle with some of the finer controls. Captain Murphy just exchanged a bemused look with Erika - clearly, she had no idea what her colleague was doing either.

"It's not clear, but I _might _have something," Akito murmured, biting his lip.

"_Might?_"

"Alright, _do_. I was being modest."

Murphy pretended not to notice the slight grin that was shared between pilot and co-pilot at that. Instead, he advanced to stand behind Yurai, peering over his shoulder at the scanner readout. A mess of red was overlaid across a radar screen, with a little white dot to one side that he could only assume was the Cambrai.

"Looks like a random mess," he frowned. The centre of the screen was a swirling mass of dots and tapering lines, all criss-crossing and swirling.

"It is," the co-pilot admitted. "_Here_. But they were manoeuvring here. If they were attacked, we can assume they took evasive, scrambled out of formation, and _then _the Reapers came through, blurring the trail… but look either side."

Murphy squinted. On closer inspection, there were two sharp peaks jutting out of the central mess of red, almost like the hands of a clock.

"By these bearings…" Akito muttered, "_this _one leads to the mass relay. That's part of their flight plan. But _that _one… right off to the edge of the system."

"They jumped to another system?"

"It's what I'd do. FTL jumps can produce a four- or five-figure drift. That buys you space and time to get away from your pursuers, unless they've got a _massively _precise FTL system and the specific co-ordinates you were jumping to. And that's unlikely if you program a random jump a few seconds before you ignite the core… I'm rambling, aren't I?"

"Little bit. Where does that trail point?"

"Off into dead space, but beyond that… Fortuna. Red dwarf on the far side of the nebula. Erika, turn us to bearing three-one-zero, I'll program the jump."

She nodded, and spun the ship on a dime. Even as they turned, Akito was tapping away, producing a long string of numbers which he swiped a moment later, dismissing them into the depths of the system. There was a _thrum_ as the core began to power up, Murphy slid down into the comms station, buckling himself in, and finally, after another nod between pilot and co-pilot, Erika hit the controls. The whole ship lurched violently, and went rushing off into FTL.

It took a matter of minutes to cross the nebula, and when they finally emerged in the dim red light of Fortuna, the system was eerily silent. The moment they arrived, the two helmsmen began to tap away at their consoles once again.

"Stealth systems engaged," Akito murmured.

"Scanner pulse?" Erika asked.

"No," he replied, with a shake of his head. "It'll just bring the Reapers running."

"So… how _exactly _are we meant to find the transports without scanning for them?"

"Well, if they're smart, they'll be hiding somewhere our scanners wouldn't find them anyway."

"That still begs the question of how we find them…"

"Logic, and maths."

"Oh, _brilliant_."

He scowled at her. She flashed a grin.

"Taking the speed of an Athabasca's fusion torch, and comparing it to the known of a Reaper's flight… even with the broadest estimate of FTL drift, the Reapers would have caught them up before they made it a quarter of the way across the system. Moral of the story, Athabascas are slow. Unless you overload the drive, that is, but then that takes the shield down to thirty-two percent, which isn't ideal with Reapers on your tail-"

"Akito, focus!" Erika snapped, with click of her fingers. "Where am I meant to be flying this god-damn ship?"

"Err, let's see… overlay the radius on the system's chart, factor in the sensor shadow you could get off Amaranthine's far side... there's only one dark spot they could get to without the Reapers catching them. Gas cloud on bearing zero-five-zero."

"Got it. Will the stealth systems get us that far?"

"Easily. Permission to go after them, captain?"

Murphy started a little, as he realised the co-pilot was turning to look at him. He'd pretty much been an observer thus far.

"Granted," he nodded, after a pause. "Keep the comms quiet, though, no hails. Move to dock, and make sure they see our colours as you manoeuvre in. I'll put together a boarding party."


	412. Operation Nomad Part 2

_**SSV Cambrai, Horse Head Nebula**_

_**Day 2, 0340**_

"So, remind me, why are we sending a boarding party if they're friendlies?" Irving frowned. "A boarding party of... two?"

"The gas cloud masks scanners, but I don't trust open comms," Murphy explained, "not when we're being hunted by an enemy with the Reapers' level of tech. Akito's going to give them a good view of our nose, show them we're friendlies, and then we go aboard. Find whoever the hell's in charge and figure out how we get them out of here."

"Sounds like a plan."

"Moving to dock," Erika called, from the helm. "They haven't started shooting at us, so that's good…"

"They're not armed," Akito pointed out, in the background of the intercom. "They _can't _start shooting at us."

"Oh. Right. Anyway, you're free to go aboard, sir. Docking tunnel's secure."

"Copy that," Murphy nodded. "Wish us luck."

He slung the Avenger rifle he was carrying into his arms - just in case - and made for the airlock, with Irving following suit. They slid through the first door, it hissed shut behind them, and the decontamination screen proceeded to rove over them once, then again, before the VI announced:

"The commanding is ashore."

The outer airlock slid open, and the two N7s moved through into the corridor beyond. Murphy half expected another reception like the Logan's, but there were no rifles coming up to greet them as they stepped aboard the transport. There was only one figure, in fact, a grim-faced woman in Alliance crew uniform. She had a pistol in her belt, but she didn't even _bother _drawing it on the two heavily-armoured marines.

"Alliance?" she asked, as a formality.

"Captain Zachary Murphy, SSV Cambrai," he nodded.

"Gunnery Chief Irving Wolfe," his companion added.

"N7s…" the woman observed. "Lucky us. You here to bail us out?"

"Yeah. Admiral Singh put us on your trail."

"Come on, then. Twitch'll wanna speak to you."

"Twitch?"

"Err… Tilson. Our pilot."

She beckoned for them to follow, and they set off along the corridor at her heel.

"You'd better have a bloody big squadron, captain," the woman muttered, as they passed through the door at the end of the passage. "We're in some deep shit."

"Huh. You don't mince words, do you?" Irving chuckled, wryly.

"It's true, ain't it? We're hiding in some dust cloud, the Reapers are hunting us, and everybody's freezing to death."

"What?" Murphy frowned.

"Take your helmet off," she replied.

He did just that… and the cold which _poured _into his lungs stole his breath. He choked slightly, much to Irving's bemusement, and shook his head to try and clear the headache which started up a moment later.

"That's… _bloody _cold," he observed, stating the obvious.

"Twitch shut off the engines," their guide explained. "He said the cloud blotted out most scanners, but he didn't want to chance the thermals."

"Cautious. Probably smart."

"Yeah. We all wish he'd been a little dumber, though."

Irving laughed, but she didn't seem to find it amusing at all. Understandable, Murphy supposed, given the circumstances.

They passed through the next door, turned left, dashed up a stairwell to the deck above, and kept on at the woman's heel for another minute or two. The first thing Murphy noticed was that the corridors were _abandoned_. The crew were probably taking shelter in groups, the rational part of his brain told him, not hanging around in the corridors.

Finally, they reached their destination - a quick swipe of the woman's hand pulled the last door open, and they stepped into the transport's cramped cockpit. It was dark, save for a few vital consoles, and the little figure in the pilot's chair was almost invisible at first glance.

"Twitch," their guide called, and the figure gave a little start.

"Huh?" he blinked, spinning his chair around to face them. He started in surprise at the sight of the two marines. "Maria?"

"This is Captain Murphy and Chief Wolfe," 'Maria' muttered, and added sarcastically: "Our knights in shining armour."

"Oh. Err… b-brilliant," the pilot stammered. "Flight Officer T-Tilson."

"Good to meet you," Murphy nodded, after a moment's hesitation.

"Well, I imagine _that's _a good first impression, Twitch…" the woman drawled, making for the door. Turning to Murphy, she added: "He's actually a half-decent pilot, when he stops shaking."

"G-gee, thanks…" Twitch frowned. His crewmate just walked out without a backward glance.

"Right then, 'Twitch'," the captain sighed. "What the _hell _do we do about this little situation of yours?"

"W-well, I imagine we try to escape…" the pilot ventured, with half a smile.

"Good start. What's your current situation? Contingency plan, capabilities…?"

"Err… we're not armed. Are you?"

"Our frigate's heavily armed," Murphy nodded.

"A-and the rest of your squadron?"

"We're it," Irving muttered, matter-of-factly. The little man blanched. His face was pale with the cold, but somehow managed to get _whiter _at that news.

"One frigate?" he stuttered. "Th-that… that's all?"

"One _SR2_," the captain corrected. "Thanix cannon, stealth systems… we can hold our own, don't worry."

"Oh… that's good, then."

"How many Reapers are out there?" he continued, business-like.

"Three."

"Destroyers?"

He shook his head.

"C-capital-class."

"_Shit,_" Irving swore. Murphy had to admit, those odds were a little beyond one frigate, even one SR2, _but_:

"We don't need to destroy them."

"Huh?" Twitch and Irving frowned, in unison.

"We just need to distract them. Twitch, how many ships have you got left?"

"Four of five. B-Bishop One was d-d-"

"Destroyed?" Wolfe guessed, impatiently. Murphy shot him a scowl.

"Y-yes."

"What about the other ships? What kind of state are they in?"

"Three intact," Twitch murmured. "Bishop Five got… hit in the tail. Sh-she's damaged bad."

"How long would it take your convoy to get to the edge of the system and jump?"

"T-twenty, twenty-five minutes?"

"And _without _Bishop Five?" he asked, presciently.

"Ten."

"Then here's what we do. We take all the surviving crew off Bishop Five, and transfer them to the other ships. We've got shuttles that can do that for you. Is there any valuable cargo left aboard?"

"Only… only a little."

"Then we transfer that too. Last man off Bishop Five sets her on a constant bearing, zero-zero-zero."

"Wh-what for?"

"Cover. Trust me."

"Okay…"

"Oh, and one last thing. I'm going to transfer all of my crew to your transports, and I want you to get them out of here."

Irving's jaw dropped, and he turned to stare at Murphy in amazement.

"_What?_" he gawped.

"We're talking about pitting the Cambrai against _three _Reapers, Irving. I don't want anyone aboard who doesn't have to be, so they've got to go."

"And if they refuse?"

"Then you'll _make _them go."

"Captain-"

"That's an order, chief."

"I… yes sir."

"Twitch," Murphy continued, "we'll make a break for it out of the cloud once everyone's off the ship. The moment we're engaged with the Reapers, you turn your convoy to six o'clock and run for the edge of the system."

"H-how will we-?"

"Know? We'll send out a tight-beam comms burst once we're engaged. Get your ships back to Pax, and through the Exodus Relay. Admiral Singh has a squadron waiting on the far side."

"Okay..." the pilot nodded, biting his lip.

"That's that, then," Murphy sighed. "Irving, on me. Let's get this thing done quick..."

"Quick? I'd prefer _safe_, captain."

"Wow, never heard you say that before…"

"Yeah. That's the point."


	413. Operation Nomad Part 3

_**SSV Cambrai, Horse Head Nebula**_

_**Day 2, 0400**_

"So, I don't know if I mentioned this before, but you're fucking crazy."

Murphy raised his eyebrow at Akito.

"Sorry. You're fucking crazy _sir_."

"That's better."

It had taken some twenty minutes for Cat and Wendy to transfer all the crew from Bishop Five and the Cambrai to the three surviving transports. It would have taken a lot _less _time if it wasn't for the Cambrai's crew, because every one of them objected to the move. Not that he was in the least bit _surprised_…

"It was the only logical choice," he muttered, snapping back to the present.

"I'm pretty good at logic," Akito frowned, "but you'll have to explain that one to me."

"Alright, I will. The way I see it, we had three choices. One, make a run for it with the convoy."

"Which, if the Reapers are on this side of Amaranthine, gets us caught and killed before we reach the edge of the system."

"Two," he continued, "we leave to get reinforcements. That _might _work, but it's a risk we can't take. Those transports can't stay cold forever, or the crew'll freeze, and if they power up again, the Reapers might catch their thermals."

"True…" Akito admitted.

"Three, we distract the Reapers. If we can keep them off us for five minutes, Bishop's got enough of a head start to have a fighting chance. If we keep them off for _ten_, they've already jumped by the time we make our own run for it. And unlike them, we can outrun the Reapers."

"And evacuating the crew?"

"Minimises casualties," Erika interjected, before Murphy could answer. "SR2 was designed to be flown by a skeleton crew anyway. Contingency for-"

"Enemy boarding action," Akito muttered. "I know. I read the reports."

"So why are you complaining?"

"Because we're going head-on against the Reapers with no backup?"

"I thought you'd be used to that by now. Ground team does it every week."

"Right... _our turn_," Akito scowled, sarcastically. "What's the plan, then?"

"Bishop Five's crew are going to set her moving, then jump ship," Murphy explained. "We fly in her shadow, use her as cover, then spring at the last second. Element of surprise should buy us some extra time in terms of distraction… right?"

"Yeah, like, thirty seconds…"

"Better than nothing. And once we're engaged, we send the signal for Bishop to get their asses out of here."

"It all sounds good," the co-pilot admitted. "The plan sounds good… but my brain keeps coming back to three of us versus _three Reapers_."

"Come on, Akito. I make it at least _four _of us."

He paused, considering for a moment.

"Oh yeah… fair point."

A brief silence, as Erika looked between them, utterly bemused.

"Am I missing something?" she frowned.

"Simple logic," Akito muttered. "None of the crew wants to go. So at least one person has to stay and force the _others _to go."

"Shouldn't that be the captain?"

"Yeah, but he's up here, going down with the ship… my money's on the krogan."

Erika looked up, as if she was picturing one of the krogan _throwing _the rest of the crew aboard the shuttle, kicking and screaming. Damn it, now Murphy was picturing that too…

"Sorry to disappoint you," a voice chuckled, "but we're not krogan, and nobody's going down with this ship."

Murphy wheeled around… and cracked a grin, despite their dire situation. Andersen and Kamur. _Of course_.

"If it's any consolation, Yui _tried _to stay," Andersen chuckled, "but it turns out he's pretty easy to trick."

"You're _just _figuring that out?"

"What's the plan?" the engineer continued, ignoring Kamur's interjection and glancing from Murphy to Akito.

"Lockdown scenario," the co-pilot replied.

"What?"

"We transfer every system on the ship to one of these five consoles," Akito explained, gesturing around the cockpit. "Erika takes the flight controls. I take weapons and stealth systems. Kamur, you take navigation on that console" - he pointed to the far side of Erika's chair - "captain, you stay on comms, and Andersen, you keep an eye on the engineering readouts. If we keep it tight, we might _actually _stand a chance."

"Boy, that's some optimism right there," Kamur laughed, striding up to take his seat at the front of the cockpit. "Lockdown it is."

"Alright then…" the co-pilot nodded. "But, three Reapers? We'd better get a _damn _big medal for this…"


	414. Operation Nomad Part 4

_**SSV Cambrai, Horse Head Nebula**_

_**Day 2, 0410**_

"Stealth systems?" Erika murmured, tensely.

"Still functioning," Akito replied, not looking up from his screen. "We've got another twenty minutes, less if you keep straying into the jet wash…"

"I've got an error margin of twenty feet here," she scowled. "I'd like to see _you _do better."

The co-pilot sorely wanted to point out that he _could _do better. _Had _done, even, if you counted simulators. He didn't point it out, however, because there was a look of stern concentration plastered over his colleague's face. Bishop Five's engines were roaring and blazing in the corners of the cockpit shield, just feet away, and according to the heat levels in the front-side GARDIAN arrays, the ship's prow was already starting to overheat. They couldn't last too much longer, not without cooking the decks…

"Hostiles," Andersen reported, suddenly. Okay, maybe they didn't _have _to last much longer. "Three, closing to port. _Big_."

"Visual," Erika nodded. Sure enough, three obsidian figures were just flitting into view on the left, blazing silently and menacingly through the void.

"Trajectory?" he muttered.

"Heading for Bishop Five," the pilot replied, still not taking her eyes off her task. "Thirty seconds."

"Drop back, and line up for a shot," Akito instructed, after a moment's pause.

"Gladly…"

There was a _clunk _and a whine as the thrusters reversed, and Yurai had to press himself into his chair to stop his head from lurching forward into the controls. Bishop Five shot ahead of them very rapidly once their own momentum was gone, and the Reapers seemed to rush in even more quickly. They didn't seem to have spotted the little frigate, or if they had, they didn't act on it. Instead, they just kept ploughing on towards the crippled transport. The front runner of the formation was heading straight for it at tremendous speed, and a moment later, they came together in eerie silence. There was no _boom_, or _bang_, or _wham_. The port side of the ship simply exploded, as long steel arms punched clean through her hull. The Reaper twisted, dragging the stricken transport off to one side in a macabre dance, and a crimson bolt _tore _through her topside at close range.

"Adjust four degrees to starboard," Akito muttered. "Murphy, prep the comms. Send as soon as we attack."

The ship swivelled around, and the co-pilot kept his eyes trained firmly on the scrapping Reaper…

"Another two degrees to starboard."

"Comms ready," the captain called.

"Target centred… dropping stealth systems. Firing!"

He punched two controls at once, and in the same instant the ship's stealth systems flickered off, a bright blue lance erupted from beneath the prow. It went billowing off through space, hung weightless for a moment as Akito crossed his fingers…

And then gained all the weight in the world as it _slammed _into Bishop Five like a freight train. The rear fuel tanks ruptured first, producing a plume of smoke and bright flame which quickly burned itself out in the vacuum. Moments later, however, their shot found the transport's eezo core. There was a blinding white _flash_, and when it finally faded, there was nothing left of Bishop Five but scrap metal. Glittering eezo was dancing in the midst of the wreckage, and the Reaper looked like… well, like its prey had just blown up in its jaws. Tracks of cobalt blue marred the monster's face as it pitched away, and in Akito's imagination, it was screeching in pain.

"Twitch!" Murphy barked, as the comms lit up. "We're engaged, get moving!"

"On our way!" the convoy pilot replied. That was good - their comms had gotten through the cloud, defeating another niggling worry in the back of his mind. A moment later, however, his brain flickered back to business:

"Starting the clock…" he muttered, punching his console. A timer blinked into life in the corner of the screen. "Ten minutes, people, just- shit, take evasive!"

A bright red shot came roaring up at them. One of the two Reapers on the left had twisted around, opening fire, and only a last-minute tug on the controls from Erika pulled them out of the way. Molten metal streamed through the space they had occupied a few moments prior, and warning lights sprang up all across his console - Andersen's too, judging by the bleeping from behind his head.

"Get me a shot!" the co-pilot yelled, and immediately, the frigate began to rush up into the fray. To her credit, Erika didn't even ask which one they were gunning for - she already knew he'd be pressing the advantage on the damaged one.

They rolled low under two shots from the Reaper's minor guns, then soared upwards, twisted back down to face the bastard…

"Firing!" he cried again, punching the console. Another blue torrent went racing off ahead, and struck at the top of one of the Reaper's tendrils. What remained of the damaged barriers gave, and an explosion tore through the steel joint. A crimson pool that had been gathering on the end of the tendril _burst_, scattering red fire in all directions before it could fire. One less gun shooting at them… that was _something_, at least.

He glanced at the clock. Thirty seconds of six hundred. God-damn it.

"Closer?" Erika asked, not looking up from the controls.

"Closer!" he nodded. "Right up the gut!"

Another red stream flew part, only missing by virtue of a quick jink on the controls from Erika. The Reaper's crimson maw - the central, spinal gun, not one of the smaller tendrils - was still glowing hot from the firing sequence, and Akito fixed his gaze on it as they spun back to centre.

"Six degrees to port, two back," he murmured, priming the Thanix cannon. They jerked left, then right.

"Sitting duck here!" Erika called, as they flew forward on a constant bearing.

"Just keep it steady a moment, firing-"

"Shit!"

Just as he punched the console, Erika tugged on the flight controls, tearing them up and off to one side. Akito felt a flash of frustration, until he realised a _river _of molten red metal was coursing through space beneath them, fired by one of the Reapers to the left. 'Keeping it steady' for a moment longer would have seen them washed away…

Saving throw or not, however, the motion had thrown his shot off. It still hit their opponent, but instead of slamming through the Reaper's main gun, it punched into its hull further up, blinding one of the glowing eyes but doing little else.

"Take us around for another pass!" the co-pilot ordered, taking charge. "Only way we can do serious damage is to hit the gun as it charges. Go under, bring us up on the other side, we'll make another run!"

Erika nodded, and spurred the ship on. Alarms blared out as she pushed the thrusters, but Andersen silenced them a moment later. They raced forwards, and the second of the two Reapers on their flank took a pot shot. Solov swung them over the beam, and they ploughed on, even as the wounded one began to charge up for a shot of its own.

"Time to fire?" his colleague barked.

"Twelve seconds!" he replied. "Time to pass?"

"Ten!"

Two second window. Shit. They pushed forwards, the thrusters strained to breaking point to stretch the window to three, or four. The crimson mass ahead was growing, and _glowing_, and building to a storm-

But even as that storm broke, they were dropping down between the Reaper's tendrils. They shrugged off a few hits from the big brute's point-defence lasers, shot along its underbelly, and burst out the other side with a whine from the engines.

Erika took them further out, but warning lights were flashing on again as one of the flanking Reapers began to open fire with the small guns. They jinked left, the first shot flashed under their right wing. They twisted right, and the second careened past. A third glanced the left wing, dropping their barriers, but Erika pulled the brakes a moment later, hauling the ship's nose around on a dime. Contact broke, the third shot tore harmlessly away, and a fourth went flying past them, way off the mark.

Ignoring the two on the flank, however, Akito set his eyes on the wounded Reaper that was now dead ahead of them. It was twisting round to follow the speedy little frigate, but its rear was still exposed. He hammered the console once again, and a blue shot speared through the Reaper's back. They pitched forwards, thrusters blaring out as they roared into life again. Even as the Reaper came around, facing them properly now, the Cambrai was aiming dead-centre between its jaws.

"Firing!"

Another shot, another torrent of vivid blue. This time, they had the advantage - the Reaper hadn't even begun charging up when the Thanix round _slammed _down its gut, into the barrel of the spinal gun. There was a burst of red flame, intermingled with dancing blue, but a moment later, crimson fire begin to build up in the cannon's maw…

"Charging to fire again!" Erika yelled.

"Twelve seconds to charge," Akito reminded her, calmly. "Thanix is cool in three, two, one… fire!"

_Whoosh_. The floor of the cockpit shuddered with the latest round fired, and another stream of blue poured over the target. Splinters of steel came flying away where tendril met maw, some at least twenty feet in length, but the damage wasn't fatal. Even as the arm cannon fell dead, the one in the centre was still building. Five seconds to cool the Thanix. Four, three, two, one.

"Move!" he barked, slamming down on the fire controls one last time. The Thanix round went whistling out, but the Cambrai was already diving away to one side. A shot came hurtling past from the right as it did, missing by feet, but more pressing was the wounded Reaper's main gun-

Which billowed forth right on cue four seconds later. Crimson fire blotted out everything on their right, burning with a blinding brightness. The Reaper's gun was still hot and glowing, however, as their own shot hit home. There was a silent flash, and explosions tore a vivid track upwards from the now-shattered barrel of the main gun, tracing up past the Reaper's eyes and around its side.

Akito didn't see whether or not that shot was fatal - before he could, Erika had flipped the ship upside down and was diving away, as one of the other Reapers tried to blot them out.

"Two minutes and counting," he reported, glancing at the timer.

"Eight to go…" Andersen groaned, from behind him. "Systems are already starting to overheat. We're going to _fry _if we keep firing at this rate."

"Divert power to the cockpit heat exchangers if you can," the co-pilot muttered. "Rest of the ship's empty, it's just us who'll cook. Erika, we need to make a run for it."

"Can't fight the Reapers for eight minutes," she guessed-

"But we _can _run rings for eight minutes," he nodded. "Yeah. Andersen, disable the electronic aids, divert all power to rear shields and thrusters."

"You sure?" the engineer frowned. "That could-"

"Just do it!"

Andersen fell silent, and set to work. As if to remind Akito they were still in a fight, however, two crimson shots went tearing past, one to left and one to right. Another came hurtling in dead centre, but Erika spun them away, crying:

"Where are we running to?"

The co-pilot paused, considering for a split second.

"Kamur, nearest planet from ten to two o'clock?" he asked.

"Maganlis!" the turian replied, peering at the radar screen.

"Send co-ordinates!"

"Already have done!"

"Good ma- Erika, Reaper's flanking, shift to one o'clock!"

They twisted around, narrowly avoiding another torrent of fire.

"Five minutes to Maganlis' dark side, four if we push it!" he calculated. "Move!"

"What about the Reapers?" Murphy asked, even as Erika spurred the ship on.

"We can outrun them," Akito replied, tensely. "With the difference in speed, we should get two minutes in the planet's shadow. That lets us vent heat, and switch on stealth systems. We come out swinging with the clock at eight minutes."

"Do it," the captain nodded, turning to the comms panel to call out: "Twitch, what's your status?"

"B-burning all the fuel we've got!" the convoy leader answered, through a mess of static. "FTL's programmed, we're on c-course!"

"Good, keep moving-"

"Akito!" Erika barked, interrupting the captain. "Contacts, on our six."

"Contacts?" he frowned, pulling up the radar screen himself.

"Half a dozen. Small, and fast."

"Shit… fighters!"

"Too fast for us to outrun, contact in ten!"

"Everybody buckle up, time for round two!"


	415. Operation Nomad Part 5

_**SSV Cambrai, Horse Head Nebula**_

_**Day 2, 0415**_

_Kssh… _

The Oculi's laser tore a glowing, simmering line along the Cambrai's nose as the fighter raced under their wing and off ahead. Splinters of hull and thermal shield went spinning off in the frigate's wake as it ploughed forward, and a series of pin-prick orange marks signalled the impact of GARDIAN lasers on the fighter's tail.

They had little effect, though, save for increasing the temperature inside the frigate still further. It was sweltering now, with the thrusters at full burn and the hull _alive _with laser fire.

"Shit, number two thruster just took a hit!" Andersen called, from the engineering readout.

"Damage?"

"Barriers down."

"Take evasive until they're back up!"

Erika nodded, and rolled the ship over to the right. A few bursts of fire went shooting past on the left, an Oculus skidded past, feet away from the ship's nose, and Akito gripped the arms of his chair very tightly. They rolled a second time, a third, then they swung back the other way like a pendulum, and-

_Ping_.

Everyone in the cockpit froze, and stared off to the left in amazement as one of the pursuing drones went _spinning _off into space, batted away by the port wing. Akito and Erika stared at each other for a moment.

"That was _such _a fluke."

"Still counts, damn it."

_Bang! _They snapped out of it as something exploded, rather close by.

"The hell was that?" Kamur yelled, voicing the thoughts of the entire cockpit.

"Heat exchanger over the CIC," Andersen replied. "They just blew it out."

"Hull breach?"

"No, but we've got fires in the interior."

"If it isn't a breach, I don't care. We need to take down those fighters!"

"GARDIANs?" Erika frowned.

"Working at full tilt already. Only so much they can do. Thanix is too slow, Javelins need a frontal shot…"

"So we ram them, then."

"No."

"Yes."

He opened his mouth to protest, but the air was knocked out of his lungs as they _pitched _left, almost hurling him out of his seat and onto the pilot's console. There was no sound of impact, but a moment later Erika spun the ship under itself, reared back up and to the right, and swung the ship around on its own axis of movement, killing the thrusters for a split second to do so. The nose came round like a bat, and a loud _clunk _echoed through the prow as an Oculi was swatted away into the void.

"Two down, four to go," Erika grinned.

"You're enjoying this way too-"

_Kssh!_ Akito ducked down in his seat, instinctively, as one of the remaining Oculi came past, firing a shot across their prow and carving a glowing line into the cockpit screen.

"Barriers?" the pilot snapped, back to business.

"Holding well above safe limits. Glancing blow."

"How far to the planet's shadow?"

"Two minutes at this speed."

He glanced up into the corner of the screen - the timer read four minutes and counting now.

"We need to take them down… Javelins?"

"How?"

"VIFF."

She grinned, and Akito grinned back. Their non-pilot fellows looked bemused, but they could look it up later - he didn't have time to explain. They'd be getting a demonstration in a moment, anyway.

"Prep the missiles," the pilot murmured, setting her hands to the controls as shots continued to bounce off their shields. "I'll vector on your mark."

He nodded, and went for the gunnery controls once more. Two batteries of six under each wing. Two dozen missiles in total. One hell of a punch.

"All racks primed," the co-pilot muttered, biting his lip as he pulled the fire controls into one function on his console. "On three?"

"On three."

"One… two…" - he ducked slightly, as a laser stung the Cambrai's nose - "three!"

_Whoosh! _The thrusters gave a great moan, and he could almost _hear _the ship's hull straining under the sheer force applied to it. In the space of a second, the frigate's momentum reversed - they stood still, and the drones went shooting past. One Oculus clipped off their wing and spiralled away to one side, the other three raced off ahead…

Akito slammed down on the fire controls, and two dozen Javelin missiles were hurled cold into the space ahead. A moment later, they ignited, and the air came alive, a swarm of blue going off after the glowing red trails of the Reaper fighters. For a few tense moments, they watched the volley hurtle forwards into space...

Then, the first missile exploded. It set off the second, that set off the third and the fourth, and quite suddenly, two dozen mass effect fields were rippling out in a mess of blue and black and violet that looked like a biotic display. When the blast finally cleared, the three fighters were gone, reduced to dust and scrap.

"Keep moving!" Akito barked, snapping everyone out of their reverie. The Cambrai lurched forward anew, making for the pale orange planet that lay ahead. There was still one Oculus to go, the one that had speared away on impact with their wing. It was damaged, but according to the radar it was still coming-

_Kssh! _A ribbon of sparks and flame shot off the front of the starboard wing as the drone made a strafing run. The GARDIAN batteries went haywire trying to gun it down, but it passed along their nose, cleared the port wing, and circled around to their tail, before taking another shot.

"Barriers are failing over the thrusters!" Andersen reported. "They're vulnerable again!"

"Taking manual control of the GARDIANs," the co-pilot muttered, half an idea coming to mind. "Erika, keep us steady!"

"Steady?"

"Steady!"

She levelled the ship out, and kept it level, as Akito drew up the rear sensor screen and the GARDIAN controls. A little red dot was hovering in the middle of the readout, flitting about, and after a moment's pause to get his directions straight, he jabbed a finger down next to it. It jerked away from the invisible laser which began to pour forth on his command. He jabbed twice more to the right of the drone, pushing it left, then once below to force it up. One last shot to the fighter's left, and it spun away, rolling off to the right...

"Flare the thrusters!" he yelled, as it rolled straight into the sweet spot.

Erika, bless her, didn't question him. She just hit the controls, and the Cambrai _lurched _forward with a burst of throttle. Akito glanced down at the readout… and the little red dot was gone.

"Ha!" the co-pilot cried, clapping his hands together victoriously.

"What did you do?" his colleague demanded, frowning in confusion.

"Funnelled him behind the thruster, then cooked him in the jet wash!"

She stared at him for a moment, a smile creeping over the corners of her lips.

"You're bloody brilliant sometimes."

"Oh, I know… now, how far to Maganlis?"

"Thirty seconds and dropping. Five-thirty on the clock."

"Kill the engines, slingshot us into the orbital shadow."

"Aye aye."

She tapped away at her console, and quite suddenly, the Cambrai was weightless, dangling in space with nothing more than the slight _tug _of the nearby planet's gravity to propel her as the thrusters dimmed. The cockpit went dark - most of the electronic aids had been switched off to boost the engines, and Erika had killed the rest to quickly cut the thrusters. The ship's momentum began to die away, and for the first time, it was quiet - with the Reapers far at their backs, they were out of the firing line for a minute or two.

"And… we're in the sensor shadow," Erika announced, as the helm fell into darkness.

"Two minutes tops," Akito mused. "Get the radiation gear going, vent everything you can. Prioritise weapons and thrusters."

"Will do… huh."

"Something the matter?"

She jabbed the console. Nothing.

"Come on, you little-"

"Try the backup," he suggested.

Erika swiped through another few controls, hit the thruster ignition…

"Still nothing."

Akito frowned, and went for his own console. It was dark and unresponsive. He pummelled it for a moment or two, but… nothing.

_Skree!_

Quite suddenly, the whole cockpit _lit _up. Instead of the usual gold, however, every console was glowing a vivid shade of scarlet. Crimson lines began to ripple across the cockpit screen, and the horrible screaming noise continued to echo off down the halls for a few moments more.

"Oh… that can't be good."


	416. Operation Nomad Part 6

_**SSV Cambrai, Horse Head Nebula**_

_**Day 2, 0420**_

"Weapons dead, diagnostics dead…"

Akito punched the screen in frustration, drawing more than a few startled looks from his colleagues.

"Thrusters are still non-responsive," Erika added, bitterly. "What about the other systems?"

"I don't know, because _diagnostics _are down," he scowled.

"I was talking to the others."

"Oh."

Awkward silence for a moment.

"Radar's blind," Kamur chipped in, pushing the conversation forwards. "The whole system's dead."

"Comms are still online," Murphy sighed, "but I can't get a damn thing out or in. They're jammed."

"That… would be the firewall," Andersen muttered.

"What?" Akito frowned, wheeling around in his chair.

"Half the subsystems are gone," the engineer explained, rapping his own barely-functioning display.

"Dead?"

"Not quite… I've lost _control_. Our own firewall's stopping outbound comms."

"How-?"

"How do you _think?_"

"Virus?"

"Looks that way… god-damn it. How do we-?"

"Purge?"

"Nope."

"Fix?"

"Ha. Double fix?"

"Answered your own question-"

"Err, excuse me?" Murphy interrupted. "Care to fill the rest of us in on the what the _hell's _going on?"

Akito and Andersen exchanged a glance which seemed to say, _"Damn Luddites"._

"There's a virus in our systems," Andersen sighed, rather too patiently for Akito's liking - he had one eye on the ticking clock.

"A… _Reaper_ virus?"

"Yeah."

"_Shit_. How?"

"We turned off the electronic aids to boost the thrusters. That… _may _have included the electronic warfare suite."

Akito groaned, and slid lower in his seat. _Rookie mistake. _He should have known better…

"They knew we could outrun them, so they sent out a transmission - virus, attached to a carrier wave," the engineer continued. "EW suite runs the adaptive firewall - changes the coding to throw off hack attempts. With the suite _disabled_, we had a single, static firewall. It would have taken _seconds _for the Reapers to cut through it… and now they're playing our systems like a puppet. We're a sitting duck, captain."

"Orbit's decaying," Erika volunteered. "We hit atmosphere in six minutes."

"Doesn't matter," Akito muttered. "Because the Reapers'll hit _us _in two. Barriers are down, weapons are offline, thrusters are disabled…"

"They'll crush us."

He nodded.

"So how do we fix it?" Murphy frowned. "Can you beat it manually?"

"Oh, sure," Andersen laughed, sarcastically. "I can beat the ancient synthetic god-machines' code."

"It was just a question."

"And that was just an answer. A sarcastic one."

"A _smartass _one."

"Guilty… now, let's think this through logically."

"Right," Akito nodded, snapping back to his senses. "Ninety seconds and counting. We're well over the threshold for Bishop to escape, ten minutes was just the highest estimate. Eight or nine should suffice."

"Which means the objective now is to escape," Erika surmised.

"Right. We don't need shields or weapons to escape, although I'd _like _some barriers if the Reapers get close. We just need the drive core, the thrusters, and the nav computer."

"Is there any way to isolate those systems?" Murphy suggested.

"Too late. Virus is in there now. The only way to clear it out would be a full system reset."

"What's the problem with that?"

"Well, the reset control is part of diagnostics… which means it's hacked too."

"Son of a…"

"Our automatic defences are already breached, and as good as Andersen and I are, the Reapers are _way _out of our league. No way we could fight the virus off manually, they communicate at FTL speeds. We'd need-"

"A system that can do the same."

All eyes turned to Andersen. The engineer was sat up in his chair, gripping the arms tightly, half an idea playing across his features.

"Kamur, go down to the starboard cargo deck," he continued. "You'll find-"

"No," Akito interrupted, scowling. "That's too risky."

"It's the only way."

"I said, it's -"

"_The only way_."

"Care to fill me in?" Murphy frowned.

"The geth, captain."

"What about it?"

"We switch it on."

Another moment's silence. Akito glanced at the counter. One minute to contact. _Shit_. The co-pilot wasn't a religious man, but right now he was _praying _the Reapers would be late.

"Think about it!" Andersen exclaimed, with a note of urgency that suggested he was praying too. "What happened when we switched it on the first time?"

"It beat Zel to a pulp," the captain frowned, and Kamur looked more than a little concerned at _that _revelation.

"Not what I meant. It tried to contact the consensus. It tried to _hack our firewalls _to contact the consensus. So if we switch it on now…"

"It'll do the same," Akito admitted. As much as he disliked the idea, it seemed to be their only chance. "The Reaper code in our firewalls is blocking all outward comms. If the geth can't contact the consensus, it'll tear through any barrier in front of it."

"Until it works out the _barrier _is Reaper code," Murphy pointed out. "The geth are working with the Reapers."

"It won't work it out. This is a single geth - animal intelligence. It'll just dig until it hits daylight."

"Fourty seconds and counting," Akito interjected. "If we're going to do this, we need to do it _now_."

From the co-pilot's seat, he saw Murphy and Andersen exchange a very tense, prolonged stare. Then, the slightest of nods from the captain:

"Do it."

"Aye aye, sir. Erika, Akito, prep co-ordinates for an FTL jump. Cross-system, preferably one that _doesn't _slam us into a planet. Kamur, get down to the hold and hit the pod release."

"Got it!" Kamur barked, springing out of his seat at a run. He shot through the doorway, sprinted half way down the corridor… then hesitated, wheeled around, and called: "What's the release look like?"

"Big red button!" Andersen yelled back. "It says _do not press!_"

"Of course it does…" Akito heard the turian mutter. Then, he was gone, sprinting off along the CIC.

"Erika, the _moment _we get the thrusters back, you make for the planet's perimeter at full burn," the co-pilot instructed, turning back to the controls. "We'll only have a few seconds to make this jump."

"Just be ready with the co-ordinates," she replied. "I don't want to pinball us into a planet."

"Day we're having, I pretty much _expect _you to…"


	417. Operation Nomad Part 7

_**SSV Cambrai, Horse Head Nebula**_

_**Day 2, 0421**_

"Kamur, are you alright down there? Deck temperature's at fourty-eight degrees."

"I'm fine," the turian grunted, as he stumbled out of the elevator and around the corner. The deck was _sweltering_, especially in full armour. He ignored it, though, turning the corner and making for the door to the cargo hold. It fell aside - he half-expected the Reapers to have taken control of that too - and he darted in, making immediately for the back of the room. The pod was still there, monolithic as ever, humming gently. The geth was staring back from within. Now, big red button, big red button…

He found it, mid-way up the side of the pod, surrounded by all sorts of warning stickers and a big label saying 'Do Not Press'. He hesitated, turian brain wanting to follow commands for just a moment… and then he pressed it, stumbling back as a _hiss _of ice billowed out, and the lid of the pod slid open.

_Clunk. _A hefty metal foot came thudding down onto the deck. Then, another, and then the geth straightened up, eye swivelling and contracting - Kamur had a horrible feeling it was _focusing _on him.

"It's loose," he called over the radio. "What no-_oof!_"

The geth had crossed the gap between them in three seconds, before slamming a solid fist into his stomach. Before he could even _think _about taking a fighting stance, it had grabbed him under the arm and thrown him back across the room. He slid down a few feet from the door, as Andersen gave a jubilant _whoop _on the comms that seemed rather ironic.

"It's working!" the engineer announced. "It's hacking the firewalls!"

"Then how is it still managing to _beat me up?_" Kamur retorted, angrily.

"It's a geth, it can multitask!"

"_Brilliant. _Even for you, this was a stupid-"

_Wham_. He was cut off mid-rant, narrowly rolling out of the way of a steel boot as it came down next to his head.

"Just keep it at bay!" Andersen continued. "Make sure you don't disable it!"

"_What?_"

"If it's disabled, how can it hack the Reaper code? And make god-damn sure it doesn't get hold of a weapon!"

The radio cut out, and a whine from somewhere deep in the engineering deck signalled the drive core coming back online, as Kamur muttered to himself:

"I am gonna kill that little-"

_Wham. _Another kick, this time at his gut. He slapped it aside, throwing the geth off what passed for its balance, and reared up, stumbling under its outstretched arm. No weapons? He'd give him no bloody weapons. He yanked the pistol off his hip, and the dagger off his shoulder, before slinging them both back through the still-open hold door. He slammed the door shut, locked it, and turned around just in time to see a metal fist coming at his face.

_Crack._

"Argh!" he roared, feeling a tang of blue blood on his fangs. His head slammed back into the door, but he came back a moment later, lunging at the geth and grabbing it around the midriff. Spurred on by pain and anger, the turian managed to drag it half way across the room before it retaliated - it jabbed him in the side, and he responded by _smacking _the side of his skull into what passed for its head. A moment later, he resorted to typical turian CQC, driving a knee high into the synthetic's flank. There was just enough organic in the geth for the blow to _hurt _- it folded off to the side, and went staggering away. Kamur backtracked across the room, taloned hands dropping ready, as the radio came alive again:

"I've got the subsystems back," Andersen was saying.

"Drive core's warming up," Erika added. "No heat in the thrusters, though."

"No barriers, either," Akito muttered. "And the clock just hit zero. Reapers are on us any moment now…"

The conversation faded away, blotted out by adrenaline, as the geth came in for another round. Kamur blocked its first punch - and the iron impact almost broke his wrist as he did - and sidestepped the second, before darting in for a low jab to the other side-

Only to find a steel fist waiting for him. It caught him square between the eyes, off-balance, and he toppled to the floor. _Great_. One brief clash with turian methods, and the geth had learned to counter them.

_Wham_. As he tried to stand, another punch caught him in the top of the head, knocking him flat onto his front. He rolled over and off to the side, but his adversary was already dropping over him. Steel pinned his legs to the floor, and a tight, mechanical hand closed around his throat. The other was raised high, then _wham! _It came down on his brow, spattering blood to the floor. His hands were about all he had free, so he drove one under the geth's arm, tearing at it with his claws, and used the other to draw his omni-tool.

"Andersen!" the turian choked, into the radio. "Ah, you metal piece of- Andersen, turn off the gravity!"

"What? Why-"

"_Just do it!_" he roared.

There was a moment's pause, he deflected another punch from the geth with his forearm, and then:

"It's off!"

Sure enough, a dull feeling of weightlessness had passed over the turian. Even his attacker paused to make sense of it. As Kamur tried to lift his shoulders, he felt them move without resistance, coming easily away from the floor and _not stopping_. The two tangled opponents rose up off the floor, floating gently upwards. With a fanged grin, the turian pulled his knees up - tipping himself back as he did, thanks to the lack of resistance - and levered his legs between the geth's. The synthetic went to swing another punch, and resumed its grip on his throat, but a moment later he kicked out, _hard_.

The geth's hand tore from around his neck, and the geth itself went flying up towards the ceiling. At the same time, the turian went flying _down _at the floor. 'Every action' and all that… He bounced gently off the steel deck as the geth _clunk_ed into the ceiling, and with his comms still open, he heard the chatter resume:

"Yes!" Erika was screaming, happily. "I've got the thrusters!"

"About god-damn time!" Akito swore. "Reapers crossing the orbital perimeter, they're right on us! Get moving!"

"Co-ordinates?"

"Just move, I'll patch them on the fly. And power up the core, we need to go to FTL!"

"Aye aye!"

"Andersen!" Kamur barked, entering the conversation. "Gravity. Back on. Now!"

This time, the engineer didn't question him. Instead, after a few seconds of _tapping _on the other end of the line, Kamur felt his shoulders press back down into the floor, felt the room around him settle-

And saw the geth _drop _off the ceiling, slamming hard into the deck. He knew it was only acting on instinct, knew it was no more aware than an animal, but he still took a lot of satisfaction in seeing the metal son of a bitch eat floor.

The turian stumbled to his feet as the geth did the same, and his balance was shaky at best - Erika was whirling the ship around, he assumed, and as she manoeuvred, the floor under his feet became a slippery slope. Kamur hit the deck, slid a little way, then found his footing again as the Cambrai spun back the other way. The geth was ploughing in, undeterred by the swaying floor, and he decided to try something it _wouldn't _know how to counter, one of the drell's tricks.

As the synthetic's arms came flailing at him, he grabbed them, dropped to his back, and planted his boots in the geth's gut. Rolling heels-over-head, he waited until his opponent was wrenched off the floor, then kicked out, tossing it over his head. It thudded down to the floor, and he scrambled to his feet.

"_Don't disable it," _his brain reminded him, just as his _instincts _began to work out the best way of ripping its head off. He hesitated, and in that moment, as he gathered himself, the geth pulled itself upright.

They came together again a moment later, and judging by the boundless energy with which the synthetic swung for him, they may have had a point regarding _'puny organics'_. Wait… did synthetics actually say that? Or was it just in movies…? Not the point.

_Wham_. The geth got under his guard - in distraction, he had fallen back on the well-ingrained turian fighting style it knew how to beat - and slammed a fist into his already-sore neck. He struck back angrily, punching it square in the flashlight… err, _eye_… and knocking it back. He dove in, following up on the blow by grappling the geth, his own tired muscles straining against the synthetic's tireless ones.

"Incoming!" someone yelled, over the intercom. The ship lurched, staggering both turian and geth. By the sounds of it, the Reapers had caught up to them.

"Patching co-ordinates!" Akito barked, "Erika, get us there!"

"What do you _think _I'm doing?!"

"Andersen, what's our status?"

"Systems are almost clear. Just barriers left… wait, barriers are back up! Firewalls are down, virus is gone!"

The geth came rushing in, but just as the engineer made that announcement, it paused, mid-swing. Kamur took the chance to retaliate, snapping a frustrated punch into its neck. It staggered back… and then froze, eye twisting and trying to focus for a few moments…

"Geth's communicating!" Andersen cried. "Outbound!"

Back in the cargo hold, the geth _flashed_. A searing white burst across its eye, and the synthetic toppled to the floor on its hands and knees. Kamur debating rushing in and knocking it down, but he never got the chance - the ship twisted around on its course, tossing him into the middle of the hold as the mass effect fields, uncontrolled, began to muck around with physics. By the time he recovered his balance, the geth was straightening up, and the radio blared out again:

"Core's hot, on my mark!" Akito was shouting. "Everybody buckle up!"

A pause. Kamur stared at the geth, and for one brief moment, it was if both of them knew what was coming.

"Mark!"

There was a clap of thunder from the eezo core in the next room, and the whole substructure shuddered. Another mass effect field coming from the core made the room weightless for a split second. Long enough for Kamur to slam down on his back, bounce-

And hurtle across the room, as the ship tore away at speed. His only consolation, as the wall came up to greet him, was the sight of the geth hitting it first. Then… _wham._

When his vision returned, some time later, the room was weighted once again, as evidenced by the steel floor squashing his face. He reached out a battered arm, and pushed himself upright against the wall, looking around dazedly.

A single, bright white eye was looking back.

"Turian. Male," a cool, synthetic voice murmured. "Are you friend or foe?"

What the _fuck?_

"Are you friend or foe?" the geth repeated, eye flashing.

"I… I have_ no _idea," he admitted.


	418. Operation Nomad Debrief

_**SSV Cambrai, Horse Head Nebula**_

_**Day 2, 0440**_

Ten minutes and one very strange conversation had passed since the Cambrai escaped Fortuna. Now, Murphy was to be found striding into the war room, powering up the QEC, and greeting a face he hadn't seen in a long while…

"Captain Murphy," Hackett murmured. "This is unexpected. How can I help?"

"You can _help _by telling me why the geth in my cargo hold is speaking to us," Murphy muttered. "And why it seems to think we're allies."

"Well, before I do, perhaps _you _could tell _me _why you have a geth in your cargo hold," the admiral replied, very calmly, but with a piercing stare.

"Ah."

"Well?"

"Err… long story?"

Hackett's eyes narrowed.

"Judging by the look on your face, I'm not all that sure I want to know…" he said, after a moment. "As for the _status _of the geth, I'm afraid I can only give you half an answer. This is a recent development, and the Normandy's intel is patchy, to say the least-"

"Normandy?" Murphy backtracked. "This is something to do with Shepard's crew, isn't it?"

"In a manner of speaking."

"Christ. First the genophage, now the geth… what did they _do?_"

"SSV Normandy has been operating beyond the Veil for some time," Hackett explained, "assisting the quarian Migrant Fleet in retaking Rannoch from the geth. They discovered, however, that the geth had been upgraded by the Reapers - that was the source of their newfound power and aggression."

"Wait… Normandy only just figured this out? My engineer discovered the Reaper code weeks ago…"

There was a moment's silence, as Hackett fixed the captain with a very enigmatic look, and the slightest of slight smiles.

"It's been a while since Rio Villa, Murphy… still trying to one-up the commander?"

"Just saying," Murphy shrugged.

"Of course…" the admiral smiled. Then, with a cough, he continued: "Normandy identified a Reaper command signal being broadcast from two locations - one on the geth's capital ship, one on the surface of Rannoch. They managed to destroy both locations with the assistance of the Migrant Fleet, cutting the Reapers' control over the geth. From there… reports are sketchy."

"Typical. Shepard hates paperwork."

"As, I seem to recall, do you…"

"Err… noted, sir. Go on."

"What we _do _know is that the geth retained their Reaper upgrades. According to our own scientists, that shouldn't have happened. The upgrades are software, they should have been wiped when the Reaper signal was destroyed. _Somehow_, though, the upgrades were spread through the consensus after the event."

"Which explains what happened to _our _geth…" Murphy noted, under his breath.

"Captain?"

"Well… this won't make much sense without context, sir, but when we activated the geth, it attacked one of my crew and tried to hack through our firewalls to make contact with the consensus. Mid-way through the battle, it succeeded - the moment it made contact, it stopped dead, _flashed_, according to our man, and then stopped fighting."

"Yes, I believe that was the upgrade. From what little I know of the geth, it wouldn't have been applied until the platform made contact with the rest of the consensus."

"Given what happened next, admiral, it begs the question… what _was _the upgrade?"

Another pause, as if Hackett was hesitant to tell him. Then, after careful deliberation:

"Sentience."

Murphy's jaw dropped.

"_What?_" he gawped.

"Each geth platform is now a fully sentient AI. No networked intelligence, no need to share processing power. They retained the consensus as a means of sharing information and communicating, but each geth is now able to operate as an individual."

"That's… quite a revelation, admiral."

"You wouldn't think it. Everyone seems to be taking it in stride. Perspective, I suppose…"

"Independent geth synthetics are nothing compared to the independent _Reaper_ synthetics," Murphy nodded.

"Quite."

"So what happens now? With the geth, I mean?"

"Commander Shepard successfully brokered a truce between the geth and the quarians" - the captain's eyebrow rose in surprise at that - "and geth combat platforms are already deploying to human and turian battlefields. They're also assisting with the quarian rebuilding effort on Rannoch."

"And what about _our _geth?"

"Novel as it sounds, I believe that's up to the geth. I assume you want to keep it?"

"Yeah. My engineer's good, but even he can't do systems work like a geth could. Besides, having an AI of our own would put us even with the Normandy again."

Hackett blinked, taken aback for the first time in the conversation. Murphy just smirked.

"What do you mean by _that?_" the admiral coughed, recovering his composure.

"Oh, don't be coy, admiral. I know damn well Shepard's got an AI."

"How?" Hackett muttered, eyes narrowing as he dropped the pretence.

"I'm standing in the war room of an _SR2_. This thing was modelled after the Normandy, but the refit documents say that where we have a surgical theatre, Normandy has an AI core."

"Installed by Cerberus-"

"And _kept _by the Alliance refit. Why have an AI core if you don't have an AI?"

"Hmm…"

"Don't worry, sir. I _really _don't give a damn what toys Shepard gets to play with. I've got my own. Now, permission to go recruit a geth?"

"Granted, captain."


	419. Downtime 44

_**SSV Cambrai, Exodus Cluster**_

_**Day 2, 0700**_

"So… professional opinion?" Murphy asked, after a moment's silence.

"My _professional opinion_ is that it kicked my ass…" Kamur grumbled, nursing his bloody jaw.

"Yes, because I was obviously talking to _you _and not the two engineers," the captain scowled, good-naturedly.

After recovering the crew from the Tai Shan - and dealing with the extreme resentment most of them harboured over being left behind - Murphy had dragged a few operatives into the cargo hold to examine their new _friend_. Akito, Andersen and Kamur were there, having been on the Cambrai all along, and Zel couldn't help noticing her fellow turian looked a little… _rough_. His jaw was bloody, and there was a bruise pushing beneath his brow plate - subtle enough beneath his steel skin that the others hadn't seen it, but obvious to another turian. Speaking of Zel, the biotic had wandered up with the captain out of curiosity more than anything else - she'd been here the first time they let the geth out, and wanted to see the results of this second venture. Even more _curious_, however, was Lynus Rilum. The salarian had practically _bounced_ his way up to the cargo hold, and his eyes were flitting over the geth at a mile a minute as he took it all in. The geth itself was standing at the back of the hangar, surveying everything and everyone in utter silence.

"Well, we've got a rough idea of its capabilities," Andersen mused. "It beat a turian in hand to hand combat, and broke through the ship's firewall afterit was co-opted by the Reapers. And all of that was _before _it upgraded."

"Wait, wait, wait," Zel frowned. "It did _what _to our firewalls?"

"Err… long story. The point is, it's good at hacking, and systems work."

"Isn't that why we keep you around?" Murphy interjected, with an amused smile.

"And there's me thinking it was my charm."

"Nope," the captain and Kamur replied, in perfect unison.

Andersen glared at them.

"Much as I don't want to be made redundant by a geth…" the engineer sighed, "this thing transmits data quicker than I can _blink_. It's a walking supercomputer."

"Electronic warfare suite on legs," Akito agreed. "If we can put it to workas one, we can switch off the _actual _EW suite during combat. That lets us divert more power to weapons and thrusters."

"What about combat capability?" Murphy asked. "Can it fight?"

"It's a geth," Zel frowned. "Can't they all?"

"Not necessarily…" Rilum murmured, speaking up for the first time and taking a step towards the mute synthetic. "Geth society might operate like any other. No 'civilians', redundant to synthetics, but not all soldiers either. No reason for there not to be pilots, engineers, builders. Science units, even."

"And they wouldn't be able to fight?" the biotic asked, a little puzzled.

"Not at first. Combat upgrades mean extra resources - armour, weapons, software. Inefficient to spend those resources on non-combat platforms. And if they were exposed to danger-"

"The software could be uploaded instantly through the consensus," Andersen surmised. "If a ship gets boarded, they could just convert all the 'crew' platforms to combat models, and they'd salvage whatever weapons they could find. All very interesting, but this one? It beat Kamur to a pulp." - the turian frowned as that was mentioned _again_ - "Doesn't that hint at combat software?"

"Admittedly, yes," Rilum nodded. "Hardware also looks combat-oriented."

As he spoke, the salarian was pacing up to the geth, squinting at it and walking circles around it. The synthetic followed him with a stoic eye that almost seemed _bemused_, as Rilum commentated:

"Armour plating, similar quality to turian military issue. Advanced optics… mag-pads to attach weapons without a holster…"

"Lynus, you realise it can hear you, right?" Andersen frowned.

"Hmm?"

"It's… fully self-aware. It can hear everything you're saying."

"Yes, aware of that…"

"So why don't you just _ask it _if it's a combat model?"

Rilum stepped back, a rare look of surprise on his face. Apparently, that idea hadn't even occurred to him.

"Wait," Kamur muttered. "If it can hear us, why isn't it saying anything?"

"Because it has nothing to say," a calm voice murmured.

Everyone turned to stare at the geth. It just blinked.

"So… _are _you a combat model?" Andersen ventured.

"Yes. This platform was created seventeen months and twenty-eight days ago, to act as an infiltration unit."

"For what purpose?"

"Reconnaissance. It was feared organics might enact reprisals for the geth's actions under the Old Machine Nazara, so infiltration units were deployed to chart and monitor organic troop deployments."

"Old Machine?" Zel frowned. "Nazara?"

"Sovereign," the human guessed. The geth just nodded. "They were worried we'd take revenge for what they did under Sovereign's command, so they mapped out possible counterattacks."

"Yes," the geth nodded, simply.

"And you were equipped to fight… what kind of weapons can you use?"

"Any."

"See, if I'd said that, you'd call me arrogant," Kamur muttered.

"You _are_," Andersen retorted. Then, he turned back to the geth, and added: "Do you have any specialties?"

"Infiltration units were provided with additional software for stealth combat and mid- to long-range fire fights," the geth replied. "This unit is proficient with automatic and accurised rifles, and competent with other small arms."

"'This unit'?" the engineer echoed. "If you're sentient now… shouldn't that be 'I'?"

The geth paused, as if considering.

"Yes," it nodded, a moment or two later. "It should. _I _am proficient with automatic and accurised rifles, and competent with other small arms."

"That's gonna take some getting used to, isn't it?" Zel smiled.

"No," the geth replied, flatly. "I require only one incidence of a mistake to adapt it."

"Wow…" was all the turian could murmur. Kamur was right - if it had been an organic, the geth would have been an arrogant little-

"I… recognise you," it interjected.

"You do?" she frowned.

"Yes. When I awoke last. Turian. Female. Red markings. I attacked you."

"Yeah, you did…"

"I… apologise."

That caught everyone by surprise, to say the least. Zel had to work very hard to keep her jaw from dropping, as the geth continued:

"I was not… myself."

"_Yourself?_" Kamur muttered, sceptically. "You're a robot."

"A synthetic," it snapped, turning to face him. "They are not the same. I am a fully-functioning artificial intelligence."

"Unshackled AI…" Murphy rumbled, folding his arms. "Not bad. Have you got orders, geth?"

"None that are not outdated. The consensus is still… adapting to sentience. Geth are ordered to assist organics, but beyond that… we may decide."

"And what do you _decide?_" the captain asked.

"I… do not have enough data on my options."

"Well, you could join us. An AI would be useful on the ship, and we're always looking for… _combat platforms_."

He glanced at his crew as he said that, and Zel suppressed a little smile. A novel description for the lot of them…

"You fight the Old Machines?"

"Those are… the Reapers, right?"

"Yes. I believe that is the organic term."

"Then yes, we fight the… _Old Machines_."

"That is good."

"It is," Murphy nodded. Then he added: "Err, why?"

"I was out of contact for some time," the geth murmured. "But I have consulted the consensus now. The Old Machines enslaved us."

"Yeah, they did."

A pause from the synthetic. Then, quite simply, it said:

"Never again."

Murphy's features flickered into a wry smile.

"Good to have you aboard," he muttered. "Now, what do we call you?"

It blinked.

"Geth."


	420. Downtime 45

_**SSV Cambrai, Exodus Cluster**_

_**Day 2, 0940**_

"A geth? _Seriously?_"

Andersen chuckled. Thorne had been sat there for a good ten minutes, biting his tongue, and only now did he speak up.

"Seriously," the engineer nodded, still fiddling with his pistol - he was trying to add a heavy barrel for some extra stopping power.

"You do _remember _Eden Prime, right?" the biotic frowned. He didn't sound angry, just… sceptical. He was absent-mindedly grinding his axe blade against one of the armoury tables, leaving deep white traces in the metal as he sharpened it.

"I do."

"Aaand…. you remember the eight cruisers that the Alliance lost at the Citadel? The _twenty _the turians lost?"

"I do."

"So what the _hell _goes through your head to make you recruit a geth?"

"It was Murphy's call," the engineer pointed out.

"Oh, come on. You really expect me to believe this wasn't you?"

"Well, it wasn't my idea to _keep_ it," Andersen murmured.

"It was your idea to let it out, though…" Thorne smirked, "right?"

"I… yeah," he admitted. "But come on, you've got to admit it's useful. It hacks, it processes data, it mans our firewalls…"

"…it kills people…" the biotic added.

"_You _kill people."

"Yeah, but I don't do it because the ones and zeroes tell me to. I do it because they're assholes."

"Okay, point," Andersen laughed. "But Eden Prime, the Citadel? The geth were under Reaper control when they did those things."

"And they were under Reaper control when they tried to kill us both on Zanethu. They were under Reaper control for the last three _months_, if what you're saying's true."

"And now they're not."

"Says your intel."

"Says _the_ _geth_."

Thorne paused, and looked up from his handiwork with an expression of utmost scepticism.

"Seriously?" he scowled. "It told you it wasn't hostile, and you just _believed _it?"

"I didn't _just _believe it," Andersen retorted. "All the data backed it up. Besides, geth can't lie."

"Huh?"

"Actually, that's not quite accurate. They _don't _lie… they don't see a purpose in it. Before they gained sentience, the geth were all linked together by consensus. Every program could see what every _other _program was seeing, what it was hearing, what it had recorded. They couldn't deceive each other, so they just… didn't bother."

"How'd you know all that?" Thorne frowned, curiously. "No-one's studied the geth in much detail except… wait, let me guess. _The geth_ told you."

"Well… yeah. Who else was I gonna ask?"

"You are so frickin' naïve sometimes…"

"Whatever. Just promise me you won't attack it, alright?"

"Alright, alright…" the biotic muttered, tossing his newly-sharpened axe about in one hand and watching as the light danced off the blade. "But if it starts hummin' Daisy Bell, I'm putting this axe through the flashlight it calls a face."

"My simulations predict you would have a ninety-eight percent chance of failure…" a calm voice interjected, from the doorway.

"Ninety-eight percent chance of kiss my ass," Thorne grumbled, turning to the door.

The geth blinked.

"I see no purpose in that action. Geth anatomy also renders it… impossible."

Thorne let out a half-chuckle, and turned to Andersen:

"This is the geth?"

"No, Kan's just dressing up today," the engineer replied, sarcastically.

"Smartass," the biotic scowled. After another moment's examination of the geth, he frowned: "It's bigger than the ones on Zanethu."

"Upgraded model," Andersen nodded.

"Great_. _So it's even _better _at killing us now?"

"Oh, play nice. Geth, this is Malcolm Thorne. Thorne… ah, you get it."

Thorne nodded warily at the geth. The geth… blinked again, and went silent for a moment.

"Malcolm Thorne…" it murmured, eventually. "Your name appears over two standard deviations more frequently on the extranet than the average human male."

"Let me guess…" Thorne growled. "Wanted posters, bounty contracts…"

"… also arrest warrants, service records… experimental records."

Andersen looked up.

"Experimental records?"

"Yes. Systems Alliance files, dated seven years, eight months ago. Transcript reads-"

"You're in _our _databanks?" he interrupted, spluttering.

"Yes."

"Get out!"

Another blink.

"I… apologise," the geth said, head bowing slightly. Andersen failed to notice Thorne, in the corner of his eye - the biotic was sniggering.

"If you're so keen on digging through databanks, I've got a job for you," the engineer continued.

"I am… willing to assist," the flashlight nodded, hesitantly.

"Willing?" Thorne echoed.

"Yes. Willing."

"Why'd you hesitate?"

"It was not intentional. Free will is… strange. Where I used to say I was able, I now say I am willing."

"Fair enough. _Willingly _take a look at this," Andersen muttered, tossing a datapad to the geth.

"Visual representation of data," it observed, catching the pad deftly. "Inefficient."

"Yeah, well we make do," the human scowled.

"Are those the Eden Prime files?" Thorne asked, presciently.

"Mhmm."

"These files document an organisation known as Cerberus," the geth murmured. "Extranet references regarding them are mostly negative."

"Mostly?" Thorne grimaced.

"Sixty-four percent overall. Ninety-nine percent in the last year."

"What worries me is the one percent…"

"Extranet's a messed up place," Andersen shrugged. "Geth, I need you to cross-reference those files, create a roadmap."

"A… roadmap?"

"Human colloquialism. It's a… document of an individual's progress over the timeframe covered. Where they've been, and when, and intersections with _other _individuals' progress."

"That… would require an individual to _map_."

"I'll give you two. Christopher Creed, and Drake Frost. Creed sometimes goes by the pseudonym of 'Jackal'. I need you to look through those documents - comm logs, flight plans, archives - and work out everywhere the two of them met in the last… let's call it a year."

"Affirmative. I will need some time."

"Alright. If you just let me know when-"

"Cross-referencing complete."

"Huh. That was quick."

"Was it?"

"Ye… never mind. Have you found anything?"

"Yes. There are nineteen references to 'Christopher Creed', 'Creed', or 'Jackal' in these documents, and seven to 'Drake Frost', 'Drake', or 'Frost'."

"What about intersections?"

"Three confirmed physical meetings, five point-to-point data exchanges."

"Where were the physical meetings?"

"An orbital facility over the gas giant Illapa, referenced as 'Talon'. Does this have meaning?"

"Talon Cell," Andersen nodded, darkly. "Drake's recruitment. Just over a month ago, right?"

"Yes. Two data exchanges follow from the human colony world of Noveria."

"Before and after eliminating Holstein… where was the next meeting?"

"Eden Prime. Dated… twelve days ago. There were two data exchanges in the following days. Then one more. Four days ago. Location… unconfirmed."

"Unconfirmed?" Thorne piped up, brow furrowing.

"A ship," Andersen guessed. "Mobile."

"That… would be an adequate explanation," the geth agreed.

"He was checking in after the hit on Zya…" growled the engineer. Then, something occurred to him, and he did a quick mental back-track, before muttering: "Wait. That just leaves another meeting - they met in the last four days?"

"No. The next meeting is scheduled to take place in… eighteen hours."

"_What?_"

"I extrapolated the time of the meeting from known flight plans and private communications," the synthetic explained, and repeated: "The next meeting is scheduled to occur in eighteen hours."

"You're sure?"

"Yes."

Andersen shut his eyes for a moment, thinking hard. When they finally blinked open again, they bore a steely glint.

"Where's it taking place?"

"Another human colony world."

"Which _one?_"

"Benning."


	421. Operation Ranger Briefing

**A/N: So, eighteenth birthday, and I'm stuck revising for not one but two two-hour exams tomorrow... To distract myself, I decided to do a double update - just a quick one, it's only a briefing after all - and update my profile. Speaking of which, there's a new poll up on my profile. It's just a bit of curiosity, but I'd appreciate it if as many readers as possible went and voted.**

**Anyway... enjoy!**

* * *

><p><em><strong>SSV Cambrai, Mass Relay Transit<strong>_

_**Day 1, 1600**_

"Alright, ladies and gentlemen," Captain Murphy called, as he entered the war room, "I've got a mission for you."

"_You _have?" Rilum frowned. "Not fleet sanctioned, then?"

"No. This one's not business, it's personal. According to intel from Andersen and our new geth friend" - he nodded to the engineer, who was stood off to the side - "we've obtained advance notice of a meeting between Christopher Creed and Drake Frost."

The room _tightened _at that. Everyone around the table tensed up, or clutched their weapons, or _growled, _in Tyco's case.

"The meeting is scheduled to take place in an occupied district on Benning" - another ripple of tension at the mention of _that _planet - "in four hours. Cambrai drops into the Arcturus Stream in two."

"About damn time we put a bullet in those pricks," Tyco rumbled.

Murphy just nodded. That in itself was a little worrying…

"This is a pretty mixed team," Murphy noted, surveying the room. "Techs, biotics, snipers, all specialists. But I picked the lot of you because you've got scores to settle. Some of you have got grudges" - he looked very deliberately at Tyco and Cash, both of whom were fiery-eyed - "and almost all of you were with us when we last hit Benning. Cerberus drove us off then. They've been slipping the net ever since…"

A slight pause followed, and Rilum took the chance to do a headcount. Andersen, Tyco, Sam, Kan, Saffiya, Zel… everyone who'd been on Benning save for Yui and Mac'Tir. Only Cash, Arrete and Rilum himself hadn't been part of Operation Huntsman. This really _was _personal.

"No more…" the captain muttered, snapping Rilum back to attention. "We go in hard and fast, and bag ourselves two HVTs. Two _heads_."

"What's the plan, sir?" Zel piped up - unlike most of the others, she seemed to want to know what they were actually _doing_. Typical turian. Good girl.

"The majority of the team - all operatives save Sam and Kan - will be going down under callsign Alpha. Wendy will drop you off in the occupied district, and you'll make your way to the target building on foot. Breach, clear, and kill anyone you find inside, then carve your way back out for evac."

"What about us?" Sam frowned - he and Kan were both cross-armed, a little miffed at being left out of the main team.

"You two are Bravo. Aerial support. You'll be riding shotgun with Cat, and performing sniping duties from up high. Your first job is to sweep the target area ahead of Alpha's shuttles - identify anti-air and sniper holdouts, then neutralise them. Once Alpha's done on the ground, you'll come in again to cover their evac. Expect a hot one."

"Got it, boss," the C-Sec man nodded - Rilum had noticed he was acting… rather deferential to Murphy of late. Whatever had happened on the Citadel had cowed him a little.

"Lynus has command of Alpha," Murphy concluded. "Bravo, you're a pair, so you can figure that out between yourselves. Now, I want everybody armed up and ready to go the moment we hit Benning - dismissed!"

He saluted, and the crew shuffled out, with only Ethan and Andersen - the soldiers - saluting back. Tyco was grinning more broadly than he had in weeks, and Rilum had to admit, the team looked to be in markedly better spirits than he would have expected…

"Lynus, a word?" the captain called, just as the salarian made for the door.

He doubled back, and went to join Murphy at the head of the war room table. Neither of them spoke until the last of the crew had filtered out, leaving them alone.

"You know why I put you in charge?" the captain asked, out of the blue.

"_Besides _senior rank?" the salarian smirked.

"If this was done on rank, I'd have to give you the ship…" Murphy muttered. "No, I put you in charge because you weren't on Benning. This isn't personal for you… alright, not _quite so _personal."

"Understand the sentiment, captain. Potential for emotions to run high on this one."

"Which is why I need you to rein them in," the human nodded.

"Also… why you're not in command for this one."

"Yeah. Don't trust myself with this. As for the team… Andersen's got a good head on him, Zel and Saffiya too, and Arrete doesn't have a grudge here, but…"

"Operatives Maffei and Cash are volatile," Rilum surmised.

"You could put it like that. Last time Ethan went up against Creed, he lost his eye and his whole squad. It's even worse for Tyco - he survived Benning, _and _he's got grudges against both our targets. I need you to keep control… if you can."

"Can, captain. And will."

"Good man. Dismissed."


	422. Operation Ranger Part 1

_**Joughin West, Benning**_

_**Day 1, 1930**_

"Alpha, this is Bravo. Do you copy?"

"Copy, Bravo," Rilum muttered into the shuttle's radio. "Sitrep?"

"Just performed our sweep," Vimes replied. "Negative on anti-air installations, but we had to bomb out a sniper's nest. No survivors."

"Enemy presence on the ground?"

"Minimal. Whole district looks abandoned, I figure they wouldn't devote many troops to it."

"They will when we attack…" the salarian frowned, with a hint of reservation. "Need to make this quick."

"Thirty minutes to the meeting," Kan chipped in.

"Hope they're punctual. Alpha out."

He closed the comms, and rapped a set of green knuckles against the cockpit door. The shuttle gave a great _lurch _in response as Wendy carried them down, and the team - who had been close to drifting off as they hung motionless for the last half hour - suddenly snapped to attention. Only Arrete and Saffiya appeared to have been _vaguely _alert. Typical salarian. Atypical asari.

"Touchdown," Wendy Arness reported, as they thudded down in the street.

"Everybody out," the salarian muttered, jerking his head to the door. "Keep tight. Tyco, take the lead."

"My pleasure," the big man replied, pulling the shotgun down off his shoulder and sauntering to the door with it gripped in one hand. "We expecting company?"

"Always expecting company," Rilum chided.

"Of course…"

_Hiss_. The shuttle door slid open at Tyco's command, allowing a cool breeze to whip through the compartment, accompanied by…

"Rain," the salarian murmured. "Heightened concentration of…" - he held a hand out of the door, and dabbed it onto his tongue - "sulphur."

"You mean it's acid rain?" Cash smirked, over his shoulder.

"Yes. Wear helmets, and monitor armour integrity. May be compromised…"

There were nods and murmurs of assent from the squad, and those who were not wearing a helmet already went rummaging under their seats to find them. Eventually, with even Saffiya sporting an Alliance-issue helm and breather, they stepped out into the open air. Temperature was slightly lowered along with the rain, wind was calm and isolated… no hostiles, either. A vague sound of gunshots in the distance, on the other side of the city.

"Objective's marked," he muttered, finally. "Move up."

Rilum could practically _feel_ the excitement as they moved off down the street. He could see it, even, in the way the team arranged themselves. Tyco was in the lead, almost _bouncing_, and behind him was Ethan Cash. Then it was Andersen, then Zel and Saffiya, and bringing up the rear, the two rather stoic salarians, who were least invested.

_Whoosh_. Bravo's shuttle gave a little rumble as it swept over their heads and along the street. The barrel of a sniper rifle was just visible, jutting out of one side…

"Bravo, any visual?" Rilum asked.

"Negative," Kan replied. "There's a fire fight in the north of the city, resistance or something, but nothing in your area."

The thought occurred that on any other day, they would have been to the north, fighting _with _the resistance. Rilum bit that particular thought down, however. It wouldn't be helpful. And, while it was true he wasn't quite so _fixated _as Tyco or Murphy… he couldn't help but admit he relished the prospect of revenge. Just this once.

"Do we know the layout of the target building?" Saffiya interjected, rather sensibly.

"Well, I've got a visual from up here…" the quarian answered. "Assuming the marker's right, you're aiming for an abandoned office building. Three storeys, windows every few feet, flat roof."

"Entrances?" Rilum chipped in.

"Main entrance is on the south side, facing you. I don't see any side entrances, but if you ask me, you could forge an entry route over the roof or through the upper storey windows - there are buildings to either side."

"Good plan. Zel, flank left. Arrete, right. Enter through the top floor, use stealth. Rest of you, main entrance."

"Kicking the door down," Tyco nodded. "Love it…"

"Hundred metres to target," the salarian continued. "Double time! Bravo, maintain surveillance, ID hostiles."

"Will do," Kan muttered. "Bravo out."

Alpha moved up at a run, with just two exceptions - Zel and Arrete drifted off into the storefronts to either side, clambering through windows or hacking through doors to make their way up onto the rooftops. That put the main squad down to five, Rilum noted, and took two of their three snipers away. Best situation was now a close-quarters fight, not a distanced one.

"Rain's messing with my _bloody _shields," Andersen cursed, as he ran.

"Same here," Ethan nodded. "Compensating with a biotic barrier."

"Ah, good idea, I'll just do that… _oh wait_," the engineer scowled, sarcastically.

"Shields should recover inside," Rilum called. "Would take prolonged exposure to damage hardware irrevocably."

"How long is prolonged?" Saffiya asked. The asari had drifted to his side now.

"Unsure. Could do the math…"

"Don't," she replied, firmly.

"Hmm. Very well. No time, anyway… target building in sight."

True enough, the three-storey office was looming into view at the end of the road. The squad sped up a little at that, ignoring the rain streaming down their visors and under their boots.

"Fall in on either side of the door!" Rilum ordered. "No shields, need to use caution!"

Tyco twisted slightly, and just shot the salarian a stare which seemed to say, _"Yeah, right…"_


	423. Operation Ranger Part 2

_**Joughin West, Benning**_

_**Day 1, 1945**_

"Meeting's not meant to take place for fifteen minutes," Andersen muttered. "I say we wait here."

"Screw that," Tyco grunted. "We kick the door down, kill every bastard inside, and wait _there_."

"What happens when Creed shows up, Tyco? Or Drake? They see the trail of bodies we left-"

"And come to investigate."

"They're not as thick as you, they'll know we're laying an ambush."

Tyco scowled, but as he made to reply, Rilum interjected:

"Logical to wait out here, in isolation. But factoring in conditions… safer to move inside, recover shields."

The rain was still coursing down around them, and Rilum's own shields had given in, now. Only Saffiya and Ethan still had any kind of protection, and it was draining them to summon up barriers constantly.

"Breach in a moment," the salarian said, finally. "Need to check in with the others. Zel, Arrete, sitrep?"

"Moving over the rooftops," Arrete replied. "Easy approach, I'll be breaking in on the east side in a few minutes."

"Good. Continue. Zel?"

"Having a bit more difficulty here," the turian murmured. "Stairwell to the roof was collapsed. I had to double back wide into the courtyard to get around it."

"Just keep moving. Better late than never."

"Affirmative."

"Bravo, what's your situation?"

"Right above your heads," Sam muttered. "We just ran thermals over the building. Several small heat signatures, probably troopers. Couldn't be any more specific than that, though. Sorry."

"Understood…" Rilum nodded. "Will be careful. Everyone, check weapons."

They did, with varying degrees of care. Andersen and Ethan checked their rifles with as much attention as Rilum, doing it by the regs, but Saffiya merely flexed a biotic hand - understandable, he supposed - and Tyco just ran a finger along the bayonet of his shotgun.

"Okay…" the salarian sighed, finally. "Ready to breach. Andersen, get the door. Tyco, on point."

The two men nodded - Andersen went for his omni-tool, loaded up a program, and swiftly ran it over the locking mechanism. There was a whir, a flash, and a little _click_, before the door fell open. Tyco was through it in a flash, shotgun clutched tightly in his arms, shoulders raised tensely… Rilum's keen eye noticed those shoulders _sag _slightly in disappointment as he found no enemies on the far side.

"Foyer," he called back, waving for the others to follow him in. "Shitload of bullet scars, but no shooters."

"Cerberus must have shot the place up when they hit this district…" Cash growled, as he too entered the room.

"Interesting issue of perspective," Rilum noted. Several pairs of eyes turned to look at him, questioningly.

"_Interesting?_" Cash frowned.

"Last mission to Benning, Alliance command considered Cerberus actions… anomalous. Attacking civilians, bombing residentials. Thought it was beyond them… know better now. Cerberus no longer political organisation - paramilitary, terrorists, _zealots_…"

"Bastards one and all," Tyco growled. "Let's get to killing 'em."

Rilum just nodded, and pointed to the far side of the foyer. A closed door led further into the offices, and they made for it with some enthusiasm. Again, Tyco took point, sweeping through with his shotgun. As Cash made to follow, however, the sniper stopped him with a clenched fist.

"Guy up ahead," the sniper whispered. "Back to me. He's mine…"

Tyco disappeared out of sight around the corner, and the rest of the squad were left hanging for a moment. Then…

_Squelch_.

"Argh!"

_Shing._

_Thud._

"He's down," Tyco growled.

Rilum and Ethan exchanged a glance, then stepped through the doorway, weapons braced. Off to the left, Tyco still had an arm locked around the trooper's jaw from behind, smothering his mouth to muffle his prior yell. The man's gun had clattered to the floor at his feet. Judging by the sounds they had heard, the blood staining on Tyco's bayonet, the state of the man… he had stabbed him in the back of the knee, then slit his throat. Brutal and efficient, though personally, Lynus would have done without the crippling knee strike and gone straight for the jugular.

"Cerberus?" the salarian asked, as he noted the unusual black armour.

"Bit late if he's not," Tyco grunted, with half a smirk. He shifted his burden slightly, glanced down, and concluded: "Nope, logo on the chest. He's Cerberus."

"Well thank the goddess for _that_…" Saffiya murmured, wryly. She was bringing up the rear, pistol weighed in one hand, biotic sparks dancing in the other.

"Looks… unfamiliar," Rilum mused. "New class of soldier?"

"Guess so," the bounty hunter muttered, glancing down at his victim's slumped neck. "Whatever he is, he's wearing an amp… Project Phoenix?"

"Seems likely. Biotic specialists assigned to protect biotic operatives. Fits Creed - would likely find it amusing…"

"Then let's get on with wiping the smile off his face. C'mon."

Rilum nodded, and waved the rest of the squad along to follow Tyco, who was already disappearing through the only door of three still working at the end of the corridor, having dropped his biotic victim to the floor rather ignominiously. The door took them right, into a short waiting room with an overturned desk in it, but no hostiles. The far wall held nothing but a locked door.

"Deal with it," he muttered to Andersen, who quickly pulled out his omni-tool and set to work on the lock.

"Five minutes to the meeting…" Ethan noted. "Bastards should be arriving by now."

"May be taking precautions," Rilum pondered. "Arriving early would leave them… open to ambush."

"Yeah," the sentinel chuckled. "I thought that was the idea…"

The salarian just shrugged.

"Why aren't we hearing more comm chatter?" Cash continued. "Alarms, calls for backup… it's like they were expecting us."

Rilum didn't reply - he looked over to the door, and exchanged a knowing glance with Andersen, who had paused in his lock duty to look back at the conversation. The two of them had had their inklings since before the mission began…

"What?" Ethan frowned.

"They know we've got the Eden Prime files…" Andersen sighed, slowly. "I believe they _were _expecting us."


	424. Operation Ranger Part 3

_**Joughin West, Benning**_

_**Day 1, 1955**_

Arrete paused, spying the jump once more. He'd made further, in training and elsewhere… of course, he'd also fallen and broken bones jumping less. It was about five metres, and down a few feet, into the third storey of the office through a window just slightly bigger than him. The pane had survived the battles that had gutted this building, and for a moment, he weighed up the merits of shooting it out or leaving it. Eventually, he decided jumping through it would be noisy anyway, and at any rate, there didn't seem to be anyone in the corridor beyond.

_Crack crack_. He put two sharp rounds from his Indra through the window, shattering it instantly. There were a few sharp edges left, but if he was bouncing off the window frame, he'd have bigger concerns anyway, like the drop to the street below…

After a fair amount of mental goading, he eased his concerns by throwing his rifle across the gap ahead of him, shedding whatever few pounds it added to his weight. It bounced off the bottom sill, and rolled into the corridor beyond. Finally, the salarian himself took a few steps back, hunkered down… and then launched himself at the edge in a practised sprint. He kicked off from the very corner of the roof, swung his limbs wildly for a moment, then tucked them in as the glass-lined window frame rushed up towards him.

He bounced through with a fair lack of dignity, landed on his feet - broken glass crunching under his boots as he did - and launched into a messy tuck and roll, coming to a halt just next to his rifle. His shields were gone, stricken by the rain outside, and judging by the little pin-pricks in his arms and side, some of the glass had gotten through…

Arrete ignored it, picking himself up off the floor and snatching up his rifle in one hand. As he strode off up the corridor, he considered swapping it for the Scorpion on his hip, but the fully-automatic Indra was as good as an assault rifle at close range, and firing the grenade-pistol indoors was… problematic at the best of times. Absent-mindedly shifting his rifle up into his arms, he reached the end of the corridor, turned the corner-

_Wham! _A blue-fired fist slammed right between his eyes, and he went staggering back across the hallway. He stumbled, noting that his rifle had dropped out of his stunned grip, and hit the wall, trying to shake his head clear of the dizzying sensation that had filled it.

A pair of footsteps followed him across the hall at a run, and even as he tried to turn, he could feel the knife sinking in. It was a sensation you never quite got used to - a flash of pain in his back, between his ribs, then a warm sensation as it was drawn back out, taking blood with it, and he slumped to the base of the wall.

He rolled around onto his back, to see a black-garbed figure pacing a little way down the hall. After a moment, he turned, and Arrete caught a glimpse of a sallow face, half-torn, two eyes staring maliciously back at him - one pallid blue, one _vicious _red. The figure was wiping a silver blade clean on the trail of his jacket.

"You know, that was rather _too _easy…" Creed drawled. "I rather expected STG to train their agents better."

"How's this, then?" Arrete snarled, yanking the Scorpion out of his belt and levelling it at Creed's chest.

"Better…" the biotic smiled, drawing his own Paladin. "You were all rather convenient, you know. Walked right into the trap."

Arrete flashed a calculated scowl, as his brain went into fevered overdrive, concocting a rather desperate plan. Would Creed be dumb enough? Perhaps not. But would he be _egotistical _enough? Perhaps…

"What trap?" he growled, noting the slight trickle of blood in the corner of his mouth. That _couldn't _be good.

"Precisely," Creed smirked.

Damn. It hadn't worked. But maybe…

"No, no…" Arrete murmured, faking confidence. "I don't mean it like _that_. I mean _which _trap? Is it the bomb we defused?"

"Now, I know for a _fact _you haven't defused that bomb," Creed hissed.

"And now _I _know for a fact you've planted one," the salarian smirked, ignoring the blood that continued to bubble up his throat.

A flicker of disquiet on the madman's face, before he replied, with an utterly forced air of bravado:

"Very clever. But you can't warn them if you're dead, salarian."

"No. No I can't…"

_Thunk. _Arrete's finger, which had been inching towards the trigger, squeezed tight like a vice, firing a single shot which went hurtling past Creed to the wall beyond. He didn't stay to watch it, however - the moment it was fired he _hurled _himself away from the wall, allowing his pistol to bounce uselessly away as he rolled onto his front, shielding his head with one arm.

_Bang. _Creed's shot smashed through the space he had occupied a moment prior, burying itself in the wall. The biotic cursed, and Arrete could only imagine he was swinging around to fire a second time, when:

_Bang! _Arrete's Scorpion round went off, knocking Creed into the far wall and buying him a few precious seconds. With his gun, he could have fired, but instead, he went for his wrist:

"Rilum! Andersen!" he barked, pulling up his omni-tool. "Get out! It's a trap! Creed's got a bomb-"

_Bang._

"Argh!"

He broke down into coughs and splutters, comms dying away, as the biotic's second round tore into his back. Judging by the searing pain and the fresh upwelling of blood between his lips, it had punctured something important. Not the heart - that was still beating a mile a minute. Lung, maybe?

Wearily, the salarian rolled over, praying the message had done enough. His pistol was out of reach - he had never really intended to recover it anyway. No point to. Creed was advancing now, with one round left in his Paladin and an angry scowl on his features.

"You realise that was pointless, don't you?" he snapped, pulling something from within his jacket and waving it scornfully in the salarian's face. "I've got the detonator _right _here. I can blow them all to hell right now!"

"Not while you're in here with them you can't," Arrete coughed. "And they've got a head start now."

Creed's features went an ugly shade of red, mouth twisting into a frozen snarl as he levelled the pistol at his wounded opponent's head.

"Very good," he sneered. "Very _noble_. Very stupid…"

"I wouldn't expect you to understand," the salarian retorted thickly, through a mouthful of green blood.

"Hmm. Fair enough."

_Bang._


	425. Operation Ranger Part 4

_**Joughin West, Benning**_

_**Day 1, 2000**_

"Room clear," Cash muttered, nudging the body at his feet with one armoured boot. "I got another biotic here…"

"We took them by surprise…" Andersen thought aloud. "This wasn't an ambush."

"Still a trap though, right?" the sentinel replied. The engineer just shot him a patronising look, as if to say: _"Duh."_

Ethan stepped back from the fallen Cerberus agent, and took a glance around the room. It was a large one, once a busy office space but bombed out now. Alpha had found the biotic and three regular troopers languishing in the middle of the room, barely even paying attention to the doors, and they had torn through the room in seconds, with Cash claiming the prize kill by putting his omni-blade through the biotic's back.

Just as he was about to speak up, and question whether or not they should get moving, the radio began to crackle with static. There was a loud, yet muffled noise, and then:

"Rilum! Andersen!"

Everyone looked up at the sound of Arrete's rather frantic, muddled voice.

"What-" Lynus began, but he was cut off a moment later:

"Get out! It's a trap! Creed's got a bomb- _argh!_"

Another loud bang had filled the air, making Ethan wince and Saffiya grimace. Andersen and Rilum, however, were merely looking at each other in stunned silence. After what seemed to be an eternal wait, they nodded once, and the room became a flurry of movement.

"Move, move, move!" Andersen was roaring, with unusual gusto. He practically _dragged _Tyco from the far side of the room, where he had been waiting to move on, and he shoved Ethan off ahead of him in panicked flight. He could already see the asari and the salarian disappearing back the way they'd come, heels vanishing around the corner…

The sentinel thundered through the door a moment later, Andersen and Tyco quick on his heels. The engineer was swiping the air with his omni-tool, probably scanning for the bomb, but he didn't seem to have any success. The three of them raced down the next corridor, twisted right, and came out into the bullet-strewn foyer, behind the reception desk - Andersen and Cash darted either side of it, while Tyco cleared it in a bound.

Rilum had disappeared through the door ahead, but Saffiya was waiting just inside it. She waved them on with a frantic "Hurry!", ushered them out into the open air - practically _dragging _Ethan through the door, the last of the three - and then backed out herself. As she did, she threw up her arms, and a vivid _wall _of blue-purple light sprang into the air. At the very last second, Ethan realised what she was doing, and from a step behind her heel, leant his own biotics to the effort. The asari's barrier swelled, a wall of glittering blue between their squad and the building as each of them turned to stare at it in morbid curiosity. All was silent for a moment, then…

_Boom!_

The world seemed to take a moment to catch up to the deafening roar that had just filled their ears. As it did, however, the whole building erupted into a glowing fireball. Chunks of steel frame and shards of glass came over their heads in a torrent, and the sheer force of the blast sent a shockwave rippling out towards them. It hit Saffiya first, hurling the asari off her feet even as flames tore against her barrier. A moment later, it smashed into Ethan's chest, and the sheer pressure knocked him backwards - a fraction after that, the airborne Saffiya collided with him, and the two of them dropped to the floor amidst the glittering remnants of their biotic display.

Cash could only assume he had blacked out for a few moments as his head hit the ground, because when his vision returned, the world was still again. A thick pall of black smoke was spiralling into the sky, and the skeletal remnants of the building in front of them were _steaming _as the falling rain met white-hot metal.

That was about all he could see from his current position - he was flat on his back, with half his view obscured by the justicar's boots, which were currently pinning his chest to the floor. Looking left, he couldn't help but notice her usually-stoic face, contorted in no small amount of discomfort. Biotic feedback, he guessed. Her barrier had been two storeys tall, spanning the width of the entire building. The backlash from a barrier that size collapsing would be… _painful_.

Looking to the right, he saw his rifle where it had fallen. He had only taken to using it a week or so ago - a regular Avenger, refitted by Dax with lightweight parts to make it no heavier than the SMGs he used to favour. The pistol on his hip had received a similar treatment, and weighed no more than a couple of kilograms now. Head still spinning from the blast, he reached out and grabbed the rifle in one hand, noting the layer of broken glass beneath, and the slight _crackle _his shields gave as the acid rain continued to pound down, testing them. After a moment more, Saffiya shifted her legs off the sentinel's chest, allowing him to sit upright at last. As he did, he became aware of the sheer _darkness _around them. It wasn't all to do with the smoke cloud hanging above them, either - night was beginning to fall, suddenly and rapidly, the sun dipping beneath Joughin's rooftops.

"Alright, I'll say it…" Andersen groaned - he, Rilum and Tyco were all sprawled in the rain behind Cash's back. "How the _fuck _did we not work that out sooner?"

"Too eager for revenge," Rilum spat, bitterly. "Judgement was… clouded."

"Well, that explains why we didn't figure it," Tyco coughed. "But what's your excuse?"

"My judgement… clouded too."

Awkward silence, for a moment.

"Well, ain't that something…" the bounty hunter grumbled, under his breath.

"Won't happen again," Rilum said, more to himself than his companions. "Should proceed. Arrete? Zel? Bravo? Do you copy?"

Cash glanced round again. The salarian had pulled out his omni-tool, and was speaking into the radio, but it was ominously silent. Then:

"Rilum! Good to hear your god-damn voice!"

It was Vimes, his voice barely audible over the roar of a shuttle's thrusters.

"Had to bug out under fire!" he continued. "Somebody was taking pot shots from the street! We saw the blast, though - what the _hell _happened down there?"

"Creed had a bomb," Rilum replied, simply.

"Shit. Everybody alright?"

"Two unaccounted for. Trying to radio. Keep channel clear and wait for orders."

"Gotcha."

"Zel? Arrete? Come in!"

Silence. Cash looked down at Saffiya, who was still trying to shake off the pain he - as the only other biotic - knew was coursing through her nerves.

"Come in!"

He looked up again, glancing at Andersen, and they exchanged a grim stare. The two of them, it seemed, had cottoned on far quicker than Rilum…

"No no no no no…" the salarian jabbered, under his breath. "Zel! Arrete! Respond!"

A crackle of static.

"This is Zel!" a panicked voice replied, and Ethan's head snapped across in surprise, as did Andersen's. "I'm under attack- _ah!_ Heavy fire…" - another crackle, which might have been static or gunfire - "…need backup!"

"Where are you?" Rilum snapped, anxiously.

"Balcony, behind the west row of houses!" she cried. "Patching co-ordinates! Come quick, I'm pinned down!"

"Who's attacking?" the salarian frowned.

"Drake!"

That was all the turian managed to say - any further elaboration was drowned out by a noise not unlike thunder. It sent a metaphorical _jolt _through the squad, and Tyco in particular had gone fiery-eyed. Rilum took one look at them, then pulled out his Locust, before muttering, simply:

"Move."


	426. Operation Ranger Part 5

_**Joughin West, Benning**_

_**Day 2, 2010**_

"This way!" Saffiya called. "The waypoint is just up ahead!"

"Zel, come in!" Rilum barked. "Sitrep?"

"Holding!" she replied. Then, under a fresh _crack _of rifle fire, she added: "Barely!"

"On our way. Hold on!" the salarian muttered. "Tyco, point!"

There was a slight _click_, and Tyco tore past Ethan, almost barging him out of the way as he cocked his shotgun. He bounded past Saffiya to the head of the pack, and as they reached the end of the short alleyway, he _exploded_ out into the courtyard beyond.

_Bang! _Tyco caught a trooper completely unawares at the end of the alley, tearing his chest in two with a round of buckshot. A couple of rounds bounced off the walls to either side of him in reply, but it seemed Cerberus was more focused on Red - as he followed Tyco into the open, Cash could see a biotic barrier swelling in the corner of his vision, up above them.

They paused a moment, taking stock of the situation. The courtyard - once a walled garden amidst a residential block - was now a ruin, and glittering crossfire filled the air as a dozen-strong squad of troopers tore at the balcony on the near side. Atop it, Red's barrier flashed and faded, and a yelp tinged with sub-harmonics was not a good sign… Above the crossfire, a _barrage _of biotics was flying at her position, pounding the walls and reducing them to dust wherever it struck. To be frank, Cash was amazed her barrier had held this long, because he had his suspicions who was casting that barrage, and by all accounts, his power was tremendous…

"Need to get to her!" Rilum barked, pulling them back to the matter at hand as he ducked a stray rifle round - Andersen quickly dispatched the offending trooper, who had strayed close to investigate the newcomers. "And… need to kill Drake."

"Second storey," Cash muttered, glancing across at the balcony. "Need biotics to get up there - I've got her!"

"And I've got him!" Tyco growled, nodding to the far end of the courtyard. No-one felt like denying him, such was the glare in his eyes.

A moment later, with no objections rising, Cash set off at a run, making for the wall of the residential. He stowed his rifle on his back, flung out a barrier to deflect a burst of fire that came his way, then flared his biotics and _leapt _at the sheer steel face.

"Saffiya, go with him!" he heard the salarian order, as thundering footsteps announced Tyco's departure at a run. "Andersen, with me - need turrets!"

Ethan's attention was drawn away from the conversation as he hit the wall, knees buckling slightly. He hung motionless a moment, then made an athletic twist, kicking off hard and flailing his arms for the ledge above. His fingers found it, albeit barely, and after shoring his grip, he _pulled _himself over the edge in an easy motion, rolling down on the far side and narrowly avoiding a biotic cannonball which whistled past his head.

"Red!" he shouted, glancing around quickly as another shot hit the wall, denting the inch-thick steel with ease. Before the turian could reply, he spotted her in the far corner of the balcony, and scrabbled over the metal floor to slide down next to her, still keeping his head low beneath the barrage.

"Spirits, you took your time…" the turian panted. She was in a hell of a state. Quite apart from the biotic fire still glimmering on her skin, and the ragged breaths tearing out of her lungs, she appeared to have taken more than a few hits. Her armour had been crushed in at the shoulder by a biotic shot, pinning the joint beneath, and the left side of her neck was bloody from shrapnel - her abdomen appeared to have taken two deeper shots, rifle rounds, but they had been plastered over with medi-gel, and were no longer bleeding.

A clatter behind Ethan and a fresh wave of biotics heralded Saffiya's arrival, as she bounded gracefully over the side of the platform on a current of blue, before summoning up a barrier to keep the barrage at bay - at least long enough for her to duck down next to Ethan and Zel, anyway.

"Are you alright?" she murmured, showing a touch of genuine concern for the turian which surprised Ethan - she had always been rather _aloof _with him.

"Fine," Red replied, in a pained mutter. "You know, relatively speaking… what the hell happened? I heard an explosion…"

"Creed set a trap for us," Cash scowled. "We only just got out in time. Arrete…"

He trailed off, and the turian sighed. Then, all thoughts of sorrow were removed by a fresh wave of biotic thunder, as Drake tore into their positions once again.

"Suppressing fire!" Rilum shouted up from the courtyard below. "Need suppressing fire!"

"Stay down," the marine nodded to his two fellows, reaching for his rifle. "I've got this."

He slung the Avenger into his arms, shuffled up to the edge of the balcony, then rose to a kneeling position as Drake's biotics finally died away again. A moment's scan of the battlefield showed a chaotic skirmish unfolding below. Andersen and Rilum were just in front of him, ducking between whatever cover they could find and throwing up drones, turrets, anything they could - as he watched on, Cash saw a turret of Andersen's, no bigger than his fist, cut down an approaching trooper with surprising firepower.

_Whump. _His attention was torn away as a biotic fireball rushed at his head, sent by the armoured figure on the far side of the courtyard. Ethan narrowly deflected it with a flare of his own powers, and his free arm _shuddered _with the effort. Christ, the guy _was _strong, wasn't he? He had backup, too - the squad in the courtyard was being whittled down, but three shooters had just appeared on the top floor of the building behind Drake, rifles blaring out as they filled the air with fire.

"Tyco, take him down!" Rilum barked, as he narrowly rolled out of the way of another projectile, which scudded past and missed him by no more than an inch.

The bounty hunter didn't reply - he was off to the right, a little way ahead of the others, fighting _with his fists _against a trooper waving a shock baton. He seemed to get the message, though - he grabbed the trooper's baton-wielding hand and pulled him into what _looked _like a judo throw, but left his opponent face-down on the stone floor, arm sticking back at an odd, broken angle. A moment later, Tyco had put his boot to the back of the trooper's neck, crushing it, before charging off after Drake with a snarl for all to hear.

Drake whirled around, and threw a blue fireball at the charging figure, but Tyco merely sidestepped it, leaving it to take a chunk out of the wall behind him. He went for his back, yanked his shotgun into his arms once more, and levelled it at Drake's midriff.

_Bang! _Cash heard the shot from across the courtyard, and watching in amazement as the buckshot flickered through Drake's barriers, testing them to the limit. Tyco pumped his shotgun again, and made to fire a second round-

But a moment later, Drake literally _whipped _at his head, a bright blue lash blossoming from his wrist in time to swipe at Tyco's face. The sniper ducked low, abandoning his shot and swinging the shotgun like a club instead - it clattered off the biotic's visor, knocking him back, but he retaliated with a swing of his biotic-sheathed hand that _ripped _Tyco's gun from his grip, sending it skidding away across the floor. He made to swing in again, this time at Tyco, but Cash was quicker, snapping his eyes to the iron sights atop his rifle.

_Crack crack crack. _Three quick rounds towards Drake's flank put him on the defensive - he knocked them away with a barrier, but the effort distracted him, and:

_Wham! _Tyco launched a haymaker at the Cerberus agent's head, connecting with an ugly _crack _and staggering him. He swung around, dodging a burst of fire from one of the troopers in the courtyard - Rilum shot him dead before he could assist Drake any further - and launched another punch, catching his opponent in the flank. He rushed in with a roar for yet another blow-

But Drake was ready this time. A biotic fist came up quite suddenly, catching Tyco under the jaw and knocking him down. The bounty hunter scrambled up quickly, but the biotic had had a moment to charge up - he sent a vicious shockwave at the sniper, _slamming _him into the low wall that had cut their battle off from the melee in the centre, a melee Rilum and Andersen were starting to win. Drake, however, was very much at an advantage in his fight - a biotic lash snaked down from his wrist, trailing along the ground before he swung it high, aiming for the sniper at his feet.

_Crack crack crack crack crack… _Ethan hammered the trigger of his rifle, drowning Frost in all the rounds he could fire, and he saw one sink beneath the biotic's outstretched arm, another sting his chestplate, causing his ailing barriers to flash. The whip disappeared in an instant, and Drake sent a shockwave roaring through the air at Cash - he ducked low, but even so, the force of the assault knockedhim sideways as it hit the balcony, causing the steel floor to shudder and tremor…

When Ethan stuck his head over the side of the balcony once more, Drake was retreating back through the door on the far wall. It slammed shut behind him, and Tyco lurched to his feet with an angry growl, attempting to give chase.

The shooters above, however, had other ideas. They opened up once more, raining down a furious crossfire on the sniper, who went staggering back, shields failing. He tripped, hit the floor-

And quite suddenly, there was a barrier swelling around him, staving off the volley from up high. Cash glanced across to see Saffiya at his side, arms ablaze with the effort of conjuring a shield at such a distance. She held it only for a moment or two more - the troopers' rifles ran dry, and as they went to reload, their fire stopped for a mere moment.

It was enough. As Saffiya let her barrier fall, Tyco had already shifted the Black Widow rifle into his arms. Still sitting on the floor, he let his aim wander high, and:

_Bang. Bang. Bang. _One by one, the shooters tumbled from the windows above, hitting the ground below as limp and lifeless ragdolls. The bounty hunter stumbled to his feet, rushed to the door through which Drake had disappeared, and tried to swipe it open, only to find a glaring red roundel barring the way.

"Andersen!" he roared. "Hack this god-damn door!"

"You have _got _to be joking!" the engineer replied, ducking into cover beneath the blare of a trooper's shotgun-pistol. Cash sent two rounds at the man, pushing him back but failing to kill him.

"We need to get after him!" Tyco shouted, angrily.

"We _need _to get out of here!" Andersen countered. "If this was a trap, the whole _district's _going to be full of troops looking for us!"

"I'm not leaving without that bastard's head!"

"And I'd prefer to leave with _mine! _Get your arse back here!"

Tyco took a last, longing look at the door, but seemed to come to the conclusion that without Andersen, he couldn't get through it either way. He let out a roar of frustration, then swung himself over the low wall at his back, joining the fray. The unfortunate trooper below never knew what hit him, as the bounty hunter kicked out his knee, fixed the Widow around his neck and snapped it easily.

"Four more!" Rilum cried, popping up and letting off a rattle of SMG fire - as it found its mark, he corrected: "Three more!"

_Whump. _Saffiya sent a flare of biotics whistling down into the courtyard, tearing through a small steel fixture that had been sheltering one of those three - he staggered out of cover, dazed, and a loud _bang _echoed around the walls as Tyco shot him through the head. Off to the side, Andersen threw up a drone, and as the trooper ahead of him swung up to fire on it, the engineer mowed him down with a chatter of Phaeston fire.

One left. The trooper in question was crouching in the far corner, forcing Rilum's head down with a torrent of rifle fire - the salarian's shields had already failed from exposure to the _inclement _weather. Ethan slid his rifle across, fixed his aim, and took no small amount of satisfaction in pulling the trigger.

_Crack. _The man fell dead, and quite suddenly, the courtyard fell quiet. Alpha glanced around, as if _surprised _that they had killed everything in sight, and there was a moment's silence amidst the pitter-patter of rain.

Then, it was broken by a high-pitched whine, and a second later, a roar. Mass accelerator fire _raked _down the left side of the courtyard, tearing into walls and shattering windows. Rilum and Tyco dove out of the way as a steel form lurched overhead. Another one swung down the right-hand side, and a missile gutted the far rooftop, lighting up the dusk.

"Gunships!" Andersen cursed, incredulously. "Well at least they're _bloody _thorough!"

"No heavy weapons!" Rilum called, hurriedly. "Can't take them down!"

"Oh, I can give it a shot…" Tyco growled, sliding a new clip into his rifle.

"Unreliable. Unpredictable-"

_Thunk, thunk, thunk. _The debate was drowned out by a loud din above their heads - one of the hovering gunships pitched away with a moan, smoke billowing from its side. A blue form swung low over the rooftops, before wheeling away to the left as the other gunship spun on a dime and sent a burst of fire at it.

"I'll draw them off!" Cat's voice announced, from overhead. "Do whatever you need to, Alpha, but do it quick!"

"You heard her!" Tyco roared. "She draws the gunships off, we go after Creed and Drake!"

"Are you _mad?_" Andersen cried, taking up the argument once again. "A shuttle won't last against those gunships - we need to leave while we've still got an evac bird!"

"I am _not _letting them get away!"

There was a tense silence, and even Rilum seemed unable - or unwilling - to break the deadlock, as the two friends glared at each other. Cash was torn. On the one hand, he wanted a shot at Creed. Had done ever since Korlus. But on the other… he was very aware of Red's battered form a few feet behind him. Finally, he made up his mind.

"Too late, Tyco!" he shouted, leaning over the edge of the balcony.

"_What?_"

"Shuttles took off sixty seconds ago!" Cash lied. "They're gone!"

"Damn it!" Tyco snapped, kicking out at the nearest edge of masonry and actually taking a _chunk _out of it.

"Time to go…" the sentinel concluded.

The bounty hunter gave a begrudging nod of agreement, but his face was still contorted slightly in his anger.

"Bravo, we're moving out!" Rilum called over the radio, making for the near side of the courtyard. "Pickup on rooftop, ASAP!"

"Might have to shake these guys first!" Cat replied - in the background, the shuttle's thrusters were _whining _with effort, and the rattle of a mass accelerator was audible. "Just hold tight, Alpha, we're on the way!"

Ethan glanced across at Andersen. Something in the engineer's hard stare told him he'd seen through the sentinel's bluff, but he didn't call him out. Instead, he held his tongue, and gave Cash a quick nod of appreciation, before setting off at a run after Rilum…


	427. Operation Ranger Part 6

_**Joughin West, Benning**_

_**Day 2, 2020**_

"Bogey on my six!" Cat was shouting, as Andersen and the rest of the team scrambled up onto the roof of the residential block. "Where's the other one?"

"Inbound on us!" Rilum barked, at the head of the squad. "Everyone, heads down!"

Andersen hurled himself into a combat role, diving aside as a stream of golden fire came down where he had been standing. The damaged gunship came lurching overhead, the searchlight on its nose _cutting _through the falling night.

_Bang. Bang. _Tyco put two rounds from his Widow at the gunship's helm, but they bounced away to no avail - no tricks like Noveria this time, shooting on the move and in the dark. The craft spun around, thrusters blaring, to hit their flank, and Andersen could _hear _the gun spooling up, before it poured forth-

Only to fall against a vivid blue barrier. Saffiya had stumbled to the middle of the squad, biotics pouring out of her arms, and her face was creasing with the effort. Nonetheless, it kept the gunship at bay for a few precious seconds, and that was all they needed:

_Whoosh! _A blue form shot past the gunship's tail, and its pursuer came barrelling past a moment later - their attacker had to swerve away to avoid colliding with his wingman.

"Shit, he's sticking close to our tail!" the pilot swore. "Crazy Ivan time!"

"Crazy _what _time?" Vimes cried.

Cat just laughed - rather manically, it had to be said - and there followed a loud yell from Vimes, as the shuttlecraft _pitched _over into a clumsy barrel roll, hovering low to the rooftops and spinning right over left, right over left-

Then she tugged the controls back the other way, to another yell. The craft spun on a lazy dime, veering up and to the right with a severity the engineer didn't realise a 'combat cockroach' could manage. The pursuing gunship, having swung left to follow, now swung right, overcorrected, and its underside skidded against the rooftop. It was only a brief contact, but it was enough - friction pitched the gunship to one side, rolling it into the rooftop and causing the left wing to _shear _away, taking the thruster with it. The gunship slid along on its side for a few moments more, then finally tumbled over the edge of the roof, disappearing into the street beyond.

"Ha!" Cat cheered. "Gotcha, you jumped up little-"

"Arness! Focus!" Rilum barked. "Need evac _now!_"

_Crack crack crack crack crack. _Andersen's head snapped around to the side as a fresh burst of fire came at them - the second gunship had returned, and was gunning for them once again. Andersen leapt back, away from the stream of shots, and Saffiya bounded past, persistent despite the weariness and pain that were evident on her face - she had a barrier up in a moment, deflecting the shots to left and right, but the effort drove her to her knees, before:

_Thunk, thunk, thunk. _Three square stings on the nose pushed the Cerberus gunship back, as Cat swung her shuttle in dangerously close, almost rammingthe lighter craft. She spun it around, but the gunship turned quicker, and opened up on her flank - a steady _crack crack crack _rang out as golden shots bounced off the bug's hull.

A second later, with a grunt of exertion over the radio, Arness swung the shuttle right, _actually _ramming the gunship this time. The two vessels collided with a loud crunch of steel, and the flimsier Cerberus craft went swinging off to one side. The shuttle turned to chase it, and:

_Thunk, thunk. _Another two shots, dealt right under the gunship's wing, producing a plume of smoke and flame which was tinged with eezo blue - the engineer could only guess Cat's shots had found the mass effect core. Either way, the gunship pitched over, with a _scream _from its thrusters, and disappeared below the roofline.

_Boom! _It erupted into a fireball in the street below, hurling up smoke and hot steel - the latter began to steam even in midair, as the rain fell against it.

"Skies are clear!" Cat cried, happily. "Coming in to land, get your arses aboard!"

"You heard her!" Rilum shouted. "Move!"

The salarian set off at a run for the edge of the rooftop, where the little blue shuttle was already touching down, and Tyco was close at his heel, slinging the Black Widow to his back once more. A little way behind, Cash was hovering at Zel's side - the turian was moving under her own steam, but her head was bowed and her movement was stumbling, causing the sentinel to hover anxiously at her side.

Andersen paused only to check on Saffiya. The asari was still beleaguered, and attempted to stumble to her feet, but she was clearly having trouble. On instinct, he hurried over and slid an arm under his old friend's shoulders, pulling her upright and off towards the shuttle. She gave no thanks, but nor did she protest, and he'd learned that was the best you could hope for with the justicar…

They were the last to reach the shuttle, and were practically _pulled _into the crew compartment by Sam and Kan - the latter promptly shut the door, before taking a quick headcount.

"Down one…" he murmured. "We're missing Arrete."

"Yes," Rilum muttered, sourly. "We are."

"Oh."

There was an awkward silence, before the quarian rapped his knuckles against the hull. Cat took the signal, and a moment later, the shuttle lurched up into the air with a drunken shudder. The thrusters were whining slightly, Andersen noticed - Cat had probably pushed them past the safe levels during in the dogfight. They rose for half a minute or so, pushing up into Benning's darkening sky, before the silence was broken.

"So, what now?" Tyco muttered. "We're goin' after them, right?"

"Tyco, we've got one dead and two in need of medical attention," Cash sighed, ignoring both Zel and Saffiya, who opened their mouths to protest, but were cut off: "We're going back to the Cambrai."

Andersen couldn't help but notice that Rilum was staying out of it. The salarian was sat in one corner, very quiet all of a sudden. He was taking his fellow's death quite hard, it seemed, and that was surprising in itself.

"They don't have to jump out and fight again," the bounty hunter argued. "The rest of us can go, then they fly back! Cat, can you track the shuttles?"

"What shuttles?" the pilot replied, and Andersen's stomach lurched. He exchanged a tense glance with Ethan, as Tyco's face grew stormy.

"You son of a bitch…" the sniper growled, after a moment.

"_I'm _the son of a bitch?" Cash laughed, derisively, pointing at Zel with a flush of anger in his cheeks. "You're the one who wanted to let her _die _so you could get a shot at Drake."

"I never said that."

"You meant it, though…"

"We _had _him."

"He put you on your ass, Tyco, and he ran. You'll get another shot."

"I'd better."

A pause, and a half-smile crossed Ethan's features, as his eyes narrowed.

"…is that a threat?"

"You're damn right it is," the hunter snarled. "You made me look like a fool."

"No, you did that," the sentinel retorted. "That shit back there? She'd be ashamed."

Quite suddenly, they were on their feet. Tyco barrelled at Cash, the other man rose to meet him, and only their squadmates' intervention stopped them coming to blows - Andersen sprung up, catching Tyco around the chest and getting elbow to the jaw in the process, as Vimes rose from his seat to block them too.

There was a moment's tense silence, as Kan too seemed to contemplate stepping in. Then, with an angry growl, Tyco shook himself free of Andersen's grip, and returned to his seat, still scowling at Cash. The sentinel gave a nod of thanks to Vimes and Andersen, and retreated to the far end of the compartment. He looked perturbed for a moment, but then he glanced at Zel, half-conscious in the seat next to him. That seemed to provide him some reassurance, and he met Tyco's glare rather firmly. Eventually, the bounty hunter's eyes fell, and he resorted to a close examination of his bunched-up fists as the shuttle lurched ever-higher into the night sky…


	428. Operation Ranger Debrief

_**SSV Cambrai, Arcturus Stream**_

_**Day 2, 2040**_

"Shit… we should have seen this coming," Murphy sighed. "It was always too good to be true, wasn't it? God-damn geth…"

"Not the geth's fault," Rilum murmured. "Ours."

"I know… just venting, Lynus."

Murphy had dismissed most of the crew the second they returned. Zel had been packed off to med bay for treatment, and Saffiya with her for a calorie replacement. Tyco had gone stalking off to the lower decks, and Andersen had disappeared back to engineering. Cash, he didn't know, although he suspected the sentinel had gone to check on his wounded squadmate. That just left Rilum - the salarian had given Murphy a quick debrief on the mission, and all that had transpired on Benning. It made for grim listening…

"All logical, in hindsight…" the salarian muttered. "Drake would have known data was there. Might have been a deliberate plant, lure us into a trap-"

"Or if it was a genuine meeting, they turned it _into _a trap once they realised we knew…" the captain nodded.

"Either way… should have realised sooner. Comrade… dead, because I didn't."

"It wasn't your fault, Lynus. No more than it was mine, or Andersen's. Or the geth's, for that matter. We all saw the data before you, and none of _us _picked up on it either… not your fault you didn't either."

"Thank you, captain. Struggle to believe that, though."

"I know you do. If you want to try the human solution… the training room's free, and you know where to find me."

"Hmm? Ah… reference to Korlus. Understand. Appreciate it, captain... unnecessary, though. Will inform STG of Arrete's loss, recommend… posthumous promotion. Owe him that. Might give me… catharsis."

Murphy just nodded, with a sad smile, and muttered: "Dismissed."

The salarian turned on his heel and strode out of the room with a distracted air, leaving Murphy alone in the war room. After a moment, however, and once he was quitesure Lynus was gone, he reached for the console on the war room table, and subtly switched the comms back _on_.

"Akito?" he called. "How long has the message been waiting?"

"Nine minutes, sir," the co-pilot replied.

"Patch it through."

"Aye aye."

There was a pause, and then a flicker at the end of the table, a shimmering hologram blooming into view.

"Creed," Murphy growled, turning to face it. "You look like shit."

The biotic just laughed. It was true - one of Creed's eyes was gone, replaced by a ruby-red cybernetic, and the left side of his face, surrounding it, was torn and mangled, a layer of cybernetics barely holding it together.

"Well…" Creed drawled, "that's what I get for letting you turn Reach. Unlike your men, he can shoot straight."

"My men can shoot well enough to kick your ass," the captain retorted. "I hear they sent you running like a little girl down there…"

"They never got a shot at me. They were too busy walking into my trap. Tell me - I know I got the salarian, but did the turian bleed out too?"

"No. Drake couldn't finish her."

"Ah well," the biotic shrugged. "Still got one."

"_One_," Murphy scowled. "Only one, from a team of ten that walked straight into your ambush."

Whatever response he'd been expecting - anger, annoyance, defeat - he didn't expect _laughter_, or the vicious smile that flickered over Creed's features.

"Oh, captain, am I rubbing off on you?" he crowed. "Not too long ago, that _one _would have torn you up…"

"It still does," the captain growled. "But I can at least take comfort in the fact that you're _slipping_."

Another savage laugh, which chilled him to his very bones, but beneath the laughter, a very hard expression had just flickered behind the other man's eyes.

"I'm just getting started," Creed hissed, cracking his knuckles as he did. "I'll be seeing you soon, Murphy."

With that, the channel cut out, and Murphy took a step back from the table, a sense of… _unease_ filling the pit of his stomach.

"Captain!" Akito's voice interjected, over the radio. "We've got a situation here!"

"What is it?" he snapped, panic rising in his chest.

"Contact just dropped onto our scope, near side of the planet! They're moving-"

_Bang._


	429. Operation Vendetta Briefing

**A/N: So, did my last exam today. Starting now, I've got four months free...**

**Second update coming later today. Y'know, because I'm in a good mood. Also, an announcement on a little project I've been working on. For now, enjoy!**

* * *

><p><em><strong>SSV Cambrai, Arcturus Stream<strong>_

_**Day 2, 2100**_

When Murphy regained consciousness, it was to a steel floor under his face, and a rather dark world around him. The war room had been plunged into darkness, lit only by the crimson emergency lighting and the flames pouring down from the ceiling.

"Argh…" he groaned, picking himself clumsily up to his feet. His head was splitting, and the smoke pooling on the floor had gathered thick in his lungs while he was out cold. He cleared his lungs with a few hacking coughs, then made for the door, wondering just what in the _hell _was happening - the intercom was dead, and as he neared the exit to the corridor-

_Bang. Bang. _Two shots, and muffled yelling from beyond the door. Murphy slid into the doorpost, hesitating a moment and drawing an omni-blade - just to be safe - before reaching for the lock.

The door slid open with a _hiss_, and he was presented with an odd sight - the backs of three armoured figures at the armoury entrance. Two regular troopers and a Centurion - he suppressed a growl at the sight of Cerberus colours aboard his ship.

"Get in there!" the Centurion was barking.

"What? You saw what it did to the others!"

"Just shut up and do it!"

The trooper grumbled, but stepped up nonetheless, opened the door, and-

_Bang. _He dropped dead, a single round smashing through his visor.

_Bang bang. _Two more shots, and the trooper next to him went down with a bloodied chest. The Centurion staggered cautiously back towards the war room door… and Murphy pounced.

With a yell of anger, he swung low with his omni-blade, slicing into the Centurion's lower back. He toppled backwards, hitting the floor with a thud, and fumbled with his rifle for a moment - the fuming Murphy just kicked it away, into the wall, and pushed the Cerberus officer's chin up with the tip of his blade, to look him in the eye… visor… whatever.

"Get the helloff my ship," he growled, after a moment, and with a quick _shing_, he carved through the man's throat, cutting him down.

"Captain," an even voice murmured, from inside the armoury. Murphy wheeled around, blade still drawn-

And suppressed a shudder of deep-ingrained fear at the sight of a geth with a gun. The synthetic was just inside the armoury door, a Mattock rifle smoking slightly in its arms.

"Alright, geth, I've got two questions," Murphy rumbled, storming into the armoury. "One, what's going on? And two, seriously, what the _fuck _is going on?"

"That is not a second query, captain. That is merely a repetition of the same query with… expletives."

He scowled at the metal know-it-all.

"What's happening?" he asked again.

"We are being boarded."

"_What?_"

"According to communication logs, a hostile contact deactivated stealth systems and emerged from the shadow side of the planet Benning sixteen point five minutes ago. The vessel's IFF reads 'Vendetta' - it opened fire on the Cambrai, before engaging a tractor beam, and proceeding to board."

"Wait, wait…" Murphy back-tracked. "Fifteen minutes ago?"

"Sixteen point five. Now… seventeen."

"Akito was calling the contact… thirty seconds ago."

"You were incapacitated, captain. Some time has passed. Sixteen point five minutes, in fact."

"Incapacitated _by what?_" the captain growled.

"Readouts suggest the heat exchanger over the war room was destroyed by mass accelerator fire. The resulting explosion had rendered you unconscious by the time I found you."

"You found me? And you… _left me_ unconscious on the floor?"

"I am not a medical unit, captain. I was unable to revive you. Your safety was best assured by a… distraction."

The geth glanced around as if to illustrate his point, and for the first time, Murphy noticed the four troopers littered across the armour floor, all shot dead like the ones outside. Bloody effective _distraction_, it had to be said…

"You could have at least turned me over," he grumbled. "You know, so I wasn't _breathing smoke_…"

"This consideration did not occur to me. Geth do not have respiratory systems."

"Of course you don't… what's the situation on the ship? Where are these guys _coming from?_"

"I have identified two access points. The initial attack came from the port-side airlock. Enemy organics boarded, and swept down to the lower decks. Shuttles have also attempted to enter via the hangar, but the crew are repelling them. Sensors indicate quite an intense firefight."

"They can take care of themselves," Murphy nodded, pacing over to one of the weapon lockers on the far wall. "Deck crew… not so much. Can you seal off the airlock?"

"Temporarily. But a local hack would be required to prohibit further boarding efforts."

"Is the helm secure?"

"Uncertain. Cerberus destroyed cameras in that section when they boarded. But, given its proximity to the point of entry…"

"I'll check it out," the captain muttered, grabbing a Carnifex and sliding it into the belt of his crew fatigues. "You keep the airlock locked down for as long as you can, I'll seal it properly once I can reach it."

"Captain, all simulations recommend organics wear armour into live-fire confrontations," the geth put in. "There are several pieces in this armoury you could-"

"No time," Murphy grunted, pulling an Avenger out of the locker and sliding a live mag into it.

"Standard Alliance crew uniforms are insufficient for stopping any calibre of projectile."

"Then I won't get shot. Now, listen up."

"Captain?"

"I need you to scan the whole ship. If any of the crew are hiding in rooms Cerberus _hasn't _breached yet, I want you to override the door controls and seal them in. That should buy them some time. Also, keep an eye on the cameras where you can - if I'm walking into a large squad, _tell me_."

"Affirmative. Good luck, captain."

"Don't need luck," he scowled, moving to the door. "I'm pissed off. That's better…"


	430. Operation Vendetta Part 1

**A/N: Right, second update coming up, but before that, as promised, news.**

**I've set up a forum for discussion of Galaxy at War and related projects - works by authors featuring OCs who also featured in Galaxy at War (I've plugged several in the past, and will keep doing so as long as they write the things), my own upcoming projects both during and after GaW... It's pretty empty right now, so I need you guys to fill it. Feel free to address Q&A at me - that way, if it's a common question, I can refer people to the forum instead of answering the same question a dozen times - and start up threads of your own. Character discussion, what ifs, even plot speculation (but as always, I'm not going to confirm or deny). The only rule is to keep it clean - forums have to adhere to a 'Teen' rating by FanFiction's rules, and as admin, I'm responsible for the lot of you, so do me a favour and don't make me start deleting stuff to avoid warnings.  
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**I'll be honest, the forum's real use won't come into play until Galaxy at War finishes. I'm planning to use it to keep you all updated on future GaW-related stories - yes, there will be some! - so if as many of you could Follow it now as possible, that's a big help down the line, especially as the forums, for whatever reason, are _not_ accessible from the admin's profile - you can't find it through me, so go to the following link and hit 'Follow Forum' at the top of the page if you want to stay in the loop:**

**Because I can't post links in a story, it's fanfiction's homepage address/ all of this: forum/Galaxy-at-War-N7-Discussion-Forum/135472/**

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><p><em><strong>SSV Cambrai, Arcturus Stream<strong>_

_**Day 2, 2105**_

As he ducked through the armoury door into the CIC, shutting it behind himself, Murphy suppressed a groan. Cerberus had carved through the deck as they emerged from the airlock, and the result was devastation, pure and simple. At least half the flight crew's terminals had been shot out, the galaxy map was sparking, and there were… bodies, quite a few of them. Two nav crew dead on the near side of the room, another by the far wall, a pair of crewmen dead at the airlock where they'd tried to hold the boarders off. Hurrying over to the door of the science lab, Murphy had to try _very _hard to ignore the yeoman, slumped against her terminal…

_Hiss. _The lab door came open at his touch, and he stepped inside. It was empty, but it had been ransacked, just like the CIC. Test tubes and microscopes lay smashed across the floor, and the computer in the far corner was dim, crackling forlornly, having taken a round of buckshot. The door through to the adjacent corridor had been wrenched open, giving Murphy a view of the armoury and war room once again.

One setup in particular had been examined thoroughly before being wrecked - a couple of datapads had been smashed on the floor, and the contents of a small phial dashed across the table. Resting underneath the table, however, amidst the rest of the detritus, were two unbroken cylinders. Thermal clips, with a ring of blue hazard tape… Murphy allowed himself a grim smile as he picked them up and slid into his belt. Lynus had been holding out on him - Omega-Enkaphalin, replicated already? If he knew the salarian, he'd been waiting to perfect the process, instead of telling the captain about his first success.

His attention was drawn away from that discovery, however, by a dull rumble and a _ding _in the CIC outside. The elevator had just risen up to the deck, and he heard solid, metal boots go marching off across the deck.

"Isn't he done yet?" a gruff voice muttered, as Murphy slid to the open laboratory door. Whoever he was, he was speaking through a thick breather, causing his voice to ripple and flange like a turian's.

Two troopers were striding down the side of the CIC, weapons held lazily at their side. He couldn't help but notice the streaks of blood on their armour, and felt a little bubble of anger rise in his gut.

"Oi!" one of them shouted, as they stepped up into the corridor that led to the helm. "What's taking so long?"

"These things take time…" an unseen voice replied. "Something keeps modifying the firewalls."

"AI?" the trooper guessed.

"Could be. Blueprints said the AI core on these ships is behind the med bay."

"Check it out."

There was apparently a nod, out of Murphy's sight, because a moment later, one of the troopers returned to the CIC, leaving his fellow and the other man behind. Huddled behind one of the nav consoles, Murphy watched the man come within mere _feet _of him, before striding off toward the elevator.

He rose with a purpose, and made to follow, triggering the cloak program on his omni-tool and sliding out an omni-blade at the same time, stowing his rifle. Quick, fleet steps carried him up to the trooper's back, and as the Cerberus soldier turned the corner, moving past the yeoman's console, Murphy struck. The captain rose up, latched his free arm around the trooper's throat, and drove his omni-blade through his back. He yanked it out, drove it again, then out, and in a third time, making sure the bastard was _quite_ dead before he threw him to the floor.

Glancing up, he found no opponents rushing in to accost him, and heard no shouts of reprisal. The two men still stood up by the helm were completely unaware of their fellow's death.

Slinging his rifle into his arms now, Murphy slunk across the CIC, moving quietly until he was at the threshold of the corridor leading off to the cockpit. Glancing along it, he saw the two figures. The trooper was stood back a bit, rifle in hand, watching the other man work - a combat engineer, all in black, currently hacking at the door to the helm with his omni-tool, trying to _scorch _his way through it. If they hadn't breached the cockpit yet… that was a good sign. It meant at least two of the crew were still alive…

Glancing at the airlock - it was shut - Murphy crept out around the corner, pulling his rifle into his shoulder and aiming it squarely at the trooper's back. He got as near as he dared without being detected, and then:

_Crack crack crack, crack crack crack, crack crack crack! _

The first spray of fire caught the trooper in the back, punching through his armour and causing him to yell out. He wheeled around, just in time to take the second burst through his gut - he stumbled back, hit the wall with a grunt, and the third round of shots tore into his chest. He shook and quivered with each impact, before finally slumping dead to the floor.

The engineer gave a panicked yell, and twisted around, hurling a fireball at Murphy from his omni-tool, but the captain sidestepped it easily, brought his rifle up again, and put two quick shots - _crack crack _- through the man's arm, crippling it. He closed the gap in seconds, gripped his rifle tightly, and:

_Thud. _He drove the stock hardinto the engineer's gut, doubling him over. A second swing cracked his jaw, and as the man recoiled, Murphy tossed his rifle to the floor and drew his omni-blade for the third time.

The Cerberus man gave a little _yelp _as Murphy drove it through his heart, noting the crimson blood that spattered over his arm as he did. He yanked the blade back out, and tossed the man contemptuously to the floor, before recovering his rifle and pacing to the airlock.

A quick tap at the console by the door, and an electronic voice announced:

"Lockdown initiated. Airlock sealed."

Pacing back to the helm door now, Murphy rapped his knuckles against it, and shouted:

"Erika! Akito! It's Murphy! Open up!"

_Hiss_. The door came apart a moment later, to present… a pistol, clutched tightly in Akito's fist and pointing squarely between the captain's eyes. It dropped in an instant, however, and the co-pilot's face _creased _with relief at the sight of Murphy.

"Really? You just open the door because I asked?" the captain frowned. Akito just rolled his eyes.

"Thought you were out of it, sir," he sighed.

"I got better. You two alright?"

"Yeah. We locked ourselves in when they got through the airlock. It… sounded bad out there."

"It is," he grimaced. "Creed's gonna pay for this. Can we make a run for it if we have to, now you two are safe?"

"Err… no," Erika replied - she was behind Akito, also clutching a pistol. "We can power up the thrusters from here, _tear _the docking tube out with our momentum, but we'd be at point-blank range for at least twenty seconds, and that cruiser's got some serious firepower."

"Jump to FTL, then."

"I… would, but I'd need engineering to power up the eezo core…"

"And they haven't checked in since Cerberus boarded," Akito concluded. "Might not even have been anyone down there - Andersen and Rilum only just got back, deck was probably abandoned."

"No, they were both heading that way…" Murphy sighed. In a way, that made it worse. "Are the comms jammed, or silent?"

"Could be either."

"Then sod it, I'm going down there. Can you two hold the fort up here?"

"We'll seal the door behind you," the co-pilot nodded.

"Alright. If they're close to hacking through, the geth's in the armoury - call, and he'll come running."

"Aye aye, sir," Erika saluted. "Give 'em hell."


	431. Operation Vendetta Part 2

_**SSV Cambrai, Arcturus Stream**_

_**Day 2, 2115**_

"Deck Three - Crew Amenities," the cool, VI voice announced. Murphy frowned. He'd pressed the button for Deck Four, which meant…

Ah, shit. Cerberus had called it. He braced his rifle, glanced at the readout - nineteen rounds left in the clip - and then:

_Crack crack crack! _He decapitated one of the two waiting troopers the moment the doors opened, knocking him to the floor with half his head missing. The other one scrambled to raise his gun, but Murphy was quicker - _crack crack_, and he fell dying, gargling through a shot throat. The captain was about to press the buttons again, and be on his way down to engineering, when a synthetic voice blossomed in his ear, quite distinct from that of the lady in the lift:

"Captain. We have detected a large group of Cerberus troops engaged in a firefight near your location."

"Where?"

"The medical bay. We believe they are trying to neutralise a non-existent AI unit. It is… illogical. There is an AI right here."

"They're working off the Normandy plans," Murphy explained, remembering the troopers' conversation up in the CIC. "They think we're identical, and the Normandy has a ship-board AI - stowed behind the med bay, apparently, although God only knows why. I'll deal with them - thanks for warning me."

"You… asked me to," the geth replied, bemused.

Murphy didn't say anything more - he was already heading for the corner where corridor met mess hall. Shots were indeed ringing out from the direction of the med bay, and he did a quick mental run-down of who would be in there. Ria and Alicia, obviously - capable, but neither of them soldiers. The wounded Zel and exhausted Saffiya, both rather useless in their current state… and Cash, if he was still lingering. That was one marine, at least.

Glancing around the corner, however, he was surprised to see _two_. The med bay door was locked, but the window had been shot through, and Ethan Cash was indeed crouched within, fending off the mob outside with his rifle, biotic barriers swelling around him - that was the work of Dr O'Leiph, tucked into the window frame even as she supplied her biotics to the effort. The _surprising _figure, however, was that of Victor Cross, kneeling next to him. Where Cash had stripped off most of his armour on returning from Benning, Victor was in full regalia, as always - shots were _bouncing _off the black plates of his armour, and he was giving as good as he got, a batarian harpoon gun in one hand and a pistol in the other.

However valiant the effort, though, the two were outnumbered. There were at least half a dozen troopers occupying the mess hall, all of them dug in - three were sheltering behind the table, now overturned to act as a barricade, another two were crouching behind the bar, and a final shooter was huddled just inside the corridor that led up to the gunnery deck, hitting the flank. All of them were pouring shots at the defenders, and adding in the three Cerberus men already lying dead on the floor, it must have been a _vicious _attack.

The captain brought up his rifle, preparing to spring around the corner and hit the Cerberus force's flank, but before he could:

_Hiss. _The door to the crew quarters slid open behind him, and a pair of boots took a single step into the corridor before jumping back in alarm.

"Freeze!" a voice barked, close nearby, and looking over his shoulder, he saw a white-and-black rifle pointing between his shoulder blades, the trooper holding it having just emerged from the bunks.

Slowly, and not pausing to wonder why the trooper hadn't just shot him, he dropped his rifle to the floor, cursing under his breath.

"And the pistol…" the trooper grunted. Murphy scowled - not that the man could see - and his hand went down towards his waist…

_Clang._

It stopped, half-way to the pistol's handle.

_Clang._

"What the…?" his opponent frowned, turning to follow the noise - it was echoing through from the observation deck, but the door between them and it was securely locked. The geth's work, presumably…

_Clang_.

The noise rang out again, and now both Murphy and the trooper were staring dumbly at the door, as-

_Wham!_

"Raargh!"

The door flew open, _ripped _apart from the inside, and a very big, very red form came hurtling through the breach, roaring bellicosely. Murphy hurled himself to the floor, and his would-be captor paused, torn between shooting the captain, and shooting the… whatever it was.

He never got the chance to decide - before he could make his mind up, Yui slammed into him, propelling him off his feet with momentum alone. A massive, armoured hand grabbing him by the head in midair and _smashed _his skull into the nearest bare stretch of wall. It was a brutal death, and the krogan threw his victim down a second later, heaving with pent-up fury.

"Murphy," he nodded, turning around.

"I… what were you doing in the observation deck?" the captain asked, breathlessly - it was the first thing that came to mind.

"…stuff."

"Well, alright then. Lead on."

The krogan cracked a grin, stooped to pick up the fallen trooper's rifle, then set off at a run around the corner. Murphy followed, grabbing his rifle from where it had fallen, but to be honest, he was quite superfluous to the rescue effort. As he turned the corner into the med bay, Yui was already rushing in, to the surprise of both sides. With a furious krogan war cry, he took hold of the mess hall table Cerberus was using as a barricade, and _rocked _it over, dropping it on top of the three troopers behind to a chorus of screams and crunching bones. A second later, he tossed aside his stolen rifle - it seemed rather unnecessary, all things considered - and charged at the bar.

Murphy just left him to it. He took aim at the trooper in the corridor, who Yui had missed, and shot him dead with three to the gut as he tried to hit the krogan's back. Then, the captain turned, in time to see Yui _hurl _himself over the counter at the two men beyond. One of them yelled out as he took the full weight of the falling krogan, and was promptly _crushed _into the cabinet behind, to a cacophony of breaking bottles and splashing spirits. The other trooper pulled out a stun baton, and as Yui clambered to his feet, he brought it crashing down against the soft flesh of the krogan's neck.

"Heh. That tickles…" Yui growled. Then, he grabbed at the man, snapping the baton and crushing the hand holding it with one firm squeeze. The trooper screamed, and the krogan launched him up into the air, over the bar - he thudded down on the far side, limp and moaning, in full view of everyone.

_Crack crack crack crack crack… _Ethan and Victor took their frustrations out on the downed trooper, and promptly riddled him with bullets, much to Yui's amusement. At long last, their rifles fell quiet, and a still silence passed over the deck.

"That was fun…" the big warrior rumbled, stepping out from around the bar and rather deliberately treading on the dead man's legs - they _snapped _loudly.

"Only a krogan…" Ria sighed, from the med bay.

"Is everyone alright?" Murphy called, advancing himself as he snapped out of his reverie.

"Fine," the doctor nodded. "They only arrived a few minutes ago, we haven't been fighting long."

"Zel and Saffiya?" he enquired.

"In the surgical theatre. We put them in there to keep them out of the crossfire. They didn't like it, but it worked…"

"Go see to them, make sure they're okay. Ethan, Victor!"

"Sir?" the sentinel replied. His renegade fellow just turned to look at Murphy, eyes invisible beneath the fearsome visage of his helmet.

"Stay with them. Cerberus might make another push."

"We'll keep 'em out," Cash nodded. "What about you, sir?"

"I'm going down to engineering. Yui, you're with me!"

"Goodie…" the krogan growled, punching his fists together.

"And if I don't come back…" Murphy began, turning to the two men in the med bay once more, "…it was probably his fault."

"Heh."


	432. Operation Vendetta Part 3

_**SSV Cambrai, Arcturus Stream**_

_**Day 2, 2125**_

"Hold the line! Keep the flanks secure!"

_Crack crack crack_.

Kamur punctuated his yells by scattering fire at an oncoming trooper, forcing the bold man to stumble back behind the nearest cargo crate for cover. He had gained a good six feet on the turian's holdout, though, and was pushing on the left with several of his fellows.

The hastatim quickly twisted to right, glancing around the other corner, and swore under his breath. The centre was holding, but the right flank was curling in, almost past the shuttles. As much as he loved the Cambrai and her crew, he would have given his left leg for a turian platoon right now. A turian platoon would have been far more _disciplined _than this band of irregulars. But then, a turian platoon was made up almost entirely of trained riflemen. The only other men with such training here were Irving and Alec, who were almost single-handedly holding the centre under a mess of enemy fire. The others were all snipers or biotics - useful for suppressing fire and barriers, but not so much for a straight-up fire fight - and even the few rifles among them were… well, _a vorcha , a krogan and a batarian_. Lisk and Vor were just… nuts, and while Dax had some semblance of discipline now, Kamur suspected it would only last as long as his patience did. A red haze was already peeking into the corner of the krogan's eye, and if he raged, there was no guarantee he wouldn't carve back through _their _lines, causing even more damage than Cerberus.

Speaking of Cerberus, they were pushing hard now, from two shuttles at the far end of the hangar. They had caught the N7s by surprise, tearing open the hangar bay doors with their cannons - it was a small mercy the atmospheric shields hadn't broken too - and had proceeded to land two chalks of troopers. The crew had grabbed what weapons they could find, but they were woefully unequipped - many of them had been caught out of their armour, with very little ammo to hand - and to make matters worse, a large chunk of their force was missing. Both of their engineers, Andersen and Rilum, were somewhere on the upper decks. So was the only sentinel, Ethan, who might have covered the tech gap they left. Yui was strangely absent too, while Murphy and the geth had no reason to be in the bunk area to begin with. Saffiya and Zel were in med bay, and Kamur, suspecting an attack from the upper airlock as well as the hangar, had dispatched Victor to go and defend them. He was regretting his choice of defender now - Cross would have added another steady rifle to the battle line. With so many gone, the turian had marshalled the rest into some kind of fighting force, placing the half-dozen rifles on the front line - himself and Lisk on the left, Irving and Alec in the centre, Dax and Vor on the right - with the armoured snipers and biotics in a second line behind, and those out of their armour in the third, with orders to run and grab gear if they saw an opening.

_Bang! _A shotgun round bit into the side of the cargo crate Kamur and Lisk were using for cover, as one of the advancing troopers came at them with a Talon pistol. At the turian's side, Lisk _hissed _violently, and went for his belt.

"Got him!" he snarled, pulling out a grenade and hauling his arm back.

"No!" Kamur barked, grabbing the vorcha's forearm in alarm. Lisk turned to him, growling, but he kept his grip and snapped: "He's by the fuel line! One foot to the side and you blow the whole rig!"

Comprehension seemed to dawn on Lisk, and he quickly stowed the grenade, much to the turian's relief. The shuttles were behind them, but the refuelling line started up ahead - light it, and the chain reaction could blow both shuttles. Given both the Arness sisters and several of their comrades were using the shuttle compartments for cover, that would be… _bad_.

_Bang! _The trooper was even closer now, and Kamur felt a slight scratch as some of the Talon's buckshot skidded over his brow. The Cerberus man crossed around the corner, taking aim at the two of them, and:

_Bang. _His head exploded quite unexpectedly. On the edge of the second line, leaning out from behind a cargo crate, Kan'Sura's rifle was still smoking slightly in his arms. Kamur nodded once at the quarian, he nodded back, and then they were back to it.

"Shit!" someone swore. Kamur's senses broke it down in moments. Female, so not one of the gunners on the front rank. Wrong accent for one of the Arness sisters. That meant Araya, or Liselle.

It was both, in a manner of speaking. The shout had come from Liselle, who was diving back from the second line to reach Araya on the third - the vanguard, who was out of her armour, had been caught under the ribs by a stray shot… or a very well-placed one. As she slid to the deck, the asari was already bounding down next to her and going for a dose of medi-gel.

"Get her to the back!" Kamur roared, pointing into the very furthest corner of the hangar, behind a large tower of crates. If his suspicions were right, it wouldn't be safe to send her to the med bay, but they had to get her out of the firing line…

_Shing._

He coughed a little, as a rather strange and sudden sensation filled his senses - that of a blade sinking into his flank. Lisk looked equally stunned, as the two of them turned to see a Phantom appearing of nowhere between them. Her sword was still embedded in the turian's side, pinning it to the crate behind, as she went for the vorcha with her other hand, the disruptor.

The vorcha, however, was a step ahead. Somehow. With an angry snarl, he grabbed the Phantom's free hand and _slammed _it into the steel side of the crate. Her knuckles smashed loudly and rather painfully, and then, Lisk was pouncing on her. The slender hand around the sword in Kamur's gut fell away, but the blade remained, stuck fast in both the turian and his cover, as they tumbled to the floor, rolled over, struggled…

And flew apart, the Phantom landing a heavy kick to Lisk's midriff. He was launched away with a yowl, but as the Cerberus agent staggered back, Kamur noted the heavy gouge-marks in her mask and armour - the vorcha's claws had cut deep. She wheeled around, and took a step back towards him-

Then halted. Shuddered. Fell to her knees.

In what felt like a stroke of karma, the steel tip of a sword came protruding from the Phantom's chest, as Mac'Tir appeared out of nowhere behind her. He yanked it out a moment later, ducking under a burst of fire and rolling down behind the crate before proceeding to wipe the blood away.

"Are you alright, turian?" he murmured.

"Fine," Kamur grunted. "Considering she had the drop on us, she did a _brilliant _job of missing all my organs."

With a slight twist of his midriff, he snapped the blade in two, leaving half of it embedded in the crate, before reaching down and tugging the rest out of his side. It had stabbed clean through his flank, producing a good amount of blood, but the blow was glancing, just an inch in from the side of his body and failing to fall over anything of importance.

_Whump. _The drell swung out around the left side of the crate, delivering a biotic fist to a trooper who had been following the Phantom up and killing him instantly, before recoiling from the mess of shots that came at him in retaliation.

"The line will not hold much longer…" he murmured, with surprising calm.

"It'll hold as long as it has to," Kamur retorted, slapping a dose of medi-gel messily over his wound. "Turians don't retreat."

"And _they _aren't turians," Mac'Tir pointed out, his voice patient but stern. "They-"

"Grenade!" someone yelled in warning - Ekris?

Whoever it was, Kamur didn't reply. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw the little steel cylinder bounce off the wall to his right, behind Mac'Tir's back, and his instincts took over. He swung out an arm, catching the drell under his and _leaping _backwards, carrying them both into the air.

_Boom! _The grenade went off a second later, a wave of fire catching them in their backs and adding a couple of feet to their trajectory. They hit the floor a moment later, with a painful thud, as a gulp of smoke filled the turian's lungs.

He coughed and spluttered until it cleared, and quite suddenly - as soon as his instincts stopped screaming at him to get down - his logic began to work at way at that particular phenomenon, until… _shit_.

Firebomb. His earlier warning to the vorcha came drifting back, and he rolled onto his side to yell:

"Everybody out of the shuttles, _now! _They're going to blow!"

"They're _what?_" Thorne's voice answered, but before Kamur could repeat himself, the biotic seemed to come to his own realisation, and snapped: "Ah, shit! Move, girl, move!"

He _exploded _out of the nearest shuttle a moment later, hurling off a biotic barrage to keep any opportunists at bay, but as Cat hopped out behind him-

_Boom! _The shuttle _rocked _on its maintenance frame, the fuel line under the deck producing a wall of flame as it went up. Arness took the brunt of the blast, and she was hurled into the air, crashing down just behind Thorne's heels. Amidst the general din of the battle, Kamur's sharp senses heard two noises in response - a sharp cry of panic from Wendy, who was darting out of the other shuttle with Sam Vimes at her side, and a rumble of fury from Thorne, who had been knocked onto one knee by the shockwave from the explosion. He lumbered forward, biotic fire rising around his forearms, but Kamur halted him with an outstretched palm.

"Get her out of the firing line!" the turian barked, nodding to Cat. Thorne grumbled slightly, but fell back nonetheless, summoning up a barrier in one hand as he slid the other under Cat's shoulders, and began to drag her back across the bay.

Kamur, for his part, turned to the drell lying next to him. Mac'Tir was down on his front, clutching his chest in pain and coughing through the smoke which had just fallen over them anew, now coming the shuttle rig and tinged with the bitter taste of fuel.

"You're hurt," he muttered, shortly.

"I'm fine-"

"Bullshit. Stay down."

Mac'Tir nodded meekly, and rolled onto his side, covering his mouth against the worst of the smoke.

"Left flank's broken!" Irving bellowed, from somewhere nearby. "Carter, plug the gap, I'll hold here! You too, vorcha!"

Lisk and Alec came stumbling out of the firefight, the latter pausing quickly to check on Kamur and Mac'Tir before they both went to take up the position the turian and the drell had been holding. As they did, someone else was shouting from the back of the hangar.

"I count eight hostiles!" the voice - he now recognised it as Vimes' - was informing the gunnery chief. "If we hold, they'll just bring in reinforcements. We need to charge!"

"He's right!" Kamur roared, dragging himself up behind the makeshift barricade in the middle of the room. "Wounded to the back, rifles to the front! Charge on my order!"

He shifted his rifle, going to reload, but as he did, he noticed a pair of black eyes looking sceptically up at him.

"What?" he frowned.

"I believe your words were 'wounded to the back'," Mac'Tir said, drily, nodding to the hastatim's still-bleeding flank.

"I also said 'turians don't retreat'," Kamur growled. "I survived Menae - it'll take more than some human with a letter-opener to stop me now."

"If you say so…" the drell muttered, before descending into a bout of coughs and splutters as the smoke took hold of his lungs again. He was really struggling with it, the turian noted…

"Scratch another hostile," Alec interjected, from the flank. "The vorcha got one."

"Bang bang!" Lisk cried, happily.

"Seven hostiles…" Vimes murmured. Then, he dragged up his rifle, and fired. "Make that six…"

"Everybody ready?" Kamur called, to his front line. "We charge out, put them on the back foot-"

"Then kick 'em the hell off our ship," Irving nodded, with a grim smile. "Bout damn time."

"On three. One, two…"

"Raargh!"

_Damn krogan._

"Charge!" the turian roared, more than a little exasperated as Dax jumped the gun and went rushing off early. A turian would _not _have done that, one half of his brain noted.

Then again, the other half argued, a turian wouldn't have been so damned effective a distraction. Every one of the remaining Cerberus troopers turned to fire at him, a mess of buckshot and rifle rounds filling the air, but they bounced harmlessly off the krogan's armour for the most part. Even those that struck home only seemed to spur him on. He went straight for the biggest opponent he could find, a bulky Centurion, and _lunged _at him, catching his unfortunate foe around the midriff and ploughing him into the deck.

As the Centurion went down screaming, ribs _crunch_ing under Dax's shoulder guard, his fellows suddenly became aware of the five other soldiers charging in behind the krogan. Off to the left, one of them went down under a hail of fire from Alec and Lisk combined, while the one furthest to the right bought a harpoon through the skull courtesy of Vor.

Three left. Irving and Kamur were side by side, ducking slightly as the three turned to fire on them. A moment later, however, they were being scattered back by a _wave _of biotics - Kamur would later learn Ekris had hurled a shockwave at them - which knocked two the ground and staggered the third. Irving tackled the one man standing around the waist, dragging him down and going for a combat knife, which left Kamur to deal with the two grounded men. No close-combat _flash _this time - he simply drew his rifle, and shot them both. _Crack crack, crack crack._

For the first time since the attack began, the hangar fell quiet. All the turian could hear was the sound of his own heavy breathing, the crackle of fire from the burning shuttle, and the slight _shing _as Irving yanked his knife back out of his opponent's neck.

"Everybody fall back!" he called out finally, turian instincts taking over. "Liselle, Thorne, make sure the wounded are alright, and get them out of the firing line! Rest of you, grab gear and ammo, then shore up the barricades! More of them'll be on the way, so move it, people!"


	433. Operation Vendetta Part 4

_**SSV Cambrai, Arcturus Stream**_

_**Day 2, 2130**_

"You sure you don't want a gun?" Murphy frowned.

"Oh, I'm sure," Yui nodded, grinning toothily and pounding his fist into his palm.

"Fair enough."

_Ding. _

"Deck Four - Engineering and Cargo."

_Hiss_. The elevator doors slid open to reveal an empty corridor. No troopers to left or right, Murphy confirmed, glancing out around either corner. The windows on the far side, overlooking the hangar, showed a busy scene below as the bulk of the crew scrambled to ready another defence, but he was too busy to notice. Instead, he swept to one end of the corridor, pointing to the other and yelling to Yui:

"Make sure there's no-one in the training room!"

As the krogan nodded and ran off to check, Murphy reached the door to the cargo bay. It was hanging open, and the hold beyond had been… well, turned upside down. No troopers left, but every cargo crate had been moved or upturned, the security camera in the far corner had been shot out, and the geth's stasis pod was on its side, leaking cryo fluid onto the floor in an icy puddle.

"Nothing in there," he called, backing out into the corridor.

"Nothing here either," Yui rumbled, emerging from the training room. "But the training mechs are gone…"

"We'll deal with that later," Murphy muttered, joining him beside the door to engineering proper. "Come on."

The krogan nodded, and thumped the door lock with a big hand. It chimed, spun once, glowed green, and:

_Hiss_. The door to the hallway came open, but no shots rushed out to greet them.

"Clear," the captain announced, glancing round the corner. "Just bodies."

"_Lot _of bodies," Yui grunted.

He had a point. The little corridor contained at least half a dozen dead Cerberus troopers, including a couple of big guys, Centurions. They bore various injuries - burns, broken limbs, bullet wounds - and scattered amongst them were the white training droids, now limp.

"Somebody hacked them to fight Cerberus…" Murphy realised, spying the hefty shock baton one of them was still clutching. "That's got to be Andersen."

"Or the pyjak," his companion muttered, over his shoulder - he was currently examining a Cerberus trooper who was doubled over the railing of the subdeck stairwell. Finally, with a grunt of amusement, he gave the man a _shove_, and he pitched over the rail, crunching down onto the stairs below.

"Either way, we need to get to them-"

_Bang bang_.

Two shots, muffled. Coming from the main engineering deck. Murphy pushed his sniper's instincts down a moment, and made for the door, beckoning hastily for Yui to follow. He slammed the lock, paused a beat to let the door open…

And looked at the scene beyond in astonishment as it finally fell away. Cerberus troops were piled high across the deck, at least ten of them lying dead, and half a dozen more were still pushing up towards the little corridor that led to the drive core. Two Guardians were in the lead, with a cluster of troopers behind them, and at the back, an engineer working frantically at a kinetic barrier which was covering the corridor.

Behind the barrier, their engineers were in a bad way. Rilum was on the floor, propped up by the rail at the side of the walkway, with his Locust in one hand and the other clutching his bloody midriff. Andersen was on the opposite side, leaning heavily against the wall as he worked away with his omni-tool - clearly, he was the one producing the barrier.

"Got it!" the Cerberus engineer cried, happily, and in slow motion, Murphy saw the shield _collapse_, causing a burst of sparks to explode out of Andersen's omni-tool. He tumbled back, hitting the railing and dropping to the floor, even as his salarian colleague opened up on their attackers, spraying SMG fire across the Guardians' shields.

_Bang. _One of said Guardians fired off a shotgun round, catching Rilum in the arm and causing him to grunt in pain.

"Engage!" Murphy hollered, and at his side, Yui gave a furious war cry before rushing in. The Cerberus troops didn't seem to notice for a moment, and Murphy had time to raise his rifle to the back of the mob:

_Crack crack. _He knocked the victorious combat engineer to the floor, shields failing.

_Crack crack. _One of the troopers in front of him went down, arms flailing as two shots bit into his back.

_Crack crack crack. _A second fell, taking two to the chest and one to the head - the latter produced a rather satisfying spray of blood.

Before Murphy could fire again, Yui was in the midst of the Cerberus squad, roaring and swinging his fists. He _stamped _down on the grounded engineer, crushing the man's chest with his steel foot and using him as a springboard to dive at the one remaining trooper, who he levelled with a tremendous right hook that actually _shattered _the man's visor.

Despite the grim situation, the captain allowed himself a smirk as he saw Yui fall on the two Guardians. They were both still gunning for the wounded engineers, and were quite clueless as the krogan reached down for one of them, grabbed his helmeted head in one great hand, and-

_Snap. _In one swift motion, Yui broke his neck. Murphy half expected the krogan to pull his head clean off, but he just threw the corpse down and went for the other Guardian, who twisted around in surprise and put a Talon round into the krogan's gut.

Too late. The buckshot just ricocheted off Yui's armour, and a moment later, the big krogan had ripped away his opponents shield, shifting it into one hand to _swing _like a weapon.

_Wham. _He hit out at the Guardian's gun hand, knocking his Talon away across the deck. The Cerberus man staggered back, the krogan lumbered forward-

_Crunch. Crunch, crunch, crunch. _Growling furiously, Yui slammed the trooper's own shield into him again and again and again, crushing him against the wall with each blow. When he finally relented, heaving with anger, the Guardian shuddered once, and slid down to the base of the wall, dead.

"Brutal," Rilum observed. "Still…" - he coughed - "can't say I disapprove."

"Are you two alright?" Murphy asked, hesitantly.

"I'm fine," Andersen muttered, unconvincingly, dragging himself upright against the railing. "But Lynus might need some attention."

"Took a few hits," the salarian shrugged, rather nonchalantly for a man who was bleeding from every corner of his torso. "None… fatal. Will seek medical help once we're done."

"How'd _you two _manage to kill all of them?" Yui grunted, nodding to the _piles _of bodies in the next room.

"With turrets, drones…" - Andersen stooped to grab his rifle from the floor - "…and bullets. You can do a lot when you fight smart."

"And you two are _very _smart," the captain chuckled, mirthlessly. "But this isn't a social call. Akito sent us down here to restore systems for an FTL jump. How did Cerberus manage to disable them without going through you?"

"Err… they didn't."

"What?"

"We did."

Murphy just frowned.

"We knew Cerberus came through the CIC," the engineer murmured, looking at his feet, "and we assumed they'd taken the helm. Couldn't let them leave with the ship, so we disabled the drive systems. It was my call, sir, didn't realise it was going to cause you trouble… sorry."

"Standard practice for STG vessels on losing the cockpit," Rilum muttered, looking at Murphy. "It was a smart call."

"Yeah, it was…" Murphy nodded - the engineer brightened a little at that. "But now we need those systems back online. Can you reactivate them from here?"

"Sure. Just give me a moment," Andersen replied.

"Take all the time you need. Yui, get Rilum up to med bay."

The krogan gave a grunt of assent, and to his credit, Lynus didn't protest - he stumbled shakily to his feet, and allowed the krogan to sling him over one hefty shoulder for ease of movement, before striding off towards the deck elevator.

"Geth," Murphy called, bringing up the radio, "what's the sitrep?"

"All decks are clear," the synthetic voice answered. "And the crew have successfully driven Cerberus forces off from the hangar bay. They are not attempting to reinforce, and I detect no attempts to hack the airlock seal."

"They're falling back?"

"Yes."

"_Great_. That means they've got us pinned. No rush to take us down, they can just bide their time…"

"What would you like me to do, captain?"

"Patch me into the intercom," he muttered, after a moment's thought. "Broadcast to all decks."

"Broadcasting now."

"All hands, this is Captain Murphy. The ship is secure, all Cerberus forces neutralised. But we're not out of this yet… All able-bodied crew, get wounded to the med bay and grab your gear. Cross, Cash, you two stay with the doctors - they've got a lot of patients incoming, they'll need a hand. The rest of you, report to the CIC in five!"


	434. Operation Vendetta Part 5

_**SSV Cambrai, Arcturus Stream**_

_**Day 2, 2145**_

"You look rough, turian."

"And _you _barely have a scratch. Where were you when we were fighting?"

"Locked in the god-damn gunnery deck. Cerberus bastards shut me in."

Murphy didn't feel like admitting to Tyco that it was actually the gethwho'd locked him in, on his orders. He just stepped up to the bounty hunter and Kamur, and the pair fell silent. The whole room did, as they realised the captain had entered. There was a shiver of anticipation, too, as they realised he was in full battle gear - Murphy had swapped his fatigues for a hardsuit, with a helmet tucked under his arm and a rifle on his back.

"Tooled up, chief?" Tyco grinned. "Anyone'd think we were goin' on the offensive…"

"We are," Murphy growled, causing the hunter's grin to widen. "I'm tired of being on the back foot to this fucker. But I need to know what we're working with here - Kamur, run me through losses in the hangar bay."

"Araya, Cat, and Mac'Tir," the turian counted on his three-fingered hand. "We also lost one of the shuttles."

"Three wounded… not bad, considering how hard they hit you. And… _you_ specifically," he added, nodding to the turian's bloody flank.

"It's nothing, captain."

"Of course it isn't. So, you lost three. Andersen and Rilum were wounded holding engineering, and we already had two in the med bay from Benning. I make that seven out of action, plus the two we're leaving behind to guard them."

"I thought you ordered them there to help the doctors?" Kamur frowned, curiously.

"Eh, bit of both," Murphy shrugged. "Point is, we're missing a third of the crew. Whatever we do, it has to be precise. _Surgical_."

"What are our targets?" the hastatim murmured logically, as he and the captain shifted over towards the galaxy at map. It felt like the whole _room _was watching them.

"Creed," Tyco interjected, before Murphy could answer. "And Drake."

"Yeah…" he nodded, much to Kamur's surprise. "We're gunning for them. Akito, what's your status?"

"Ready to go," the co-pilot replied, over the intercom. "We can tear that docking tube out and make a break for it whenever you want. Cambrai's wouldn't last long against those guns, but now the drive core's back online, we can make a quick jump to FTL. Five seconds to warm up the core, then _poof_, we're gone."

"So taking the cruiser out is secondary," Murphy muttered. "We can leave whenever we like, we're only hanging around to put a bullet in Creed and his little henchman."

"Makes sense…" the turian shrugged, but there was a glint in his eye that said he didn't _quite _approve. "I guess the first thing you'll need is a team to go after him, then."

"I'm in," Tyco rumbled, instantly.

"And so am I…" the captain nodded. "But two angry snipers won't do it. This is a surgical strike, close quarters, fast moving…"

"You need discipline and firepower," Kamur mused.

Murphy felt sorry for the turian, just for a moment or two. He was clearly hinting at himself, but the captain had other ideas…

"Irving, Alec!" he called, to the listening mob. "Grab the best gear you can, you're coming with me. Vor, you too!"

The batarian's eyebrow rose, but he didn't argue. Nor did Irving, amazingly. The two of them just went about checking their rifles, in stoic silence. Alec, stood between them, seemed as surprised as anyone about that, but then he hadn't been with the crew for Terra Nova…

"We'll go through the airlock," Murphy said, thinking aloud. "That should take us straight into the heart of the ship. We find whatever passes for Creed's command centre, and end that bastard."

"Which… leaves Wendy's shuttle free for a second team," Kamur observed, shrewdly. "What are you thinking, captain?"

"Distraction. Biotics and demo men, flown right into the hangar bay. Fits the team perfectly, given who we've got left."

"Thorne, Ekris, Lisk, the krogan…" Kamur nodded.

"Throw in the geth and Liselle, and you've got a hell of a wrecking crew. Thorne, you hear all that?"

"Aye," the biotic nodded.

"Get 'em all together, make sure the biotics have checked their amps and swallowed down some calories. Dax, I want you with him - sort out explosives and heavy weapons for yourself, Yui and Lisk."

They both nodded, and set about marshalling their forces. Liselle and Ekris wound their way over to Thorne, while Yui and Lisk bounded happily up to Dax on the promise of heavy weapons. The geth was absent, but Murphy knew he was listening in, _somewhere_…

"That… leaves four unaccounted for, captain," Kamur observed.

"Yeah, it does. I want you up here on the CIC with Kan, Sam, and Aeryn."

"What?" the turian frowned, as Vimes gave a similar splutter of discontent. "Why?"

"Same reason I'm leaving Ethan and Victor in the med bay," Murphy explained, gravely. "If we're going through the docking tube, we have to break the airlock open. That means there's nothing to stop Cerberus coming in behind us and trying to board again. This isn't a crappy detail, Kamur, it's the most important one - keep those bastards the _hell _off my ship."

"Understood," Kamur nodded, with the slightest of smiles as he realised he wasn't being left out. "We'll hold the line or die trying."

"Turians never retreat, huh?"

"That's the one, captain. Good hunting."


	435. Operation Vendetta Part 6

_**SSV Cambrai, Arcturus Stream**_

_**Day 2, 2150**_

"Airlock seal deactivated," Murphy muttered. "Everybody ready for this?"

"Been ready for weeks, chief," Tyco growled, as the squad stepped through into the airlock.

"Ditto," Irving nodded, cradling his rifle.

"Alright then. Opening her up, stand ready…"

He punched the console by the outer door, the inner door slammed shut, and after a moment of whirring as the decontamination gear passed over them, there was a _hiss _from deep within the hydraulic workings. The outer door slid aside, ushering them into the square docking tube beyond.

"Tyco, you brought your shotgun?" the captain asked.

"Duh."

"Take point, then. Irving, Alec, on his shoulder with rifles. Vor, we'll bring up the rear with snipers."

The two marines flitted over to the bounty hunter's side - the big man was now brandishing an Eviscerator - and Vor slung his harpoon gun into his arms, as Murphy reached for the Valiant on his shoulder.

Wordlessly, they made for the end of the corridor. Murphy's ears were all too alert to the creaking of the metal and the rumbling of the drive cores in either ship's belly, but the docking tube itself was abandoned. No soldiers rushing up to greet them, no sabotage tearing the floor from beneath them… they reached the far door in twenty seconds or so, and fell in on either side.

"Breach it," the captain nodded. Tyco clutched his shotgun a little tighter, hit the door lock, then _lunged _through.

_Bang. Bang. Bang._

"That'll be security, then…" Vor grumbled.

Murphy ignored him, and gestured for the two marines to follow Tyco in. They swept around the corner, raised their rifles… and stopped dead.

"Well I'll be damned…" Irving grunted. He lowered his rifle ever so slightly, and stepped through the door, followed by Alec. The captain and Vor, left either side of the doorway, exchanged a bemused glance before doing the same.

The room beyond the docking tube was a small guardroom, as it turned out, and Tyco had _decimated _its occupants. Three troopers were dead on the floor with buckshot wounds, and a fourth was pinned to the far wall by Tyco's bayonet - as the rest of the squad followed him in, the bounty hunter yanked it back out, allowing his victim to slide lifelessly to the floor.

"Lock it down," Murphy muttered, matter-of-factly, nodding for Vor to join Tyco by the door. "Irving, Alec, help me go through the terminals. We need a… map, comm logs, anything we can use to track Creed."

"Isn't that a tech job?" Irving frowned, shifting over to the console on the far wall even as he grumbled. "Why didn't we bring Andersen? Kid can fight…"

"The 'kid' went down defending the engineering deck," the captain sighed. "So did Rilum."

"Went…down?" Alec murmured, asking an unspoken question.

"Wounded, not dead. But they're both in a bad way."

"Two more bullets we owe Creed, I guess," the gunnery chief growled. "Ah, come on, you bloody-"

The terminal flickered red, and Murphy had the distinct feeling it had locked down, a feeling that was only reinforced as Irving backed away, _pounding _the console with his fist.

"Locked down?" Murphy scowled.

"How'd you guess?" the big man grunted. "Can't you just get the geth to hack it?"

"I reckon he'll be a bit _busy_, Irving."

"Geth can multitask, can't they?" he shrugged.

"Maybe, but if a _geth _pops up in their system, they'll know what we're doing, won't they? I've got a better idea… Akito, do you read this frequency?"

"Yes sir," the co-pilot replied, after a moment's comm delay. "What do you need?"

"Sensor scan of the-"

"Cruiser's interior?"

"Err… yeah."

"Hate it when he does that," Irving whispered to Alec, and the two of them cracked a momentary grin.

"I can get you the scan, captain, but it won't exactly have pretty little labels. You'll have to work out what you're looking at."

"I will?"

"Alright, _I _will. What _are_ you looking for, by the way?"

"Command centre. I figure that's where Creed'll be."

"That or in the captain's quarters," the co-pilot mused. "Alright, give me a minute."

Murphy nodded, and paced back across the room towards the door as Akito dropped off comms to work. He didn't like being stuck in this tiny room _waiting_, when they could have been fighting their way out.

"Any incoming?" he muttered to Vor, distractedly.

_Thunk. _A loud report from the batarian's harpoon gun, followed by the sound of a body hitting the floor.

"Not any more," Vor grunted, reaching for another round. "Although I wouldn't recommend _hanging around _much longer. Just makes it easier for 'em."

"Agreed. Akito, have you got anything yet?"

"I've got a plan of the interior…" Yurai replied. "Just looking for the command centre. Should be a structure like our CIC - large, located near the helm, plenty of power feeding in for terminals and other systems… ah, I think I've got it."

"Well, don't keep us in the dark," Tyco muttered, "where the hell is he?"

"_If _he's in the CIC, I think he's up on deck two. You're on deck… eight, so you may need to find an elevator."

"Got it. Good work, flight lieutenant. Put the waypoint on my HUD and we'll move out."

"Already have, sir. There is… one more thing, though."

"What?"

"We might not be able to leave as… _easily _as I thought."

Dumb silence for a moment.

"Explain…" Murphy frowned, eventually.

"There's a gun battery on the starboard side, right next to our prow. Didn't know it was there until I ran the scan."

"How come?"

"I marked all the guns that were firing at us in the original attack, but those were the long-range cannons. This must be a short-range battery. They haven't got the length necessary for long-range fire."

"Wait. You can't tell us what's in the next room, but you know how long the _guns _are? How?"

"I'm looking out the window."

"Ah."

"If you want the Cambrai to be able to leave - you know, _without _being blown up - those guns have to go down. They'll tear us apart the moment we make a break for it otherwise."

"That can wait," Tyco interjected, immediately. "We take down the targets, _then _worry about our exit."

"Maybe that's how it works on Omega," Akito retorted, with a frown in his voice, "but this is real combat. We're pinned by a bigger ship, and that thing's loaded with Cerberus forces. The moment you take out their commander, they'll rush everything they have at you, and at the airlock. We need an escape route planned and prepped, or we're dead."

"He's right," Murphy admitted, "but I don't want to let up the pressure on Creed."

"Then we split up," Irving shrugged, sensibly. "The corporal and I take those guns, rest of you go after the bastard."

"I don't know…" the infiltrator frowned. "I reckon you'll need these to blow the gunnery housings."

He patted the belt of sticky grenades around his waist - only he and Tyco were carrying them - but Irving merely grinned.

"No need, captain," the chief growled. "I've got C4."

"Since when?"

"Since the krogan was gonna take it all, so I got in first. I figured if we were gonna go down, we could breach the hull, take a few of 'em with us."

"Bit morbid, but I ain't gonna complain about the convenience now. Take these anyway" - he unclipped his belt, and slung it across to the chief - "and take Vor."

"_What?_" the batarian scowled.

"Me and Tyco are infiltrators," the captain pointed out. "We can move cloaked. You can't."

"Fine," Vor muttered, "but if you idiots get yourselves killed, we're goin' after him ourselves."

"Agreed. In the meantime, though, just get to wrecking those guns. You finish early, try to catch us up. Now move out, people. Let's get it done!"


	436. Operation Vendetta Part 7

"_**Vendetta" Fighter Bay, Arcturus Stream**_

_**Day 2, 2200**_

"We're in," Wendy called, from the cockpit. "Touching down in the main fighter bay."

"We got a welcoming party?" Thorne asked.

"Err… _yes_. I've got at least a dozen shooters lighting up the side of the shuttle."

The biotic paused.

"You sound pretty damn calm about it," he frowned.

"Well there's not much I can _do _about it, is there?" she snapped. "Killing them's your job."

"Can't fault that logic," the biotic rumbled, rising to his feet. "Alright, everybody, fun starts here!"

There was a rumble from the assembled squad, a mixture of excitement - from the krogan and the grinning vorcha - and nerves - from the rather more _sensible _asari and drell. Thorne could already hear the rounds _ping_ing off the side of the shuttle, as he mentally summed up what they had to work with. Two krogan, armed to the teeth with Revenants, Claymores, and enough explosives to level a building - Dax seemed to have grabbed every demo charge and grenade he could find, before finding somewhere to stick them on his and Yui's armour. One vorcha, grinning wildly and carrying his usual fare of firebombs, rifle and shotgun, plus one big-ass yellow article which Thorne recognised as the flamethrower he'd 'bargained' for so many weeks ago. One geth, sat in the corner with a weapon of every kind strapped to its person, cradling a Widow. And two biotics, both looking nervous around their heavily-armed colleagues. He knew they were good for it, though - Liselle and Ekris had primed their amps, downed a calorie pack each in preparation, and at the last moment had passed out boxes of warp rounds to the rest of the squad, having applied the fields themselves in the armoury. Thorne had spent the time sharpening his axe.

"Alright," he grunted, as the shuttle touched down with a slight _thud_. "Biotics go first. We'll pop a barrier, get us all to cover. Once we're dug in, it's the krogan's game. We lay down suppressing fire, wreck anything we can get a bullet to, and rack up a body count. Captain wants a distraction, we'll give him a bloody distraction..."

"Malcolm Thorne," a calm voice interjected, from the back of the compartment. The geth rose to its feet. "What do you require from me?"

"It's just Thorne," the biotic frowned. "And that depends. What's your strong suit?"

"I am proficient in most combat scenarios, but this platform was designed for long-range combat accompanying infiltration duties."

"Sniping," Thorne translated, simply. "Alright… stay back here in the shuttle. Make sure none of 'em get through to Arness, and pick off targets at range."

"Affirmative. I will… _snipe_, and protect the non-combatant."

"I'm not a _non-combatant_," Wendy muttered, leaning into the doorway with a pistol and a scowl of protest.

"You are not equipped with armour," the geth murmured. "Your current apparel would be… insufficient against a projectile at velocity."

"What?"

"He means if you get shot, you're out," Thorne grunted. "And I happen to agree with the tin can on this one. We need you alive to fly us out of here, so keep your head down."

She just nodded, and retreated back into the cockpit, leaving Thorne to address the rest.

"Come on," he said simply, nodding to the doorway. "Liselle, Ekris, on me. Vorcha, get the door."

The asari and the drell moved to either side of him, and he felt a pleasant, resonant _thrum _as they readied their biotics - it sent a familiar shiver through his own veins, and his arms began to dance with blue fire almost as a reflex. Lisk leant out of his seat, reached for the door controls with a clawed hand, then paused and looked up at Thorne. The biotic shot him a nod of confirmation, and he pressed his palm to the release. The hatch hissed open, and-

"Huh."

A dumb grunt, from a dumb grunt - a Cerberus trooper was stood just beyond the door, halfway through approaching it.

_Whump!_ With a terrific, echoing _smack_, all three biotics hit him square in the chest with a cannonball, hurling him back across the spacious hangar. A moment later, the shots began to _crack _back in retaliation, but the trio were already hurling up barriers, each feeding into the other's, until a great blue bubble had risen over the shuttle, stretching out for twenty feet in every direction.

Unbidden, the krogan and the vorcha came clambering out of the shuttle, stepping up to surround the biotics.

"Cover?" Ekris grunted, through gritted teeth - keeping the barrier up under the hail of fire now flying at them was quite an effort, even with three of them contributing.

"Crates ahead and to the left," Dax replied, pointing over Thorne's shoulder to a stack of cargo crates littered across the middle of the deck, some in piles, some alone, but all _hopefully _bulky enough to stop a round.

"Good enough," he nodded. "Drop the barrier in three, and run for it. Krogan, you go first, soak up the fire."

"Got it."

"One, two, _three!_"

He tore the barrier down with a swift motion of his fist to the floor, causing a shockwave to tear out and flatten several Cerberus troopers that had been venturing in close. A split-second later, they were running. Dax and Yui were in the lead, spraying suppressing fire from their Revenants, while the others just followed along in their wake. Thirty feet to the crates, twenty, ten…

_Crack._

"Sniper!" Ekris yelled. angrily, as a round ploughed past his leg. Up high and to the right, on a maintenance gantry overlooking the hangar, Thorne saw the black-hooded head of a Nemesis. As he twisted to try and take a shot, however:

_Bang. _A deafening retort from their own shuttle, and the black head above the railing _exploded _in a mess of blood and gore.

"Target hit," the geth replied. "I cannot confirm the body from this angle."

"Well the _body's_ missing a head, so I'm guessing she ain't getting back up," Thorne chuckled darkly, sliding down into cover as he did. He clattered down at the base of a pile of crates, next to the vorcha, while the rest of the squad scattered around them.

"That's a lot of guys…" Liselle murmured, twisting out of her own cover - she was a few feet from Thorne, with a small 'alley' between their respective hiding places - to glance at the Cerberus squad arrayed on the far side of the hangar. The doors into the hangar lay behind them, and more troopers were entering the fray as she spoke…

_Boom. _Quite suddenly, there were three less troopers in the mix, as Yui nailed their flank with a grenade. A moment later, Dax did the same, tossing one right between the doors and causing them to scatter fearfully out of the way - too late for two of them, as the blast tore them to pieces. Thorne leant around the corner, nailing one runner with his SMG, but they were at range, some distance away across the hangar, which made things difficult with such a close-range weapon.

_Crack crack crack_. Liselle had better luck with her rifle, mowing down two troopers, but Thorne's attention was on the vorcha at his side. Lisk had an incendiary in either hand, and swung up around the corner just long enough to hurl them on their way. They arced through the air, glinting amidst the crossfire, and then:

_Bang bang. _They hit the deck in the midst of the Cerberus fire team, and shattered instantly, releasing fire and flames with a brilliant flash. Quite suddenly, the Cerberus troopers were engulfed - Thorne saw at least five of them running on fire, or collapsing screaming to the ground, and the intensity of the volley coming at Bravo was noticeably diminished. The chaos, however, was only just beginning…

_Boom! _The floor erupted, a tongue of vivid orange rising up through the deck and tossing two chunks of steel into the air. One of the fuel lines under the floor had just caught.

_Boom, boom, boom! _Lisk mouthed along with each blast as explosions carved a flaming track across the deck. Whole chunks of deck went flying into the air, any troopers unlucky enough to be stood over the fuel line were hurled off their feet, and the fiery trail wound off to the right, running the length of the hangar… and right towards a cluster of shuttles parked by the far wall.

"Boom?" Thorne winced.

"Boom!" Lisk nodded, enthusiastically.

_Boom!_ One of the shuttles, perched on a refuelling rig, went up in a fireball. It rose majestically, rolled over - still on fire - and clattered down roof-first on top of another bug, crushing it and setting it alight in the same stroke. Burning wreckage scattered across the deck, and flames began to lick at the sides of several other shuttles clustered in the launch area…

"Another squad, incoming!" Ekris barked, tearing their attention back to the firefight close at hand.

Rounds were indeed bouncing off their cover as a dozen or so fresh hostiles came through the hangar door - the troopers were cannon fodder, but Thorne noted the two Guardians at their head with a little more caution. As the drell leant out to fire on them, they unleashed a barrage of shotgun fire, forcing him back into cover and knocking the top crate off the stack he was hiding behind. He caught it deftly with a biotic field, however, weighed it one hand for a moment-

And then _pitched _it at the Guardian on the right. It struck with a loud _clang_, the shield-bearer staggered back, and Dax promptly mowed him down with a burst of machinegun fire, cutting right down his exposed side. The remaining Guardian turned to fire on the krogan now, but Thorne was already swinging out at him. Wordlessly, he ripped the soldier's shield away with a tug of biotics, and:

_Bang! _Right on cue, the geth brought him down from across the hangar, hitting him square in the head and producing a plume of blood spray. That just left the troopers, and Bravo tore through them in a matter of moments - Ekris and Thorne sent a biotic tidal wave through their ranks, leaving Liselle and Lisk to mop up the stragglers with their rifles. As the last hostiles dropped, however, a low rumble rose through the hangar, and the floor shuddered ever so slightly beneath their feet.

"The hell was that?" Thorne scowled, glancing around.

"Dunno…" Liselle murmured. Glancing past him, however, her eyes widened, and she added: "Oh, shit."

"What's that supposed to mean?" he groaned. She just nodded over his shoulder.

He wheeled around, and saw exactly what _that _meant. A white, V-winged craft had just risen out of a now-gaping hole in the deck, mass accelerators bristling beneath its chassis, aiming out into space.

"Well, at least it's not pointing at _us_," the biotic grumbled.

"It's a fighter, you idiot!" his asari companion snapped. "Don't let it launch, the ship's a sitting duck!"

"Yui, Dax-?" he began, but the krogan were already streaking away towards the middle of the hangar.

"On it!" Yui bellowed, over his shoulder.

_Crack crack._

"More hostiles incoming!" the geth reported, as Thorne ducked under a burst of fire aimed at his head.

"Son of a-!" he swore, lashing out with a flare of biotics that levelled two approaching troopers - there were several more charging in, though, with reckless abandon.

"Hrr…" Lisk growled, taking a round to the shoulder as he stepped out, but mowing down two more men for the trouble. Ekris clipped one with a pistol shot, then fell back as two came around the corner, swinging shock batons at them.

With ruthless, fluid efficiency, the drell went into automatic, just as his fellow Mac'Tir did. He dropped his gun, grabbed at the hand of the first man swinging for him, and promptly _crushed _it against the steel crate behind him. The trooper staggered back, Ekris dealt him a long-legged kick to the gut, and as he reeled away, the drell turned on the second man, who was in the act of swinging at his head. Imagine the trooper's surprise, then, to suddenly find himself being _flipped _through the air, judo style, clattering down to the deck a moment before Ekris snapped his neck. Rather calmly, the drell recovered his pistol, straightened up, and put one round straight between the eyes of the returning first man, dropping him to the deck.

Another two came streaking past on the right, trying to close down Thorne and Lisk. They were clutching their rifles, stopping a few feet away to kneel, take aim-

And _burn_. Lisk gave a manic cackle as he engulfed the two of them with the Firestorm, reducing them to cinders in a matter of seconds.

That, it seemed, was something of a _deterrent _for the rest of the Cerberus troops. They hung back at range, exchanging shots with Bravo but not daring to come any closer to the vorcha, who was swinging his flamethrower in wide, happy arcs. Thorne had time enough to glance across the hangar, and follow the krogan's progress.

He was slightly concerned to see the fighter still in one piece - a sniper on the gantry, it seemed, had held the krogan up, but even as he watched, the geth proceeded to drop her over the edge with another well-placed shot. Yui and Dax ploughed forwards-

And the fighter powered up. Shit. The pilot squeezed his trigger, and a stream of mass accelerator fire flew out ahead of the little craft, peppering the side of Bravo's own shuttle - Arness gave a _squeak _over the radio, and the geth ducked out of the doorway in a hurry, as rounds began to bounce off shields and hull alike. Then, with another roar from its thrusters, the fighter _shot _off its mountings and hurtled forwards across the deck. Yui leapt at it, bouncing hard off the right wing and putting a Claymore round into the vessel's side as he did, but he was knocked away across the floor like a ragdoll a moment later, and the fighter went streaking right towards their shuttle at ramming speed.

In desperation, Thorne swung out an arm, projecting all the force he could beneath the fighter's wing before tearing it upwards, with a roar. He was pleasantly surprised to see a mass effect field explode under the vessel's side, flipping it wing over wing - it spiralled off to one side, away from the shuttle… and careened right into the hangar wall, exploding with a violent _boom_ that scattered shrapnel and fireballs across the deck.

"Hey, that one was mine!" Yui yelled, picking himself up off the floor. Thorne just scowled at him as Dax, ever the sensible one, dropped a demo charge down the tube the fighter had emerged from. Cerberus didn't have chance to raise another before:

_Boom! _The whole thing was gutted by a pillar of flame, tearing the launch apparatus to shreds. No more fighters to worry about, then…

"Hey, Thorne!" a voice yelled, from behind his back. "Got a _bit _of a problem here!"

He wheeled around to see Ekris staring his way, pointing at… ah, shit.

"Dax?" he called, with a practised but _fake _air of calm. "Got any more of those charges?"

"Plenty!" the krogan replied, happily. "Why?"

"Atlas incoming…"


	437. Operation Vendetta Part 8

"_**Vendetta" Gun Battery, Arcturus Stream**_

_**Day 2, 2210**_

_Thunk._

"Argh…"

The engineer stumbled back against the wall, staring aghast at the harpoon now buried in his shoulder. His turret was a smoking wreck in the middle of the guardroom floor, and the two troopers who had been accompanying him lay cut down by the open door to the access corridor. Two Alliance marines were now watching on with a mixture of curiosity and caution, as their batarian fellow advanced on the hapless engineer, punching his pistol to the floor the moment he tried to draw it.

He practically _squealed _as Vor grabbed the harpoon by the haft and twisted it inside his arm. Still gripping it firmly, the batarian levered him down onto his knees, still gasping in pain, and kneed him in the face.

"How many guards in the next room?" he growled, savagely.

"I… gah…" the engineer spluttered, painfully.

He chewed down, apparently making an effort at his flashbang, but Vor saw it coming - quite to Irving's surprise, he reached down, slid his hand into the man's mouth, and _held _his lower jaw open to stop him gnashing the flashbang against his upper teeth.

"How many?" the batarian asked, again.

"Whole… whole shquad," came the muffled reply - it was rather hard to talk, it seemed, with a batarian holding your jaws apart. "Shix, sheven guysh?"

"Much appreciated," Vor rumbled. He released the man, drew back…

And then wrapped his fist in an enforcement gauntlet, before _mashing _the engineer's head into the wall.

"Christ…" Alec whispered, looking away from the bloody smear that remained. "He doesn't hold back, does he?"

"You get used to it," Irving shrugged, with a dark scowl. "Stack up."

The younger marine nodded, and they fell in to either side of the door leading to the gun battery. Akito's waypoint was dancing just beyond it, and there was a slight clatter of activity inside - the squad their late engineer had just given away, apparently.

"Waitin' on you, batarian," the chief muttered.

"Yeah, yeah, I'm comin'," Vor grunted, wiping some of the blood off his gauntlet and loading a fresh round into his Kishock. "What's the plan?"

"You want a _plan?_" Irving frowned.

"No, but I figure you would."

"Eh, planning's overrated. Just need to get these" - he tapped the demo charges on his belt - "into the guns."

"Hear, hear. Punch the door and let's get on with it."

Irving nodded, slapped a hand to the roundel in the middle of the door, and then clutched his rifle as it opened with a _hiss_.

No shots coming up to greet them, he noted. The Cerberus squad was being cautious. With a slight grin, he reached for the captain's grenade belt, which he had looped over his shoulder.

"Murphy had six of these things, I figure that's two each," he muttered. "Blitz 'em."

His two companions just nodded, and accepted a pair of sticky grenades each, stowing their weapons in favour of one in each hand. One last check of their barriers, a glance at the radar - a mess of red in the next room, surprise surprise - and then:

"Go, go, go!"

Irving lunged through the door first, hurling his first charge blindly off across the room. It stuck to the far wall, and he made a beeline for the length of the first gun as shots came racing overhead. He tossed the second charge in the direction the shots were coming from, then slid down behind the gun. A moment later, Alec clattered in next to him, ditching his second charge as well, and across the room, Vor had slipped into cover behind the corner of a stairwell up to what _appeared _to be the control room.

_Bang bang bang bang… _After a few seconds' delay, the charges went off, one after another, wreaking havoc across the room. Two troopers shooting from the high balcony outside the control room found the railing torn out from under them, and tumbled down into the main gunnery pit, where the commandoes and the rest of the squad were dug in. On the far side of the room, another trooper was _hurled _over the gunnery housing behind him by a well-placed charge of Alec's, but for the most part, the barrage was a distraction, a smokescreen to allow the trio to dig in and do some real damage.

"Corporal, take this and plant it further down," Irving muttered, pulling one of the demo charges off his belt and handing it to Alec. "I'll cover!"

His colleague nodded, and ducked low as he set off along the length of the gun, dropping down in the gulley used for maintenance. At the same time, Irving popped up over the mass accelerator's housing, poked his Valkyrie over it, and took aim.

_Crack crack. Crack crack. _Two troopers who had risen to fire at Alec went down as Irving hit them each with a burst to the chest. Three down, assuming the one Carter had blown up was really dead. That left three or four, by the count of Vor's victim.

_Bang, bang, bang. _Speaking of the batarian, he had switched to his shotgun - as Irving looked across, the two men thrown off the control room balcony staggered to their feet only to be mown down by darts from his krogan Graal. One or two left, then…

"How many of those charges have you got, human?" Vor called.

"Including that one?" he replied, nodding to the charge Alec was currently fixing to the gun. "Five."

"Four guns," the batarian grunted. "One for each, and one in the control room up there."

"Might be a _bit_ difficult to get up there," Irving muttered, eyeing the climb to the control room - it was eight feet up at least, with another foot to the railing above.

"For you," Vor snorted. "Pass me a bloody bomb and let's get it done."

Grumbling, the gunnery chief pulled another stick of C4 from his belt, and tossed it across to the batarian, who caught it deftly and made for the wall of the balcony. As he leapt at it, however:

_Crack, crack, crack. _Three Mattock rounds came bouncing past Irving's head, causing him to swear and drop down, losing sight of Vor. His attention was now squarely fixed on the shooter - a Cerberus trooper hiding behind the fourth and final gunnery housing. He waited, counting the beats until the trooper dropped down to reload or… _something_, then set off at a run towards the far wall. He vaulted the first gun, leapt the second, then dropped down behind the third as his assailant opened up again, rattling more shots at his head.

After pausing a moment to gather his breath, he stuck his Valkyrie blindly over his impromptu cover and squeezed the trigger, spraying rounds at the enemy shooter. Only once he heard the man duck away did he leap up over the top and sprint at the fourth gun.

He planted his front foot on it like a springboard, launching himself into the air and dealing a heavy boot to the Cerberus soldier's head in the process. As his opponent fell to the deck, Irving bounced over him, wheeled around, and emptied the rest of his mag into the fallen trooper - _crack crack crack crack._

"Can't see any more bad guys down here!" he called, glancing around. "Guess it was just six…"

"Nah, it was seven," Vor grunted. Looking up, Irving saw the batarian standing on the balcony, between the broken railing, holding another engineer over the drop by his throat. The window of the control room was smashed behind them, and the chief had a feeling for had _dragged _the man out for dramatic effect.

"Bomb planted?" Irving muttered, casually.

"Right on the fire controls," the batarian nodded, utterly ignoring the man writhing in his grip.

"Good. Now kill him and get your ass down here, we've got work to do."

"_Fine_."

There was a slight _crunch_ as he crushed the man's windpipe, and a moment later he let the body drop - it thudded to the floor like a limp ragdoll, and the batarian jumped down after it, dusting off his hands.

"Take that, and slap it one of the guns," Irving instructed, tossing him another charge. He turned to the corporal, who had just emerged from behind the first gun, and threw one his way for good measure, adding: "Corporal, you take the other. I've got the last one."

As they nodded assent - with varying degrees of resentment at being ordered - he plucked the last charge off his belt, crouching down to the gun at his feet and slapping the C4 on top of it. A quick dab of omni-gel to secure it, and a press of the button on top to activate it, and bingo, one bomb ready and waiting to blow.

"You've got the detonator, right?" Vor grunted, fixing his own charge to the third gun.

"You really think I'd be dumb enough to grab bombs with a detonator?" Irving scowled.

"Yes."

"Screw you. Alec, you done?"

"Affirmative!" the corporal called back, and Irving didn't fail to notice Vor, sarcastically mouthing _'affirmative!' _and rolling his eyes. It wasn't surprising - he didn't expect the batarian to understand _discipline_, after all.

"We'll trigger them once we're clear," the chief muttered, straightening up. "Now let's move. Can't let the captain and Tyco have all the fun…"

"I didn't think you'd had _fun _since twenty-one eighty-two."

"Shut up, batarian."


	438. Operation Vendetta Part 9

**A/N: So, I'm afraid I'm going to be leaving you hanging after this chapter. I'm off to the lakes for a holiday with some friends, now we're done with... well, pretty much everything, until October, and I won't be back until next Wednesday. That means the next update of Galaxy at War will most likely be on Thursday 4th July. I was contemplating doing a double today, or sneaking in a chapter tomorrow before I leave early, but to be honest, I think this one is a good place to pause - it's a little bit of a cliffhanger. I have three chapters in reserve, though, so I'll be doing a double or maybe even a triple on that Thursday after I get back. Until then, though, this one's all you're getting. Enjoy!**

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><p>"<em><strong>Vendetta" Crew Quarters<strong>_

_**Day 2, 2215**_

"Breach on my mark, quick and quiet."

Tyco nodded, and drew his pistol - a silenced 'Suppressor' he'd bought on the black market last time they went ashore - as Murphy went for an omni-blade. Normally, he would have protested at this diversion, but the captain had made a good case. The fight with Creed and Drake would be noisy, and bring every Cerberus man in the vicinity running to their aid, so if they had a chance to knock out some of his reinforcements without a fight, it was worth taking. This was the fourth of four bunk rooms on this corridor, and they had already cleared the three prior. Every one was the same - upper and lower bunks to left and right, with a comm terminal on the far wall, and four Cerberus operatives resting inside. They were out of their armour, which meant they were ship's crew or off-duty troopers - it didn't much matter _which_ - and it spoke to Cerberus' arrogance that even now, under a two-pronged assault from the Cambrai, they weren't scrambling their off-duty crew.

"Mark," Murphy muttered - he punched the door lock, and spun through as it _hiss_ed open, with Tyco close at his heel. The captain swung left, and Tyco swung right, aiming immediately for the upper-right bunk.

_Thunk_. The tiniest of gasps escaped his pistol's muzzle as he put a round through the head of the man in the top bunk. On the far side of the room, he heard the _shing _of an omni-blade sinking into flesh, as Murphy attacked one of the men on that side. Tyco shifted his aim down to the bottom bunk, and before the slumbering operative there could stir:

_Thunk, thunk, thunk. _Three rounds to the chest cut clean through his civvies and killed him instantly. Popping the heatsink on his pistol, he turned around, just in time to see Murphy _drag _the last man out of the top bunk, throw him to the floor, and impale him before he could do so much as scream. The captain's other victim was already dead, a stab wound opened and cauterised instantly in his chest by the marksman's blade.

"All clear," Murphy reported, with a hint of distaste in his voice. "Let's g-"

"Oh! Captain!" a familiar voice interrupted. The comm terminal on the far wall had leapt into life, and Creed's leering visage was filling the vid screen. "Fancy seeing you here…"

Quite suddenly, Tyco realised _why _Cerberus hadn't scrambled their off-duty troops, and it seemed Murphy had too.

"You left them to die in their sleep just so you could have a chat, Creed?" the captain growled. "Even for you, that's low."

"They died for the cause," the biotic replied, sarcastically, "and I hardly think the man doing the killing in the sleeping is one to be talking, _hmm?_"

"You kill my crew, I kill yours," Murphy shrugged.

"Oh, so I did get a few, then? I wondered, seeing as those idiots of mine did such a _wonderful_ job of killing you."

"Give over, Creed. If you wanted to kill us easy, you would have blown us out of the sky. This was about luring us in, making us come to _you_."

"Guil-ty…" Creed smiled, in a sing-song voice. "But it worked, didn't it? You're stepping _right_ into the lion's den …"

"With a bloody big gun," Murphy growled.

"You're standing in my_ cruiser _talking about big guns?" the other man laughed. "Oh, captain…"

As the back-and-forth continued at the terminal, Tyco was standing back, a horrible idea coming to mind. It was a plan he'd been harbouring for some time, and now _would _be a convenient moment. He'd been counting on being alone, though. Like this, the backlash would be nasty, but… sod the backlash. It didn't particularly matter anyway, if the plan worked.

"Captain?" he interrupted, slowly.

"What is it?" Murphy frowned, as both he and Creed turned to look at Tyco with puzzled expressions.

"Sorry."

"For what?"

_Whack! _

Tyco caught him right around the back of the head with his pistol, and Murphy went down like a drunken vorcha. He thudded to the deck, unconscious, and silence filled the bunk room for a moment or two.

"Well…" Creed murmured, finally. "I didn't expect _that_. Coming around to my way of thinking, Maffei?"

"Fuck you."

"Charming…" the biotic muttered. "What do you want?"

"I want Drake. Murphy's coming after _you_, and if we'd had this conversation a month ago, I'd be gunning for you with everything I had too… but right now, it's your little protégé I want dead, and you're going to send him to me."

"That's insane," the leering face on the terminal sneered. "Why would I help you kill my own man?"

"Because he's not _your_ man."

"Drake's loyal to a fault-"

"He's loyal to _Cerberus_," the bounty hunter interrupted, firmly. "And you ain't. You're just a petty little sadist who likes to kill under their flag."

"I'd take offense at that if you weren't so _right_, Maffei," Creed smiled, evilly.

"Well guess what?" Tyco continued. "Powerful biotic, capable assassin, willing to kill on command? That could just as easily be Drake's description as yours. Sure, he's not quite so unpredictable, but he's a little less crazy, and a _lot _more loyal. How long do you think it'll be before the Illusive Man decides Drake could do your job just fine?"

Creed didn't reply. Tyco got the impression he was listening, _very _reluctantly.

"So, what? Cerberus cuts me loose?" the biotic growled, "With the dirt I've got on them? No chance."

"I'm not saying they cut you loose, I'm saying they cut you _out_. Like a tumour. All this time, you've been training Drake to stab you in the back…"

"And why do you care? Why would _you _want to keep me alive?"

"I don't. But I want _him _dead even more than I want _you _dead. Give me Drake, and you get to live a little longer."

Hesitation – it was running rampant over Creed's face, self-interest clashing with whatever kind of twisted morality he had left, both battling with hatred and anger, not to mention pride… At long last, he swallowed the latter down, brought out his omni-tool, and muttered:

"Drake, it's Creed. Situation's accelerating. Send your men to hold the bulkheads, and meet me in the reactor room."

"On my way," Drake rasped, over the radio. Creed let his omni-tool drop, with a most bitter expression etched across his features, and scowled:

"There. Best get to work, Maffei. And this little truce of ours? It's over once he's dead."

"What truce?" Tyco growled. "If I run into you on the way, I'm killing you too…"


	439. Operation Vendetta Part 10

**A/N: Aaand I'm back. One more update coming later today, and then possibly a third, to make up for the last week. For the time being, enjoy another big brawl chapter!**

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><p>"<em><strong>Vendetta" Fighter Bay, Arcturus Stream<strong>_

_**Day 2, 2220**_

"How many of these bloody mechs do they _have?_"

Thorne ducked low, as another stream of mass accelerator fire cut across his and Lisk's cover, punching deep into the steel crates and almost making it out the other side. They had wrecked the first Atlas using Dax's explosives, and had managed to destroy a second that followed, but no fewer than _three _of the damned things were now pounding them from across the hangar, as yet another infantry squad advanced between them. Ekris and Liselle were throwing up a barrier, but it was intermittent at best as they called on the last of their energy reserves.

"Krogan, tell me you're almost done!" Thorne bellowed. Back across the hangar, Cerberus had constructed low steel walls that could be raised and retracted from the deck to stop a skid-landing fighter or - ironically - repel boarders, and Dax was now trying to yank them up out of the floor by hand - the controls were out of reach, in the control room overlooking the hangar.

_Boom! _Before Dax could reply, they were both drowned out by the sound of a loud blast. One of the mechs had used a momentary drop in the barrier to launch a missile at Ekris, ploughing through his cover and tossing the drell back several feet, landing between his fellows. Lisk threw out a firebomb, and Liselle rattled off a few rifle rounds, as Thorne leant out and pulled the drell to safety between himself and the vorcha.

_Bang. _From off to the right, Hei Yui sent a Claymore round at one of the Atlases, stinging its side - the krogan had brought down several snipers on the gantry above with a grenade before the mechs showed up, and was now using a piece of wreckage from the fallen walkway as a shield, while peppering the mechs' flank with his shotgun. Thorne could tell he was running out of ammo, though - a gun which fired one shot per magazine went through thermal clips like no-one's business.

Quite suddenly, there was a loud _clunk _from behind them, and a victorious roar. Twisting around, Thorne saw Urdnot Dax propping up one of the long steel barriers like a barricade, as stray bullets continued to bounce off it and him.

"Got it?" the biotic yelled, over the din.

"Kinda!"

"Whaddya mean _kinda?_"

"It won't stay up without the machines! But I can hold it up myself!"

"Do it!" Thorne nodded, mentally noting that that would put the krogan out of action in terms of the growing battle. "You three, get back there, lay down suppressing fire!"

He motioned to Liselle, Ekris and Lisk. The two exhausted biotics just nodded, and set off at a run as Thorne sent a burst of SMG fire around the corner. The vorcha hesitated a little longer, growling, but the human fixed him with a stern glare, and he finally relented, dashing back towards the rest of the squad and firing his rifle behind him as he went.

"Raargh!"

Thorne turned back to the fight, and suppressed a groan as he saw a red blur go hurtling at the right-most Atlas. Yui had given up on suppressing fire, and gone right for the krogan charge. Unfortunately for him, the Atlas' pilot was rather handy with the cannon arm. He took a single step back, then:

_Wham! _He brought that arm swinging round, clattering squarely into the krogan and bouncing him off the nearest wall. The mech lumbered forward, aiming an overhead swing at the grounded Yui with the intention of crushing him. No-one else seemed to be leaping to attention, so Thorne stepped up, and lashed out - with one hand, he gripped the mech's gun arm in a mass effect field, and with the other he launched a flare of biotics beneath the cockpit, levering it backwards. The mech toppled, hitting the deck with a _crunch_, and before it could rise, Yui had pounced on it with a vengeful roar, shooting and swinging at the canopy in an attempt to get to the pilot.

As impressive as that display was, Thorne lingered a few too many moments out of cover to watch it, and quite suddenly there was a stream of golden mass accelerator coming his way from the other two mechs, even as one of them clunked over to try and swat Yui off its fellow. The biotic threw up a barrier, and a mess of covering fire came up from his comrades behind the barricade, but none of had much success until:

_Bang! _A single, deafening gun-bellow rose above the firefight, and the mech on the left shuddered, canopy _shattering _loudly.

Thorne only realised what had happened when the Atlas dropped to one knee, the empty canopy springing open, and the pilot tumbled out, his head reduced to a bloody mess. Thorne suspected the geth's Widow was still smoking, somewhere in the background.

With a grunt of effort, he pulled in his barrier and threw it out a moment later as a roaring shockwave, battering the last mech standing before sprinting at the empty one on the left. There was a half-brilliant, half-terrible idea forming in his mind, and as he ran, he sent off a quick burst from his SMG, mowing down two nearby troopers before dashing it to the floor, leaping at the mech's vacant cockpit-

And realising this was actually a _completely _terrible idea, because quite suddenly:

_Boom! _The mech he had been jumping for disappeared in a blaze of fire - so did the walls, floor and ceiling, for that matter. The world turned upside down for a moment or two, there was a cry of dismay from someone back by the barricade, and then he thudded to the floor amidst a haze of smoke and noise. Judging by the remnants of a metal arm at his side, Cerberus had blown the mech up rather than let him take it. It bloody hurt, too…

"Thorne!" Liselle shouted, from across the hangar. "Get up! You've got incoming!"

With a grunt of assent that he knew full well the asari couldn't hear, Thorne stumbled to his feet-

And narrowly ducked out of the way of a shock baton that came swinging at his head. Acting on instinct, he wheeled around and dealt a double-handed _blast _of biotics to the culprit, a lone trooper, hurling him off through the smoke and out of sight.

Two more came lumbering at the biotic, but by the time they reached him, he had his axe to hand. He gutted one trooper as he came stumbling past, dropping him to the floor, before swinging around, ducking under a swipe from the second man, and burying his axe in the back of the man's head. As he yanked it out, however, there was another panicked yell from the barricade.

"Thorne!" the voice bellowed - Ekris, this time.

"_What?_" he demanded.

_Crunch. _He discovered exactly _what _as a steel vice closed around his midriff, and he was raised up out of the smoke. There was a cry of dismay from someone, maybe Liselle, and Thorne was left dangling in midair, staring at the pilot of the last Atlas, which was now holding him aloft with its claw hand.

_Crunch_. The claw tightened, and he felt a few ribs snap. It wasn't an entirely _new _sensation, but it was disconcerting to say the least. He swallowed down a grunt of pain, however, and fixed his best glare on the pilot behind the canopy. The man looked up, no doubt smirking, then started slightly as Thorne growled, and drew a thumb across his throat. In one fluid motion, he pulled that same hand up into the air, allowed it to _boil _with blue fire… and then slammed it down.

The Atlas shuddered with the hit, and the pilot shrank away in reflex - his hands were still on the controls, however, so as he did, the mech shrank with him, staggering back a step and releasing its grip on Thorne's midriff. The biotic dropped to the floor, gave a bark of pain as the force of impact shot up through his broken ribs, then straightened up and threw the biggest damn mass effect field he could at the metal bastard. It froze, motionless, as he dug his fingers into the empty air like claws, feeling the resistance…

And then ripped his hands out to either side, watching with satisfaction as the mech _ripped _with them. The crystal canopy shattered, arms and legs went off in opposite directions, and the pilot hung in midair for a moment, suspended between the two, until the torn drive core exploded violently, vaporising him in an instant.

Thorne collapsed back to the deck, nerves burning from the effort, and cast around for a weapon, _any _weapon, to stave off the Cerberus squad now rushing up through the smoke and fire. Before he could, however, he found a hefty arm wrapping itself under his arms, dragging him to his feet and into a run.

"Gotcha," Yui muttered, as they sprinted back towards the barricade. The krogan literally _pushed _the biotic ahead of himself, taking the brunt of Cerberus' fire and occasionally twisting around to retaliate - Thorne noticed he had picked up a Cerberus rifle, a fully-automatic article that put withering fire through the ranks of approaching troopers.

As they got to within ten feet of the barricade, a familiar thrum filled his blood, and a biotic barrier bloomed around the pair of them - one last gasp from the exhausted Ekris and Liselle. They turned and sprinted the rest of the way, vaulting over the wall to clatter down amongst their fellows, the barrier falling away as they did. Dax was propping up the barricade on his shoulder, Thorne noted, while Ekris, Liselle and Lisk poured rifle fire into Cerberus' front line. As the newcomers fell down in their midst, Yui took up Liselle's spot in the firing line, and she shuffled over to Thorne, reaching for a dose of medi-gel as the human collapsed down against the wall.

"The one time I forget to bring a rocket launcher," Dax muttered, laughing even under fire - lying next to Thorne and holding the barricade up, he looked more like a piece of the ship's substructure than a living thing.

"Stupid bastard," Thorne coughed, through the _squeezing _sensation in his chest - the medi-gel was gripping tight, only worsening matters.

"We need to pull out," Liselle murmured urgently, still hovering over him. "You're hurt, Ekris and I are almost out of energy for barriers, and we're all running low on ammo."

"Captain wants a distraction, we get him a distraction," Yui grunted, over his shoulder. "We stay until the job's done."

"Even if it gets us all killed?" the asari frowned.

"Never been a problem before," the biotic muttered, from the floor. "The krogan's right. We stay. But we need to be able to get out sharpish once the captain's done…" - he raised his voice to a yell, and continued - "Arness, you alright back there?"

"Err…"

"Ah, shit, that's not good," he scowled, under his breath.

"_I'm_ fine!" the pilot explained, shouting over the racket of the firefight, "But the shuttle's… got a problem!"

"I don't want to hear about problems, Arness!"

"Tough! That last scrap with the mechs… a couple of stray shots got through and shattered the cockpit screen."

"Which means?"

"Which _means_ it's not rated for ex-atmosphere flight. You'd be fine in the crew compartment, but I'd start suffocating the moment we got out into space. And, even if that's not a problem to you, if I fall unconscious or… you know, die… the shuttle's _probably _going to crash and kill the rest of you."

"Well that's just bloody fantastic, isn't it? Can you fix it?"

"With _what_, Thorne?"

"Alright, point taken! Can we steal a Cerberus shuttle?"

"We could…" Dax muttered, "if we hadn't blown them all up when we got here."

"Shit."

"Yeah…"

There was silence for a moment - excluding the firefight, of course, which was raging on fiercer than ever in the background - before an unlikely voice broke it.

"Geth do not have respiratory systems," the cool, synthetic voice announced.

"Not the time for trivia, tin can!" Thorne snapped.

"No, wait… he's right," Wendy interjected.

"_It's_ right."

"Err… _right_. The point is, geth can survive without oxygen. We stick it up front in the cockpit, seal off the crew compartment to keep it pressurised, and let the geth fly us out!"

"And let me guess," the biotic growled, "you already know how to fly one of these things, tin can?"

"No."

"Really, the _one _time you're not a frickin' know-it-all?"

"I do not 'know it all', Malcolm Thorne. But I could learn the control scheme, given proper instruction."

"That'll be you then, Arness… and it's just Thorne, tin can."

"I do know that," the geth replied, coolly.

"Wendy, just show him how to fly the bloody thing!" Thorne yelled, ignoring the geth entirely. "And for the record, I know you're both new, but this is by far the _stupidest _plan we've ever come up with!"

The geth, still standing in the doorway, just blinked.

"That seems… improbable," it murmured.


	440. Operation Vendetta Part 11

"_**Vendetta" Crew Quarters**_

_**Day 2, 2225**_

"I've got him on radar, just up ahead! No radio response, though!"

"Keep moving, then, double time it!"

The voices came drifting out from Murphy's wrist, as the captain groaned and stirred. The world was still ever so slightly blurry, and for the second time that day, he found his face pressed into a steel deck. No fires, this time, so that was _some_ improvement…

He picked himself up off the floor, reaching immediately for a weapon. His rifles - a Valiant and a Valkyrie - were still slung on his back, and there was an Eagle on his hip to complete the N7 set. Noting his cramped surroundings, he went for the pistol, and sprang immediately to the nearest patch of wall for safety.

"Around this corner!" the first voice said, piping up again, and Murphy realised it was Alec Carter's.

"Alright, let's- shit!" the second swore. Irving. "Contacts, end of the corridor! Biotics and Phantoms!"

"_Great…_" Vor growled - Murphy barely heard him, however, as a jolt of panic ran through him. He had already worked out the gist of the conversation, and it pointed to a whole damn lot of Cerberus troops coming down around his head, probably sent by Creed if they were, in fact, biotics and assassins. Sure enough, he heard a clatter of boots, and then:

_Crack crack crack crack… _Fire broke out from both ends of the corridor outside, golden shots slicing through the narrow window of air Murphy could see from inside the bunk room. There was a thud, the sound of a body hitting the floor, off to the left - he prayed that was where Cerberus was - and then a little grunt of exertion, as a lithe, hissing form cartwheeled through the door to evade the firestorm outside.

The Phantom straightened up, and stopped dead as she saw Murphy. He paused. She paused. Then:

_Bang bang bang bang bang! _The captain emptied five shots into the Cerberus operative's head and torso, sending her to the floor in a bloody heap.

He wheeled around, intending to head for the door, only to find another Phantom waiting for him. This time, his opponent made the first move - she lunged in, swinging her blade high, and Murphy barely managed to parry it away with the weight of his pistol. The Phantom was knocked off-balance, though, and the captain seized his opportunity, swinging out a hefty kick, catching her in the midriff and knocking her back through the doorway. He brought the Eagle up to finish her-

But Vor beat him to it. With a loud _thunk_, he put a harpoon through the Phantom's skull, and she dropped dead. Rather dumbly - his brain was still spinning in something of a daze, after all - the captain ran through the doorway-

And promptly had to hurl himself to the floor to keep his head. One of the Cerberus troops - a biotic, just like Irving had said and just like the team had encountered on Benning - swung a bright golden lash over the doorway, right at the level of Murphy's throat. It left two glowing scars in the door frame, and the captain was still on his back as the Cerberus biotic came swinging in again, over his head this time.

Thankfully, Murphy's instincts were a little sharper than his actual brain. As the biotic swung in, he lashed out - he nailed him square in the chest with an overload program, causing him to jolt backwards, and before the man could recover, he took a bullet to the face courtesy of one of the two marines now advancing down the corridor. Off to the right, another biotic went down, and one final Phantom was all that remained. She cartwheeled forward, and quite suddenly, Murphy vented all his pent-up frustration with a single pull of the trigger:

_Bang bang bang bang… _he emptied the rest of his mag, a dozen and one rounds, in a matter of seconds. By the time his pistol _click_ed empty, the Phantom was slumped against the far wall, doing a fairly good impression of a pincushion.

"Well, somebody's pissed…" Vor muttered - he, Alec and Irving were advancing down the corridor now, still clutching their rifles with varying expressions of concern.

"So would you be if you just got bounced round the walls," Murphy grumbled, rising to his feet.

"How come you weren't answering the radio, captain?" Alec asked.

"Because I was bloody unconscious!" he snapped.

Irving and Alec both shrank back a little with expressions of surprise at the outburst. Vor just smirked, and chuckled a little to himself.

"What happened, sir?" Irving frowned, finally. "And… where's Tyco?"

"_Tyco _knocked me out," the captain glowered.

"_What?_"

"One minute I was talking to Creed, the next… _whack_," he scowled, miming a slap round the back of the head. "Son of a bitch laid me out cold."

"You were talking to Creed?" the gunnery chief backtracked.

"On the terminal in there," Murphy explained.

"Which… would explain how he knew to send a hit squad here," Alec noted.

"Wait. If Tyco went traitor, why didn't he finish you?" Vor frowned.

"Because he _didn't _go traitor," Irving replied, scornfully.

"Oh yeah? Then how do you explain it?"

"I don't know, but you saw him before - he was more obsessed than anyone with stopping Creed, no way he goes over to his side."

"Don't know if you've noticed, human, but people - your people especially - sometimes do this thing called _lying_…"

As his men descending into bickering as usual, Murphy wasn't listening. He had drifted off, and not just because of what he suspected was a concussion. Realisation had just hit him like a freight train with one particular discovery - as he reached for a fresh clip for his pistol, he noticed the omega-enkaphalin clips he'd acquired from Rilum's lab were gone. _Taken_.

"He didn't go traitor," the captain interrupted, neither hearing nor caring about the conversation going on around him.

"Then what the hell's he doing?" Vor muttered, sceptically.

"What do bounty hunters usually do? He's going after his target… and I think we need to get the hell off this ship before he reaches him."


	441. Operation Vendetta Part 12

"_**Vendetta" Reactor Core, Arcturus Stream**_

_**Day 2, 2230**_

_Clang. Clang. Clang._

Drake's boots echoed loudly off the deck as he traipsed into the reactor room, Talon clutched in one hand, biotics bristling in the other. He observed the two dead engineers on the ground with a look of cold indifference, and glanced around a moment, looking to every corner of the room for the attacker he knew was lying in wait.

"I take it Creed isn't coming?" he called, before adding under his breath: "Little son of a bitch…"

Tyco didn't reply. Still cloaked, he shifted out from his hiding place - leant against the wall, just inside the doorway - and strode over to the door console. The door slammed shut with a _hiss _at his command, and Drake wheeled around just in time to see him _smash _his omni-tool through the console, tearing it to pieces and causing it to spark forlornly. Wordlessly, he turned around to stare Drake dead in the eyes, visor to visor.

"Very subtle…" Drake muttered, sarcastically. "Anything else you'd like to smash, or shall we get right to it?"

"What, no death threats?" Tyco scowled. "No… taunts, or jibes, or mind games?"

"I'm not Creed," the other man laughed, mirthlessly. "If we've got a problem, let's get right to it."

"You know damn well what our problem is," the bounty hunter growled, advancing until he was just a foot away from Drake.

"Do I? No, I don't think I do, Tyco Maffei…"

Drake smirked. Tyco flashed a sarcastic smile. Then:

_Wham! _Out of nowhere, the bounty hunter planted a right hook between the other man's eyes, knocking him back with a grunt of pain.

_Bang. _He fired off a Talon round, Tyco ducked beneath it, and the hunter dove in-

_Whump_. The world turned upside down, as Drake flung up a burst of biotics that reversed his momentum and tossed him onto his back. He kicked out, staggering the other man, then scrambled to his feet, and:

_Bang. Bang. _Tyco spluttered slightly, a wad of blood rising in his throat as two Talon rounds dug into his flank and chest. With a roar, he lunged forwards, using the pain to _propel_ himself towards Drake.

_Bang. _The biotic fired off his last round, but mercifully, Tyco got his hand to the pistol's side, forcing it down just in time to scatter Drake's buckshot to the floor. The Talon _click_ed empty, and the mercenary swatted it away a moment later, sending it skidding across the deck. He bulled in close, ignoring the biotic fire that rose around his opponent's arms, and lashed out with a vicious headbutt - the brow of his helmet cracked into Drake's visor, and a moment later, grabbing hold of the collar of the biotic's Phoenix armour, he _threw _him to the floor.

_Whump_. Drake lashed out again, a biotic cannonball slamming heavily into Tyco's left shoulder - he felt the bones _break _beneath his armour, but his right arm was already going for the pistol on his hip. Before his opponent could hurl out another shot, he drew it, aimed it, and pulled the trigger.

_Crack crack, crack crack_. Two shots to each arm. Precise, clinical, and painful enough to make Drake snarl through gritted teeth, as thin streams of blood came twisting down his arms. He summoned up another flare of biotics-

And a pathetic _flicker _was all he managed to produce. His eyes widened, panic-stricken for the first time in the whole exchange. Tyco just smiled.

"Surprise…" he rasped, painfully - his side was bloody from the shrapnel wounds Drake had inflicted, and his left arm hung limply from the broken socket of his shoulder, but that satisfied smile remained. "Omega-enkaphalin, you son of a bitch. Should be getting pretty numb right about now, huh?"

"You think I need biotics to kill you?" Drake muttered, trying to inject some false bravado. "I could kill you with my bare hands, Maffei."

"You are _welcome _to try," Tyco snarled.

True to his word, the biotic tried to struggle upwards-

And Tyco put him back down with a fist to the face, slamming his head _hard _against the deck, before lowering his pistol to Drake's thigh.

_Crack._

"Argh!"

"That one sounded nasty," Tyco winced. "Right through the muscle? I hear that stings like a bitch…"

Drake spluttered and growled, but no words came out. Tyco just examined his pistol for a moment. One round left. Well, shit...

"You want to know what our problem is?" he said, finally.

"Not really, but I guess you'll tell me anyway-_argh!_"

That last scream had come as Tyco straightened up, making sure to press his hand against Drake's wounded leg as he stood.

"Remember Noveria, Drake? That was a fun one for you… and do you remember the girl you shot in Holstein's office?"

"You know what?" Drake hissed. "I can't really say I do."

The bounty hunter's eyes narrowed.

"Wrong answer."

_Crunch_.

"Argh!"

Tyco had brought his boot down on Drake's jaw, crushing it underfoot as he slammed his head into the deck. Judging by the ugly crack that echoed through the reactor room, it had snapped outright - an unintended but not unfortunate consequence.

"I know damn well you remember her," Tyco growled. "I know you remember her, and I know you remember me. Else why the hell would you try and _frame me for murder?_"

"Frame you?" Drake scowled, slurring slightly through the broken jaw, "You _are _a murderer. You do it for a living, bounty hunter."

"I'm a killer," he admitted, "but a smart guy once told me those are two _very _different things. Although, if I'm lookin' at a career in murder… might as well start with you."

"Then shut up and get it over with," his adversary snapped.

"Oh, you really think I'm lettin' you off that easy, after what you did to _her?_ To _me?_ To _Zya?_"

"I _think_ that sooner or later, you're gonna have to run for it before someone comes down here and puts a bullet in you too," Drake growled. "And if you don't finish me then, I'm comin' after you. Hell, I'm comin' after _her_. I know where she is, Maffei, and coma patients are so… unpredictable, you know? One moment they're fine, the next… flatline."

"I knew you remembered her," Tyco murmured, glaring and smiling at the same time. "But no-one's coming, Drake. Not for me, and not for you…"

He smirked, and reached for his omni-tool with his battered left arm - after a moment's painful effort, he switched the radio back _on_, and allowed the chatter to echo through the empty reactor room:

"Captain!" Akito was barking, with _perfect _timing. "Reactors are powering up!"

"_What?_" Murphy's voice replied, aghast. "They're jumping?"

"No, sir. It's not the drive core, it's the power plants! Antimatter cycle's going off the charts, I think the safeguards are down! The whole ship's going nuclear, and I see Cerberus shuttles ditching from the aft hangar bay - they're evacuating!"

"Son of a… I knew it! Squad, on me, double time it to the airlock! Bravo, do you copy?"

"We copy!" Thorne replied, bursting onto the channel amidst a mess of gunfire in the background. "Tell me we can get the hell out of here, captain, I don't know how much longer we'll last!"

"Affirmative, _withdraw!_" the captain ordered, urgently. "Akito, warm up the drives and get us ready to jump as soon as both teams are back aboard!"

"Aye aye, sir!"

Tyco shut the radio off again with a _beep_, still smiling as he hissed:

"How's that for subtle?"

"Better than I expected from a thug like you," Drake nodded, wryly.

"Says the _attack dog_."

"Touché. So how does this end, Maffei? You and me, going down with the ship?"

"Something like that," he growled. "Doors are sealed tight now, and I've only got one round left. I burned through the rest killing your men. So do I spent it on you or me?"

"Those are antimatter drives," the biotic noted, coolly, nodding at the reactors on either side of the room. "Exposure's gonna be slow, painful… you top yourself for a quick death, I shut them off and stop the meltdown. You shoot me, you have to sit there and _burn_. You don't shoot anyone… well, you still burn. Sucks to be you, I guess."

"Sure does…" the bounty hunter nodded. "And you're right, a bullet is too good for you. You don't deserve it quick and painless…"

A victorious smirk spread over Drake's features, even as he lay battered and broken on the deck.

"Pull the plug, Maffei," he rasped. "And we both walk away."

"No."

"Why the _fuck _not?" Drake growled, genuine panic showing through.

"Because a bullet's too good for you, and I'd go out slow and painful… but I'll die happy so long as I get to pull the trigger on you, you son of a bitch."

"_What?_"

_Crack_.

Drake's head snapped back, hitting the deck in a frozen mask of surprise. A crimson hole was visible between his eyes, blossoming beneath the shattered remnants of his visor…

Tyco dropped his pistol to the floor with a weary sigh, and one thought filled his mind: _job done_. He managed two steps across the deck before collapsing against the nearest railing, as blood loss and exhaustion finally caught up to him - he pressed his good hand to his flank, and it came away streaked in crimson. He barely had the energy in him to lift the other arm, shattered as it was.

In the upper reaches of the reactor room, something _burst_ - a thermal pipe, or a valve, or… _something_. It wasn't important. Alarms were blaring out louder than ever, warning of all sorts of impending doom and urging the crew to head for the nearest exit. Tyco just let his head fall back against the railing. The edges of his vision were going blurry, and that wasn't exposure. That was a blackout. Small mercy. He'd rather bleed out than burn alive.

With a slight groan, he dragged his bad arm across his lap, pulling up his omni-tool for a few last bits of… _paperwork_.

One message to the Shadow Broker: Job done.

One password for the mail VI he'd programmed two days prior: Job done.

One last glance at a photo he'd saved from Illium - her face, bright-eyed and feigning disgust at some crude joke he'd made as they waited on the roof of the Rosenkov Estate. Slowly, as the haze set in, he let his eyes drift down from her photo to Drake's body, splayed out lifeless at his feet.

_Job done_.


	442. Operation Vendetta Part 13

"_**Vendetta" Crew Quarters, Arcturus Stream**_

_**Day 2, 2245**_

"Thorne, this is Murphy!" the captain bellowed, pulling up his omni-tool as he shot down the corridor at a full sprint. "Tell me your team's out of there!"

"Clear of the ship," Thorne grunted, in assent. "The geth just flew us out."

Murphy paused.

"Thorne, I'm pretty sure I didn't hear that right," he muttered, after a moment. "It sounded like you said-"

"Yeah. I did."

"Oh."

"Don't ask me, captain, it was Arness' stupid idea…"

Murphy was about to ask just _why _Arness had thought it wise to hand her controls to the geth, when:

_Crack crack!_

"Shit!"

The captain dropped, skidding along on one armoured knee as a Cerberus squad rounded the corner ahead and peppered the captain, who had been at the head of his three fellows. As Murphy ducked and his shields flared, however, Irving went tearing past on the right, reaching for his Crusader.

_Bang. _The shotgun went off loudly, cutting down the trooper who had taken a shot at Murphy.

_Bang, bang. _The two riflemen on either side dropped too, chests torn open by a slug apiece.

A biotic lash came flying out a moment later, a golden whip snapping through the air and forcing Irving into a rough combat roll. He cleared the width of the corridor, thudded into the far wall, and brought his shotgun round to face the biotic operative now lunging at him.

_Bang. _The biotic staggered back, shields flaring, but the gunnery chief was left reloading-

_Thunk. _Never mind. Vor had just put a harpoon through the Cerberus operative's head, taking him down in an instant.

"Clear!" Irving roared. "Airlock's just up ahead!"

"Now or never, people, move it!" Murphy yelled, practically _shoving _Carter ahead of himself as they resumed their sprint. They twisted left around the corner, followed the corridor along, ducked and staggered as a thermal pipe in the ceiling burst, venting steam over their heads…

They turned right, and quite suddenly, Murphy realised the men they had just killed were little more than a rearguard, because up ahead was the Cambrai's airlock, and the corridor leading up to it was _strewn _with bodies. Kamur and his three squadmates had thrown it open - a wise move, to stop Cerberus damaging it and decompressing the whole CIC - before mounting what seemed to have been a vicious defence. Kan and Sam were in the background, kneeling and aiming through the doorway with Viper rifles. Aeryn was slumped just inside the doorway, arms burning with blue fire - this was her first taste of combat since Terra Nova, Murphy noted - and last of all, the turian himself was leaning against the side of the airlock, face bloody, rifle simmering. At his feet, a Centurion lay dead with what appeared to be _claw marks _in his neck.

"Spirits!" Kamur cursed, as they rounded the corner. "You took your time, captain!"

"Move!" he hollered, ignoring the turian and breaking into a desperate sprint.

Kamur's squad folded gratefully back through the airlock, ejecting spent clips and lowering their weapons as Murphy's team shot up to meet them, crammed into the chamber, and shut the outer door.

With a slight, mechanical _whir_, the decontamination scanner flickered over them from one of the room to the other.

"Come on, you hunk of junk…" Murphy growled, and right on cue:

"The commanding officer is aboard."

The inner door fell open, and both squads tumbled back into the CIC. Kamur set about checking his men and Murphy's, for injuries and the like, but the captain left him to it, instead making a beeline for the helm. He threw his pistol and helmet to the floor halfway down the corridor, and opened the cockpit door with a hasty wave of his omni-tool, storming onto the flight deck with a _frantic _air.

"Tell me we're ready to go," he snapped, as he did.

"Thorne's team just made a skid-landing in the hangar bay," Erika nodded, from the pilot's chair.

"Any casualties?"

"Thorne's wounded," Akito muttered, "and the other biotics are exhausted. But they're alive."

"So's my team," Kamur added, striding into the room behind Murphy. "Aeryn's a little rattled, but she's tougher than she looks. Rest of us are still fine and kicking."

Murphy felt like pointing out the blood pouring down Kamur's face, but by turian standards, that was little more than a minor inconvenience. He held his tongue, and instead turned to the helmsmen once again.

"Are we in a state to move?" he asked, hurriedly.

"Thrusters are warm," the co-pilot reported. "FTL drive'll need a few seconds to charge, but the Vendetta caught us close to the relay. We shouldn't _need _more than a few seconds."

"Will the substructure hold?" Kamur frowned, to Murphy's surprise. "Cerberus breached the hangar bay to board."

"Doors are shot to pieces, nothing we can do about that," Akito shrugged. "But the oxygen barrier's holding. I told Thorne's team to get up to the crew deck, just in case, but even it goes, it won't scupper the ship."

"Good enough," the turian shrugged. Then, quite suddenly, he turned to Murphy, eyes narrowing, and added: "Is there a reason we're not waiting for Tyco?"

The captain didn't reply. He just shot the turian a very hard stare. After a moment, Kamur looked down at his feet, and merely sighed.

"Get us out of here," Murphy muttered, quietly. "Jump to FTL, make for the Citadel. We'll need repairs."

"_If_ we make it out," the co-pilot sighed. "They've still got the prow guns… ah, sod it, nothing more we can do now. Erika, break when ready, take immediate evasives."

"Run a one-eighty?" she suggested.

"Negative. We don't have time to run circles, that ship's a floating bomb. Just get as much distance as you can."

"Aye aye. Keep the GARDIANs hot. As the crow flies, we can hit the relay in twenty."

He nodded, and fell into studious silences as he drew up half a dozen different console displays, beginning to program the jump.

"This is bridge to all crew!" Erika barked, over the intercom. "We're going to make a run for the relay, everybody strap in!"

Murphy slumped down into the nearest seat, at the engineering station, as Kamur did the same and fell down behind the comms. They barely had time to buckle in before Erika pitched forward on the controls, and the whole ship _lurched_. They were stationary for a moment, there was a slight grinding of metal, and then:

_Crunch. _The Cambrai hurtled forwards into open space, and Murphy was fairly sure they'd taken a chunk of the Vendetta's docking tube with them.

"Start the clock," the pilot murmured. "Twenty seconds to the relay, then the jump sequence. How long until-"

"The cruiser goes up like an atom bomb? Twenty seconds, judging by the readings, and the relay's inside the blast radius. No pressure."

Erika just growled a little, and pushed the ship to go even faster - the thrusters were almost at breaking point, judging by the scarlet lights which popped up on the flight console, but she ignored them, twisting the ship around on a wide arc until the mass relay hovered dead centre in the cockpit screen.

"So, have we got a jump trajectory, or am I ramming the god-damn relay?" she asked, as the relay in question grew larger with each passing moment.

"Working on it!" her fellow barked. "Ten seconds- shit!"

_Something _lit up on the co-pilot's screen, and in hindsight, Murphy would realise that was the first volley from the Vendetta, sparking off a series of warnings from the ship's sensors. Golden shots went streaking past them and off ahead, one, two, three-

Four. _Boom. _There was a loud roar from the bowels of the ship, and the cockpit flickered into darkness for a moment as the Cambrai tipped forward on its axis of movement, going nose-down as if riding some great wave or swell.

"Damage report!" Erika screamed.

"Three's gone!" Akito replied, and Murphy could only guess he was talking about the thrusters. "Bastards are trying to take us with them!"

"Still drifting! Barriers dead, engines dead! Get me some power!"

"On it! Detonation in five, relay's programmed… there! Go!"

"Bringing her around!"

Solov gave the controls a great tug, and the ship spun around, giving everyone on the helm a clear view of the Vendetta for just a second - the cruiser was hanging in space a good distance away, readying a second volley…

_Boom. _Once again, Murphy found himself inventing noise, because the real soundtrack was silence as the Vendetta _exploded_. A savage white flash was followed by a blazing fireball, tearing out of the cruiser's mid-section to engulf the whole damn thing. It burned out a moment later, having consumed every ounce of oxygen ejected from the ship's wreck, but the panic didn't seem to be over - Erika was white-knuckled on the controls as they spun back towards the relay, and Akito yelled:

"Zero! Vendetta just went up, shockwave's incoming!"

"We've got no barriers!" the pilot barked in reply. "It'll shake us apart!"

"Three to impact!"

"Corridor's open!"

"_Jump!_"

Everything seemed to play out in slow motion after that. The blue maelstrom at the heart of the relay had built to a storm, shining brightly as they whirled around to face it, but even as Erika spurred the ship forwards, the sensor arrays were lighting up…

The shockwave hit, and for half a second the ship waspitchingup, and sideways, the hull _shivering _under the strain… and then the blue storm exploded over them, a thunderbolt reaching out to strike the Cambrai's side.

_Whoosh. _Azure light swept over the cockpit in a torrent, and they shot forward to the sound of a deep rumble from the eezo core.

Silence fell over the helm for a second. Murphy half-expected the ship to break up at any moment. And yet… several moments passed, then several more. The imaginary thunder of the Vendetta's destruction was just an echo, and the familiar ripple of blue was flying past their heads.

"Ha!" Akito laughed, breaking the silence as he shot to his feet and punched the air. "You _beautiful _girl!"

For once, Murphy was _fairly _sure he wasn't talking to the ship - so was Solov, judging by the slight blush creeping over her usually stoic features.

"We made it?" the captain asked, as the co-pilot broke into a similar blush and slumped back down in his seat.

"Ah… all systems green," Erika nodded, coughing slightly. "Considering."

"_Considering?_"

"We got the _shit _kicked out of us," she noted, blunt as ever. "But she's holding."

"Eezo core's about the only thing Cerberus didn't damage," Akito added. "The field won't collapse on us in transit… that's always good."

"Why? What happens if it collapses?" Kamur frowned - judging by his face, the turian had only just caught up to events.

"We all get dosed with Cherenkov radiation?"

"A… lethal dose?"

"Well, a lethal dose is… _any_. So, yeah."

"Okay, for future reference, let's try and _avoid _that," the turian scowled. "What do we do now, captain?"

"Arcturus to the Citadel… that's about six hours, right?" Murphy asked.

"There or thereabouts," Akito nodded.

"Enough time to clean up…" the captain sighed. "Akito, get me damage reports on all systems, and tell medical what's going on."

"Aye aye."

"Kamur, I want a headcount on the crew we lost."

"Understood. What are you going to do?"

"Send a message to the fleet. This shit's gonna take some explaining…"


	443. Operation Vendetta Debrief

_**SSV Cambrai, Mass Relay Transit**_

_**Day 2, 2300**_

_Beep beep, beep beep._

Murphy sighed, straightened up in his desk chair, and reached for his omni-tool. Just as he'd been getting comfortable, too…

"Andersen?" he muttered, noting the caller ID.

"Captain," the engineer replied, briefly. There was no video link, but from the audio, Murphy could already tell he was… quiet. "Did you contact the fleet?"

"No. Long range comms are shot, I couldn't get a message through. I'll head for the Alliance embassy once we reach the Citadel, send it from there."

"Fair enough."

"Everything alright in med bay?"

"Fine. Dr O'Leiph had to prioritise, though, there weren't enough beds. She sent Zel back to bunks now she's fixed up, same with Saffiya, and she told Ekris and Liselle to get their calorie replacements in the mess hall."

"And the rest of you?"

"All fine for now. She just took Rilum into surgery, Araya's next, then Thorne."

"Okay… and why are you messaging me?"

A slight silence on the other end of the line, as Murphy cut right to the point. After a moment's deliberation, Andersen replied, slowly:

"I just got a bunch of messages delivered to my omni-tool by a mail VI."

"Right…"

"They're from Tyco."

Murphy paused, jaw hanging open for a second or two in surprise. Then:

"How?"

"Like I said, a mail VI. Automated program, probably triggered right before he…"

Andersen trailed off, and Murphy didn't pursue it. Instead, he ploughed on, and asked:

"Is this just a curiosity call, or did you have a reason for bringing it to me?"

"Of course I had a _reason_," the engineer snapped, with a touch of reproach in his voice. "The VI dispatched the messages to me, with instructions to pass the rest on. There's one here for you."

"There is?"

"Mhmm."

"Patch it through, then."

"Already did, sir. I'll leave you to listen in peace."

The captain just nodded, as Andersen's voice faded away and the line went dead. A single data file had just appeared on his omni-tool display in place of the call. 'Untitled'. Slowly, he rose from his chair, locked the door to his quarters, and transferred the file to the large vid screen above his desk. There was a moment of static, and then:

"Alright, chief?" Tyco grinned.

"The _hell?_" Murphy muttered, under his breath.

"Bit weird, ain't it?" the sniper replied, presciently.

His face was filling the screen, the shoulders below clad only in crew fatigues, and judging by the slightly crimson-tinged background, and the machinery around him, he'd filmed the message on the gunnery deck. Rather an elaborate setup, not a spur of the moment thing. That just confirmed Murphy's suspicions of the day - Tyco had had _this _in mind for quite a while…

"If you're listening to this," he continued, "then I'm dead, to be perfectly blunt about it. If all went as planned, I took the bastard with me, but I know shit happens. I don't know exactly how it went down, either, but there'd better have been some fireworks. I ain't one to die quietly."

"You have no idea…" Murphy chuckled, sadly.

"I'll bet you're wondering why I left this message, chief. Thing is, I've got a last request to make. Might be helpful to you, too."

The captain's ears pricked up at that, and he leant in towards the screen, listening attentively as Tyco - the recording, at least - fixed him with a conspiratorial stare, and continued:

"I can only assume you'll be heading back to the Citadel soon. Depending on how I died, you might have a body to return. If I went up in flames… well, you could always visit Kayla, huh boss?"

He smiled roguishly, and Murphy shook his head with a wry smile – the absurdity of the situation was overcoming the rather morbid nature of the conversation, and the recording felt, if only for a brief moment, like having Tyco back in the room.

"There's a salarian on the Citadel, name of Kass. He's an information broker, works out of a small shop on Bachjret Ward. Used to operate for the Shadow Broker, and he's the one who helped me track down Drake – I told you about him, remember?"

Murphy nodded to himself. 'Visiting a contact' had been Tyco's alibi during that horrible business surrounding Zya's death, and he had produced a whole dossier on Drake to try and prove it. He never had named his contact, though – had he been trying to protect this 'Kass' all along?

"He was working with the Broker, digging through all sorts to try and find Drake – pulled up a lot of information on Project Phoenix, too, which might interest you… Point is, I'm worried about him. He's a good hacker, but Cerberus are pretty good too – if they trace the enquiries back to him, I doubt they'd hesitate to take him out. He's a slippery bastard at times, but we've been through a lot together, and I don't want him to die for chasing up my grudges – also, he's got a few _items _of mine that he's responsible for distributing after I'm gone. Sort of a… will and testament. Next time you go to the Citadel, I'd be real grateful if you could check out his office – co-ordinates are enclosed. Make sure he's safe, I owe him that much."

"Will do," the captain murmured, ignoring the bit of his brain that chided him for talking to a recording. Tyco's recording had gone very still, flickered for a moment, and then:

"Alright chief? Bit weird, ain't it-"

_Beep. _Murphy killed the video as it started to loop, and sunk back down in his chair. It took him a minute or two to process it all, before he did the only think he could think of in response:

"Andersen?" he called, bringing up the radio again.

"Yes sir?"

"That message you passed on to me. Did you watch it already?"

"No!"

"Alright, alright, just checking if you knew… Tyco wants me to go bail out the information broker who helped him find Drake. Says Cerberus is probably going after him."

"The fun never stops… do you need help tracking him down?"

"No, Tyco gave me enough to go on. I'll do this one myself."

"Okay, sir."

A moment's pause, as a single question ate away at the back of Murphy's brain.

"Have you listened to yours?" he asked, eventually.

"Yeah, I have."

"And?"

"Same as yours. He asked a favour."

"Care to tell me what it is?"

"No."

"Uh-huh… care to tell me how I can help?"

"_No_. It's… personal, sir. Got to do it myself."

"Fair enough, corporal. Fair enough."


	444. Downtime 46

_**SSV Cambrai, Mass Relay Transit**_

_**Day 3, 0400**_

Zel Manado couldn't sleep. It was always fairly hard to drift off in the hangar bay, surrounded by snoring krogan and humming machinery, but tonight was even worse than usual. The bullet wounds in the turian's chest were shallow, and the doctor had sealed them off well, but the problem wasn't so much them as her arm - it kept going into spasms from the shoulder down, where Drake's biotics had crushed it inside her armour, and every time it did she jerked painfully awake. This was the fifth time in five hours.

With a huff of frustration, she sat up and began to rearrange her bedroll. Ethan had offered her his hammock, claiming it was more comfortable, but the damn thing looked like a death trap to the turian, so she had stuck to a solid bedroll on solid ground… err, deck. But it was a flimsy little Alliance thing, so as she rearranged it, she had to be careful not to tear it in two with her claws like the cheap piece of crap it was…

Wow, she was tired. And snappy. The two seemed to go together… Slowly, and with a noise that was half-sigh, half-rumble, she sunk back down onto the bedroll, lying on top of it instead of inside it - being tangled up in the thing only made it more awkward to extricate herself when her arm went crazy. Absent-mindedly, she began to look around the hangar, observing her sleeping fellows, listening to the battered ship's machinery ticking over-

And realised for the first time, as she twisted around, that a bright eye was watching her from behind.

"Spirits!" she swore, scrambling back and kicking her bedroll across the floor as she turned to face the geth. It barely moved. Just shrunk back a little in what looked like surprise, eye widening slightly in the same effect.

There was a moment's awkward silence, as Zel pushed down the biotic instincts rising in her nerves - only her exhaustion from the day before kept the blue fire from breaking over her arms - and the geth just… stared back. Didn't even blink.

"Have… have you been watching me sleep?" she frowned, as the geth's single eye continued to stare down at her, shining rather brightly in the darkened hangar.

"Not exclusively," the geth replied. "I have been observing."

"Why?"

"Geth do not sleep."

"What?"

"Geth do not sleep. Our systems do not require accelerated repair as organics do. We continue our activities through both day and night cycles."

"So… you were bored?"

"Yes. That is an adequate reasoning."

"Thanks. I was shooting for _adequate_," she muttered sarcastically, before recovering her bedroll and rolling over to sleep once more, turning her back on the geth. Just as her eyelids were beginning to droop, however:

"I have a question."

"Of course you do…" Zel grumbled, rolling back to the geth and sitting up, wearily. "What is it?"

"You talk."

"Hmm?"

"In your sleep."

"Still not hearing a question here…"

"Why?"

"_Why?_"

"Yes. Why do you talk in your sleep? There is no-one to communicate with. It seems… inefficient."

"Organics do a lot of _inefficient_ things," the turian laughed, wryly. "The sleep-talking… I'm not sure why I do it. Tends to annoy people, 'specially in barracks. Nobody quite knows why some people do it and others don't; one shrink said it was my brain processing and sorting information during the night; one of my old squaddies thought I was just talking out my dreams…"

"Dreams?"

"Oh, spirits, I am _not _explaining dreams to you at this time of night."

The geth's eye shrunk in an almost _disappointed _expression – or maybe he was just squinting – and there was silence for a moment, before he spoke again.

"But these words have meaning?" he persisted.

"I don't know… _maybe_… what were the words?"

"There were many. One phrase repeated. Introductory: 'Zelva Aris Manado, Third Cabal'. What do these words mean?"

"It's pronounced Zelva'Aris Manado-"

"Apostrophe. Contraction. Zelvaris Manado?"

"Err… close enough."

"And what does that mean?"

"That's my name."

"Your name? I see. Zelvaris… Zelva Aris… Zelva'Aris…"

"Just… say Zel," the turian interrupted. "Everyone else does."

"Zel Manado," the geth murmured, seeming satisfied at the easier pronunciation. "I will call you Zel Manado."

"Well, that _is_ what names are for," she scowled, sarcastically. "We tend to call people by them."

"What did the other words mean?" it continued. "Third, and Cabal?"

"You don't know what _third _means?"

"In isolation, yes, but there is no context here. I do not know what 'Cabal' is, so I do not know what the third of it might be. A third in a series, or a third of a whole?"

"Can't you just look up 'Cabal' on the extranet, then?"

"The extranet is notoriously unreliable. Even the extranet itself agrees on that. It is somewhat paradoxical."

"Alright, fine… so you want to know what a Cabal is?"

"Yes."

"It's a special kind of unit in the turian military, made up of biotics – you know what biotics are?"

The geth nodded, neck _whirring _slightly as it did.

"Organics with the ability to manipulate mass effect fields. Often brought on by pre-natal exposure to what organics call 'element zero'."

"Right. Well, in the turian military, biotics are sent into special units, called Cabals."

"So a 'Cabal' is a group consisting of biotic turians?"

"Yes."

"But what does 'Cabal' mean?"

"Well… that. What you just said."

"That was a description, not a meaning. What does 'Cabal' mean?"

"What does it _mean? _It's… it's just a name."

"All names have meaning."

"Alright. Well, to me, Cabal means… it's hard to say what it means. I know how it makes me _feel_, though. Biotics are rare among the people, but normal among the Cabals. You feel like a normal person for the first time in your life, feel like you're part of something. And then you look out at the rest of the world and realise that you're incredibly alone. The 'normal' people look at you with suspicion, and you never step beyond your little bubble…"

Where the heck had _that _come from? The geth stared at her blankly for a moment, and then, almost randomly, continued:

"All things have a name. All names have a meaning."

"I… suppose," Zel nodded.

"I do not have a name. Do I not have a meaning?"

Okay, this was getting way too existential, way too quickly, and Zel was beginning to feel like a counsellor.

"You do have a name, don't you?" she murmured. "Geth."

"'Geth' is a collective," it replied, almost _sadly_. "It means 'Servant of the People' in the Creator language. I am neither now. I am an individual, not a collective, and I am a killer of the Creators, not their servant. The name 'Geth' seems hollow."

"Then pick a new name," Zel shrugged, simply.

Silence followed. The geth looked at Manado, then down to the floor, then, for some reason, to its own hand, and then finally, back to the turian.

"Cabal is a good name," it murmured, quietly.

"What?"

"Cabal. You said it means unity, and isolation. This applies. This platform once held one hundred and twenty programs. One hundred and twenty geth, now reduced to one individual program, a union of one. But an individual, not a collective, it is… quiet. I hear one voice. There used to be millions."

"You're lonely," Zel muttered, in surprise.

"An… adequate reasoning."

"Lonely in a room full of people… yeah, that sounds like the Cabals."

"Cabal is a good name? You agree?"

"Yeah," she nodded. "Yeah, I guess it is a good name…"

"Then I will be called Cabal," the geth murmured, and it sounded almost… could geth sound _happy_, or was she reading organic meaning where there was none?

"Alright then."

"I have a name…"

"Good for you," Zel mumbled, rolling over. She was a bit too tired to notice that the geth was looking around brightly, with an air that could be mistaken for _excitement _in organics. "Now could you go and observe someone else? Us puny organics need our sleep…"

"Good night, Zel Manado."

She sighed, and allowed a little smile to pass over her plated features. The geth's pseudo-enthusiasm was infectious, even at this hour of the morning.

"Good night, Cabal."


	445. Shore Leave Bachjret Ward 1

**A/N: Sorry for the missing the last couple of updates, guys. Two words: Bioshock Infinite. I finally got hold of a copy, and played the whole thing through in one go. Mind-blowing game. Anyway... I'll try and get a double update up today, to make up for it, depends if I can get another one written in time. For now, just enjoy the start of shore leave!**

**PS. To all those giving me feedback on Cabal's name, I can't take credit for it (or for the reference - I've never played C&C, so credit for the reference goes entirely to the character's creator). As I said, he's a mix of all the geth characters we had submitted, but for the name, I went back to the very first geth submission. It was Avenger09, right back on Chapter 1, and curiously enough, Cabal was submitted in the same post as Mac'Tir and Aeryn. Trivia for the day right there...**

* * *

><p><em><strong>SSV Cambrai, Serpent Nebula<strong>_

_**Day 3, 0700**_

"You _named _the geth?"

"Well… sort of, yeah."

"How?"

"It asked!"

"Why?"

"They're sentient now, I guess it makes sense that they should take a n-"

"No, I mean why you? Why couldn't it figure its own damn name?"

"He's just gone from being a robot to being sentient! I imagine that takes some adjustment…"

"He?"

"Sounds like a he."

"It sounds like a robot… and you still haven't explained why it asked you."

"I was the only one awake?"

Ethan groaned, and put a hand to his face. Zel shrugged. Stood a few feet away from the pair, Kan just allowed himself a little chuckle beneath his visor, and turned away.

The whole crew, save for those in the med bay or at the helm, had gathered in the hangar bay to go ashore. On Murphy's orders, they were packing weapons and armour with them, in footlockers and bags, just in case the repair work caused any damage to the ship's interior. Those who required medical attention had to stay, as did Dr O'Leiph, but aside from them, _everyone _was leaving, even Murphy. The engineers would have been staying behind to assist the repairs… but they were both in med bay anyway.

"Bridge to crew!" Solov cried, over the intercom. "Dock authorities gave us a priority lane on account of our damage, so we're going to get the ship down before it closes. Landing in five, just hold tight!"

"You heard her, people!" Captain Murphy shouted, over the heads of the rest of the crowd. "Everybody grab your gear, and be ready to go ashore so we can get the repair teams in!"

A slight buzz passed through the hangar, and people began to mill gradually towards the elevator - it was a familiar journey by now, up to the CIC and out via the port airlock, and after the events of the last few days, everyone was rather eager for some proper shore leave. Two dead, half a dozen others wounded… the mood was subdued, to say the least. That said, Creed's ship had made for some nice fireworks…

"Kan!" a voice called, interrupting the quarian's train of thought. He wheeled around just in time to see the captain approaching him across the hangar, in full armour and with a pistol on his hip. To be honest, Kan didn't think he'd quite mastered 'switching off' yet.

"What do you need, boss?" he frowned - not that anyone could _see _the frown under his visor.

"I need you to take this," Murphy replied, tossing him a datapad, which he caught in one hand. "And _this_."

With the latter words, he slung a hefty footlocker into the quarian's other hand, causing him to grunt and double over a little.

"Really?" Kan muttered. "Making the quarian carry your luggage? _Little _bit offensive, captain."

"Smartass."

"I try. I take it you're going on business?"

"Yeah. Got an errand to run before I put my feet up."

"And… _why _do I have to take your locker?"

"Because I'm guessing _yours _is quite light."

"Huh?"

Murphy shot him a sceptical look.

"Everyone else is packing their armour, and a few sets of civvies. You wearyour armour every day, what else could you be carrying?"

"Spare set?"

A pause. The captain just stared into his visor, brow furrowing slightly. Eventually he said, slowly:

"You're joking, right?"

"Couldn't you tell?" Kan retorted, sarcastically.

"Ha-ha. Just carry the damn thing, Kan. Dump it somewhere I can find it later."

"Like… in the street?"

"Like _in the hotel I just booked_. Read the god-damn datapad."

Kan glanced down at the small pad in his hand, and read aloud:

"Floor Four, Sunset Plaza Hotel. Wait, we got the whole _floor?_"

"You say that like we've never done it before…" Murphy chuckled. "Not a lot of money in tourism at the minute. They gave us four bloody suites at a thirty percent discount."

"And Alliance is funding it?"

"Not… specifically. But they gave me a budget to burn, and keeping you all sane is just as important as keeping you armed."

"Fair enough… one question, though."

"What?"

"Why'd you pick _me _to do the admin?"

"Hey, I needed someone I could trust to do this _before_ going and getting pissed."

"And I was your first choice? I'm flattered."

"Second choice, but I couldn't bloody find Saffiya."

"Slightly less flattered now."

The captain opened his mouth to reply, but was drowned out by a low rumble, and a slight groan from the ship's battered substructure which worried Kan far less than it should have done - half the Migrant Fleet was falling apart in flight, so a few scratches like this were nothing in comparison. Silence followed the rumble, as the engines died away, and then the intercom piped up again:

"Touchdown," Solov murmured. "Docking tube's securing now, everybody get up to the airlock."

"And, that would be my cue," Murphy sighed, drumming the pistol on his hip absent-mindedly. "Time to go to work."

"How are you getting that through customs?" Kan frowned curiously, nodding to the gun - military crew on shore leave were allowed to take their weapons ashore so long as they were kept secure, but wearing them on the hip? That was another matter…

"I'm an Alliance captain," he shrugged. "They can trust me."

"Really? No offence, captain, but every time you go to the Citadel, shit happens. Something gets blown up, or somebody dies, or you shoot someone…"

"Yeah… you'd think they'd have learned not to let us on the station by now. Guess we're due for a quiet one sooner or later, right?"

"Yeah. _Right_…"


	446. Shore Leave Bachjret Ward 2

_**Level 21, Bachjret Ward**_

_**Day 3, 0820**_

To be quite honest, Murphy couldn't believe he'd managed to blag his way past customs with a pistol the size of his head strapped to his waist. Somehow, though, and perhaps it was an effect of the war, his rank held some sway, and he'd convinced them he needed it for Alliance business. The sergeant manning customs hadn't exactly been happy about it, but he'd begrudgingly allowed Murphy through after a word with his superiors.

Now, the captain was stood across the street from a small, one-storey shop which, according to the attachment on Tyco's message, belonged to 'Kass'. It was rather unremarkable, considering the man was supposed to work for the Shadow Broker…

Slowly, and glancing around to make sure the back street was abandoned - it was, seeing as the mostly-human district didn't seem to open for business until nine - he yanked the Carnifex out of his belt and crossed the street, making for the small door at the front of the store. It was locked, but _badly_ - Murphy wasn't exactly a hacker, but he didn't need Andersen for this one, just a simple, standard-issue bypass program. He sidled up to the door, took cover to one side, and ran his omni-tool over the lock.

_Hiss._

"What the-?" a low voice grunted.

"Customer?" another muttered.

"Nah, that door was _locked_. Check it out."

Dull footsteps echoed across what Murphy assumed was a metal floor, and he counted them as they approached - one, two, three, four… on five, a blue-helmeted head poked out of the doorway-

And Murphy had his pistol up in shot, pointing it squarely between the man's eyes.

"Whoa, whoa!" he spluttered, as the captain forced him back through the door at gunpoint, and followed him in.

On the far side of the room, another man in blue and white armour, this one with a rifle pointed squarely into the chest of a grey-skinned salarian. Kass, presumably, and the men… mercenaries? Not Cerberus, though… they looked like Blue Suns, as unlikely as that was. But then, how else was Cerberus meant to get at someone on the Citadel?

"Gun down," the captain called, rather nonchalantly.

"Hell no!" the merc replied, glancing over his shoulder. "You drop yours!"

"Well, this seems to be a stalemate…" Murphy muttered. The whole thing felt distinctly less _stressful _than his brain was telling him it should be. Perspective, he supposed...

"Doesn't it just?" the man growled, still holding his rifle to the salarian's chest. "Now-_urk!_"

Okay, _that_, he hadn't seen coming. There was a blue explosion on the far side of the room, and the merc's body went flying off to one side like a ragdoll. In hindsight, he would realise Kass had taken his chance and lashed out with biotics the moment the mercenary's attention was diverted. His fellow glanced off to the side to watch his colleague's body clatter down, then looked back at the distracted Murphy, and-

_Whack! _The captain caught a gauntleted fist across the face, snapping him back to the matter at hand. His eyes shot back at the merc just in time to see his pistol ripped from his grasp, as he felt his leg swept out from beneath him. He toppled, hit the floor hard, and looked up as the mercenary swung around, aiming for Kass.

_Thunk. _He didn't even have time to fire off a shot before _something _slammed into his chest, producing a spurt of blood and knocking him heels-over-head to the floor. On the far side of the room, the salarian still had an omni-bow jutting out around his wrist, his hands frozen in the act of firing. Looking down, Murphy saw the slim haft of an arrow sticking out of the merc's chest…

There was awkward silence for a moment, as Murphy and the salarian stared at each other. The captain had a desperate urge to recover his pistol from the dead merc's feet, but the paranoid bit of his brain was telling him not to, in case the not-so-helpless victim decided to start shooting again. Finally, it was Kass who broke the silence:

"As rescue attempts go, that was… terrible," he muttered.

"Yeah… did I get the right address? Because Tyco seemed to think you'd need saving."

The salarian blinked.

"Tyco sent you?"

"Posthumously," he explained, simply.

"Ah… I'm sorry."

"That would sound a _lot _more convincing if you weren't pointing a lethal weapon at my head," Murphy hinted.

"Huh? Oh, right…" Kass murmured, looking down at the omni-bow as if in surprise, before retracting it and straightening up.

"Much better…" the captain sighed, leaning over and grabbing his pistol from the dead merc's side as he rose to his feet.

"So… what now?" the salarian frowned, somewhat awkwardly.

"Well, judging by the number of killers I've picked up over the last few months, I should be recruiting you…" he grumbled.

"What a novel idea. I'm guessing you're Tyco's captain, then?"

"Yeah."

"Captain… Zachary Murphy?"

"_Yeah_. How'd you know that?"

Kass just shot him a blank look.

"I'm an information broker," he pointed out. "Tyco comes to me with a job, you really think I wouldn't check who was paying his fee?"

"You know, I don't think we ever _actually _paid him."

"Then you were _not_ working with the same Maffei I knew…" Kass grumbled. "Now, captain, you give me one good reason why I should sign up to your… crew?"

"Because we could do with an information broker's skill set?"

"And I benefit… how?"

"You… get to fight the Reapers?"

"No thanks."

"You get the satisfaction of doing your part?"

"Ha! No."

"You might get paid?"

"Doubt it."

"You get protection?"

"What, from cheap goons like these?"

"From Cerberus."

"Who I assume had to _hire _cheap goons like these to even get to me. Next."

"You get a witness to tell C-Sec you didn't murder these two in cold blood?"

"Ah… yeah, that'll do."

"I thought it might…"

"Do you _usually_ have to blackmail people to get them to join you?"

"Only when an old friend describes them as, and I quote, 'a slippery bastard'."

"Well, at least he remembered me… how do we do this, then?"

"_We _don't do anything. _I _have to convince my CO to sign your papers."

"And me?"

"I imagine you'd want to start cleaning up… not too much though, C-Sec might think you're disposing of evidence."

"Funny…"

"I try. Just call them, tell them what happened - you were attacked and killed these guys in self defence. They ask for a witness, you give them my name. Once C-Sec's off your back, you deal with anything that needs dealing with. Clean up shop, finish off contracts… and Tyco said you had his, err… 'last will and testament'?"

"Not to my knowledge…" the salarian frowned.

"Ah. In that case, I expect you'll be getting a message about it shortly. Just tie up any loose ends here on the Citadel - you've got a week before our repairs are done and we deploy. End of that week, you report to Repair Dock Two, here on Bachjret. We'll be waiting."

"I bet you will…"

Murphy turned to leave, but as he did, Kass continued:

"Captain?"

"Yeah?" he muttered, turning around.

"One thing you haven't accounted for - what if the Shadow Broker objects to my being on an Alliance ship?"

"I thought you were an independent broker?"

"When it suits me. And when it suits me, I work for the Broker."

"Then it should _suit you _to know the Broker won't have a problem with it," Murphy called over his shoulder, heading for the door again. "She's actually working quite closely with the Alliance these days."

"Oh. Well that's…. wait. _She?_"


	447. Shore Leave Bachjret Ward 3

_**SSV Cambrai, Bachjret Ward Docks**_

_**Day 3, 1040**_

"Hey, brainbox, got a minute?"

Andersen looked up from the blank screen he had been browsing for the last half hour, to see Cat Arness standing over him, hands on her hips.

"You're meant to be in med bay," he observed.

"So are you," she retorted.

"Point taken… what do you need?"

"The shuttle won't start."

"Duh. It got _blown up_."

"And I've fixed _that_, smarty-pants. Apart from denting the hull, all the blast did was take out a gyro and a couple of power cells. I replaced them, it wouldn't start. I swapped out the circuitry on the entire starboard side to be safe, it _still _wouldn't start."

"What wouldn't? The whole system, or just the ignition sequence?"

"The ignition. It cycles for half a second, then the safety systems cut it."

"Which is why you need me. Systems work, not mechanics."

"Exactly. Flight school teaches you nuts and bolts, but the electronics? They told us to leave those for the eggheads."

"None taken," he muttered. "Fine, I'll take a look."

"Ta," Cat smiled, before turning on her heel and heading off towards the battered shuttle.

Andersen rose to his feet with a slight groan and followed her, glancing around the almost abandoned hangar bay as he did. The repair crews were beginning with the vital systems, leaving the hangar door for now, and everyone save him and Cat had gone ashore or was busy elsewhere on the ship - even Andersen was only being kept here by his reluctanceto head off onto the Citadel. Across the hangar, Cat's shuttle looked almost untouched, but the scorch marks running up the wall behind hinted at the damage on the other side…

"I'll cycle her up," the pilot called, bounding into the ship ahead of him. "You can see for yourself…"

He just nodded, and brought up a diagnostic on his omni-tool as he stepped into the compartment. Cat ducked into the cockpit, hit the controls, and the thrusters rose with a whine… before dying away. No, _cutting out_ - it wasn't a gradual fade, it was a sudden halt.

"Safety systems activated," he murmured. "_Fire _safety systems."

"Yeah," Cat replied, poking her head around the door to the cockpit. "It thinks we're still on fire or something."

"Not quite. Fire cut-offs engage when it thinks it's _about _to be on fire."

"Seems dangerous," she muttered, folding her arms. "What if it engaged in flight?"

He stared at her like she was an idiot for just a moment. In hindsight, it had been rather harsh of him - reflection of his mood or something…

"It wouldn't. It's part of the ignition sequence. It won't engage while you're in the air, but once you land and power down, you can't start back up without making repairs."

"Repairs? I already fixed everything."

"You fixed everything the _explosion _damaged," he sighed, boredly, "but if this cut in after Benning, I'm guessing _you _damaged something. What did you do?"

"Nothing."

"What did you _do?_" the engineer repeated.

"_Nothing!_" Cat protested.

He gave a rumble of frustration, turned on his heel, and hopped out of the shuttle. He was crouching down next to the port thruster by the time Cat made to follow, and had already pried the maintenance panel open when she reached his side.

"Mind telling me why you're taking my ship apart?" she frowned.

"Because I need to find out what you broke, and I know you broke _something_," Andersen grunted, reaching deep into the workings of the thruster. "A-_ha_."

"What?"

"This," he muttered, pulling a large steel cylinder out of the thruster. It was about the length of his forearm, and twice the width.

"Shiny," Cat chuckled. "What is it?"

"Inertia coil housing," the engineer explained. "I thought you said you did nuts and bolts?"

"Well, yeah, but not thrusters. They're specialised tech. Best to leave it to-"

"The eggheads?"

"I was going to say boffins, actually."

"Right… well, I won't go into what it does, but I'll tell you now, it's not _meant_ to be shiny. It's meant to have a layer of thermal cladding… which I'm guessing you boiled. Hot-burn manoeuvre?" he asked, glancing at her with a hint of reproach.

"Oh, don't look at me like that," she scowled, "we were being attacked by gunships! It was push the thrusters or get shot down…"

"Fair enough. But this is where your problem is. If the housing overheats, the inertia coil deforms inside it. Without the dampener, the thruster undergoes stress, and before long you get a burnout. An explosive one. That's why your fire safety systems are kicking in."

"Can you fix it?"

"Nope. This thing's cooked. You'll have to buy a new one."

"_Great_. Can you at least override the safeties?"

"I wouldn't recommend it. This isn't electronic red tape, it's a realrisk."

"I don't want to fly it!" she added, quickly. "I just want to run the full ignition sequence so I can make sure nothing else is damaged."

"Ah. Well, yeah, I could probably do that."

"I'd owe you one."

"Damn right you would," he nodded. "This breaks regs."

"Oh, like you've never done _that_ before," Cat laughed.

He shrugged, and they made for the shuttle, stepping inside a moment later. Andersen slumped down in the nearest seat, tapping his omni-tool into the shuttle's systems, while Cat hovered by the far wall, watching him. He worked in silence for a few minutes, before finally, and with a sense of dragging inevitability:

"You're quiet today."

"Am I?" Andersen muttered, not looking up.

"Yeah."

"Huh."

A pause.

"I'm not an idiot, Andersen."

_Now _he looked up.

"I might not be a marine, but I know when someone's grieving," Cat continued. "Who?"

"I don't know what you mean-"

"_Who?_ Tyco, or Arrete?"

"Both of them."

"And which one more, smartarse? Because you weren't even this torn up after that girl Zya died, which means one of them really got to you. Which one?"

He paused, and stared down at his hands for a moment or two.

"Tyco," he admitted, finally.

"Good friend?"

"Shitty friend," the engineer chuckled. Absent-mindedly, one hand strayed up to the eye, now healed, which had been blackened just a few weeks prior by the bounty hunter's fist. "But still a friend…"

"Fair enough. Look, I know this might not be what you want to hear, but… at least you know he's dead."

"Funnily enough, I think that's part of the problem," he scowled. "No, wait, it _is _the problem."

"Just hear me out," she sighed, rather patiently given his snappy state. "Like I said, I'm not one of you, but I know grief. And I know it'd be worse if he was missing. If he was gone, you didn't know where, and you didn't even know if he was alive or dead. You'd keep yourself up at night wondering, and you'd be clinging on to the idea that he might still be alive…"

Cat trailed off, blushing slightly as she realised she gotten carried away. All of a sudden, Andersen found his surly mood swept away by a tide of pity.

"That sounded personal," he observed, quietly.

"I… yeah," she nodded, taking her turn to be evasive.

"Family?"

"Parents…"

"Where were they?" the engineer asked, softly.

"Earth," the pilot replied. "A couple of hundred miles from London."

He grimaced, silently, and couldn't find any words for that…

"Yeah, exactly," she muttered, spotting his expression.

"I'm sorry," he said, eventually.

"I… thanks. I don't talk about it much - Wendy doesn't like it. She says we should just get on with our jobs and try not to think about it. It's how she copes, I guess."

"But not you?"

"Nah. I think it's best to talk these things through, you know? Get some closure. But... that's hard to do when we don't know if they're dead or alive."

"I get that. It'd be better to know they're dead than be left wondering."

"Exactly. At least you're not hanging on to the idea Tyco might come back."

Andersen nodded, sadly. It wasn't Tyco he was talking about, but he didn't care to admit that. He just went along with the assumption, and finally murmured:

"You're right. I know what happened to him. That means I can move on… and it means there's something else I need to do."

"Care to share?" Cat asked.

"Nope."

"Thought not. Could you at least finish fixing the shuttle first?"

"Oh, _that? _I already did it," Andersen smiled, straightening up and applying the patch with a wave of his omni-tool.

"Smartarse," she smirked, fondly.

"Damn right."

With a grin, he made for the door, and stepped out into the hangar, but as he did, Cat called out:

"Andersen?"

"Yeah?" he replied, twisting around to face her. She was lounging against the side of the doorframe, arms folded.

"This thing you've got to do? When you're done, call me. I still owe you that drink…"


	448. Shore Leave Bachjret Ward 4

_**Shalta General Hospital, Shalta Ward**_

_**Day 3, 1130**_

"How is she, doc?"

"Same as before. Heart rate stable, breathing stable, brain waves stable. Everything… stable. And yet, she doesn't wake up. Doctor Rensel's been trying to secure equipment for an experimental technique but… nothing's worked so far."

Andersen just nodded, sadly, looking at the floor for a moment.

"I'm sorry," Doctor Malin murmured, "you probably wanted to discuss this with Gina, didn't you?"

"Actually, no," he muttered. "I'd rather get in and out without the reunion, to be honest. This one's bad enough."

"I… okay. Look, I'm sorry if this is _too _private, but do you mind if I ask why you came, corporal? She… hasn't had visitors in a while."

"Our ship was attacked yesterday," Andersen explained, sadly. "A mutual friend was KIA."

"Oh, I am so sorry…"

"I… thanks. Can we just get this over with, doc?"

"Of course. I'll make sure you've got some privacy."

The asari flashed him a brief smile, and unlocked the door to Vanyali's room with a wave of her omni-tool. Andersen stepped inside, heard it _hiss _shut behind him… and all of a sudden felt rather numb.

There was a chair beside his comrade's bed which he was sure had been left empty for weeks - as Malin said, she hadn't had visitors in a while. He slumped down in it wearily, and just stared at her for a moment or two. She made for a… disconcerting sight, all tubes and drips and not a flicker of movement. And yet, she was still utterly recognisable. Even her chest bore no marks of the original ordeal - the shrapnel was gone, the blood cleaned away, a fresh hospital gown in place of her uniform, covering the scars beneath.

"God-damn it, Yali, this is weird…" he sighed, finally. "But I know you're in there somewhere. Doctor Malin says coma patients are usually aware of what's going around them, even if they don't show a reaction. So I really hope you can hear this, because I don't want to have this conversation twice…"

The engineer grumbled, and squeezed his brow a moment. The whole thing really _was _weird…

"You've been out for a few weeks," Andersen continued, slowly. "Don't know if anyone's mentioned that, or if you can tell how much time it's been. We've, err… we've lost a few more people since you've been gone. Klara went off to Terra Nova. Zya died. And… we were attacked yesterday. Ambushed by Cerberus. We lost Arrete, and there's a lot more people might not make it - Lynus, Araya, Mac'Tir…"

He glanced down at the floor, flexing his hands nervously - there was a slight tension in his wounded right, which Ria had bandaged tightly to cover the burns.

"Christ, this is the hard bit… Yali, we lost Tyco."

Another glance upward, half-expecting her heart monitor to do… something. Flatline, or spike back into life. But no, it was the same, steady rhythm as before. Could she even hear what he was saying? He ploughed, choosing his words very carefully as he did:

"He was… _dedicated_, these last few weeks. Since you were… y'know. He wanted to find Drake, avenge you. And he did. He cornered him, while the rest of us were fighting off Cerberus. I don't know how it went down, I'm not sure anyone does, but it ended with a whole cruiser going up in flames. The both of them… gone."

_Beep. Beep. Beep._

"I know that's… not what you want to hear. You want to hear that he's waiting for you when you wake up, but… ah, god-damn it. If you could talk, I bet you'd be calling him a stupid arsehole. God knows I am. But he did it for you, don't forget that. He gave his _life_ to avenge you. In his own bastard-stupid way… well, you know what he meant by it. You know what he wanted to say, what he couldn't say. Whatever else was going through his mind, whatever made him do it… we both know he was thinking of you at the end. He recorded these messages for all of us, sent them out before he went. You know what mine said? 'Say goodbye for me, mate.' That's… why I'm here. He didn't want to leave things unsaid."

Andersen rummaged around in his pocket for a moment, before drawing out a slim datapad, and laying it down on the bedside table.

"That was attached to my message. For you. He didn't say what the password is, just told me to ask how your arm was - hope you can make sense of that…"

He glanced at the door. Doctor Malin was still lounging outside, making sure none of the orderlies tried to enter. Quite suddenly, he found the words were no longer stuck but _tripping _out, with a slight choke:

"I know this must be hard to hear. I know you don't want to hear my voice, you want to hear his. But damn it, Yali, don't you _dare _give up. If you die on me too, I swear to god I'll break… I can't lose anyone else…"

And that, it seemed, was that. No more words. Nothing more to say. Andersen hung his head, burying it in his hands for a moment. No tears, just… numbness. Tiredness. A drink was sounding damn good right now, but there was something else he had to do first.

After what felt like an eternity of silence, he rose to his feet. He pressed a hand lamely to Vanyali's arm - practically the only spot he could find without a needle in it - then turned on his heel, and made for the door. A quick rap on the glass, and Doctor Malin unlocked it for him, flashing a sympathetic smile as he emerged.

"All done?" she whispered.

"All done," he nodded. "Thanks, doc…"

"Don't mention it… Should I be expecting more visitors, or are you deploying again soon?"

"We've, err… we've got a week's leave," Andersen muttered, absent-mindedly. "But I wouldn't hold your breath. To be honest, I wouldn't be here if it was up to me. That was… not something I'd want to do again."

"Then I hope you never have to," the doctor sighed. "Good luck out there… err… corporal?"

"Hmm?"

"Your arm. What's wrong with it?"

"Oh, this?" he frowned, glancing down at the bandaged forearm jutting out from his shirt. "Burns. Omni-tool backfired."

"How long ago?" Malin asked, curiously.

"Yesterday, why?" the engineer replied, growing a little frustrated.

"You should still be under screening for infection," she observed, with a hint of disapproval.

"I'm fine, doc."

"No, you're not. If that goes septic-"

"I probably lose it. I know. Ria gave me the same damn speech. But we've got three people laid up in med bay already, doc, and two dead, and _her_" - he jabbed an angry finger at Vanyali's door - "so if I can walk, I'm good. If I can _fight_, I'm good. And if I do lose it, you fit me up with cybernetics like you did Vor and Ethan, and I _keep_ fighting."

"Ah, a stubborn streak…" the doctor sighed, reluctantly. "The one thing I _can't _treat. Good luck, corporal. Goddess watch over you."


	449. Shore Leave Bachjret Ward 5

_**Alliance Embassy, Presidium**_

_**Day 3, 1340**_

A cool breeze was whipping over the embassy district as Murphy emerged from the Alliance complex. The small plaza outside was adorned with trees that wouldn't have looked amiss in old Boston, with flowerbeds and little tufts of grass. Touches of home, all fluttering in the wind now. The plaza itself was abandoned… save for one. A figure by the edge, lounging against the railing and looking out across the verdant green of the commons…

"Andersen," Murphy frowned, going over to join him at the railing. "What are you doing here?"

"Huh?" the engineer blinked, turning to look at him. "Oh… just needed some time to think, sir. And I like it up here… how'd it go with Singh?"

"How do you think?" the captain grimaced. "I went off on an unsanctioned mission, lost two operatives, and took my ship out of commission for a week when he could have used it. Then, right after he'd finished berating me for _that_, I asked him to sign transfer papers for a geth and an agent of the Shadow Broker…"

"We're bringing Tyco's friend aboard? Why?"

"I don't think 'friend' is quite the right word."

"Okay, but _why?_"

"Intel," he captain muttered, simply. "How many times have we been shafted by bad intel, Andersen? Dropping into hot zones, underestimating the enemy force, walking into traps and betrayals… somebody should have caught all of that, but they didn't. I have to think having an intelligence broker aboard might help us on that front."

"And you trust him?"

"Not as far as I could throw him… but we can't exactly be picky, and his background's no shadier than Tyco's."

"Yeah, but we didn't _know _about Tyco's when we hired him," Andersen pointed out, wryly.

Silence fell for a moment, and both men just stared out over the Presidium. There was a steady stream of skycars zipping by, and a trickle of pedestrians in the parks and plazas below. You'd never guess there was a war on...

Eventually, it was Murphy who broke the silence:

"Why are you really here, corporal?"

Andersen looked to his feet, and sighed.

"I went to see Vanyali," he murmured, hesitantly.

"That's what Tyco's message was, wasn't it?" Murphy guessed. "He asked you to-"

"Say goodbye. Yeah."

"And?"

"And I did," the engineer shrugged. "And… it got me thinking about things unsaid. The things he never got to say to her. The things he never got round to telling us…"

"And the things_ you _never got round to telling us," the captain concluded, presciently.

"Yeah…"

"Anything in particular you want to tell me?"

Andersen bit his lip, on the verge of spilling _something_. Murphy just looked away, and waited, until finally:

"It was my birthday, captain. Twenty-three."

Murphy's brow rose.

"When?"

"A couple of weeks ago. Remember the Styx Valley raid?"

"You're kidding…"

"Nope. Don't worry, I had a hell of an exciting day. Almost died. _Twice_."

"Shit, I had no idea..."

"Why _would _you?" Andersen chuckled, mirthlessly. "I never told anyone. I never tell anyone anything… Sam and Ethan have been two of my best mates since they came aboard, and they only just found out a couple weeks ago that I'm from the Citadel…"

"You are?"

The engineer just shot him a look as if to say, _'See?'_

"Yeah, I am…" he nodded. "I remember them building this place." - he jerked his head at the embassy - "I was two."

"Your family was here before we had the embassy?" Murphy blinked, in surprise. "Geez, who were your parents?"

"I don't know," the engineer replied, simply.

"What?"

"I _don't know_. They were gone from when I was six. Don't even know if they died, or left me, or…"

"Christ…"

"You've been here before, captain. You ever see the kids who run round the ventilation tunnels?"

"Yeah. Quite a bit, actually. I was posted to the embassy, back when I was a ground pounder, and we used to see them now and then."

"You know what they call them here?"

"I… yeah, I do," Murphy muttered, reluctantly.

"It's okay, you can say it."

"_Duct rats_. That's what C-Sec called them when they… y'know, found one."

"Wiped his bits off the blades, more like," Andersen scoffed. "You know why I'm asking, sir?"

"Because that was you…" Murphy guessed.

He just nodded, and looked out across the commons again with a steely glint in his eyes.

"It's not so bad when you're younger," he sighed, eventually. "The older kids look out for you. They give you scraps off the food they manage to steal or scrimp for. One lad even gave me an old omni-tool he stole, said he couldn't use it. That's how I got into tech. Also… how I learned to read, but that's another matter."

"You said it wasn't so bad when you were younger…" the captain murmured. "What happens when you get older?"

"You don't fit in the ducts," Andersen muttered, bluntly. "And you don't get sympathy any more. You have to start sleeping on the streets, and living off your own back. People don't like that. Normal people, I mean. They're fine if the rats stay up in the ducts. They're even fine if one gets pulled out dead every so often. But when they start cluttering up the streets, reminding people on the Presidium that not everyone's as well off as them… _that_, they don't like."

"I'll bet."

"C-Sec ran me in for vagrancy more times than I can count, but they could never do anything about it. The penalty's a fine, which I couldn't pay, and they couldn't ship me off to Alliance space because I didn't know who I was, which meant I didn't have any documents - I arrived on the Citadel before humans were registered, and without knowing who my parents were, they couldn't requisition my records from the Alliance. In the end, they just kept palming me off on the embassy, and the embassy just kept letting me out again."

"Sounds rough."

"Captain, that's not the worst of it. Not by a long shot. C-Sec's got rules, restraint, but… humanity hasn't always been the most popular species on the Citadel."

"I noticed."

"Really? Because I noticed it too. You start _noticing _it when people take a kick at you on the side of the street. Batarians, turians, even volus. It got better after the batarians left the Citadel… and then, when I was fifteen, Torfan happened. Every batarian merc who came by took a swing at me when I was on the lower Wards. Some of them came with knives, occasionally with guns if C-Sec wasn't about. Let's just say I learned to run. _Fast_."

"Bastards. Attacking a kid… that's just cowardly."

"Didn't matter that I was a kid," Andersen shrugged. "Just mattered that I was human. I started coming to the embassy more and more. Last safe place in the galaxy, as far as I was concerned. They didn't do anything to help me, but they didn't kick me out, and that was good enough. I'd come here - right here - between jobs, between meals… I'd just stand here by the railing and enjoy a little bit of safety."

"What kind of jobs were you taking?" Murphy asked, curiously.

"Anything I could find. Delivering messages, delivering packages. I knew how to hack, too, so occasionally I'd get some good money doing that. But it still wasn't much. I got paid in food as often as in credits, because they knew I was desperate…"

"They?"

"Small businesses, mostly. Also… assassins, and bounty hunters. I know that must sound weird, but they like duct rats. We can get to places no-one else can, and we hear things no-one else does. I worked for a few professionals when I was younger - humans, salarians, drell… think I even took a job for Mac'Tir once, or someone who looked a lot like him."

"So how'd you end up in the Alliance?"

"I told you I came to the embassy a lot?" he sighed. "Well, when I was fifteen, and the beatings were at their worst, 'a lot' meant daily. There was this corporal posted there at the same time. Early twenties, I think, about the age I am now. He used to take his lunch out in the plaza, and every so often, I noticed he was watching me. His guard shift ended midday every day, and I was there midday every day - I figured he was just keeping an eye on me in case I tried to steal something. After about a week, though, he came up to me. Didn't say anything, just handed me one of his sandwiches. I looked at the god-damn thing like it was poison, but I hadn't had a meal in days, so I ate it. He smiled, and finished his lunch, and went back inside. Next day, he did the same thing. Passed me half his meal, and asked me who I was, why I was there. I told him the basics - didn't know who my parents were, didn't have nowhere else to go. He told me to come back the next day, same time - I did, and we did the same again. We kept it up for a month or so. I started coming back every day, because I knew I'd get fed, and that was never a sure thing before. The guy never… pried, never lingered too long, just stuck to the same routine every time. He'd come out, give me some food, ask if I needed medical attention - I'd lie and say I didn't, even after the time I got my hand broken in the ducts - and then go back inside. After a while, I asked him why he was going to so much trouble for some street kid he barely knew, and you know what he said? He said-"

"The Alliance looks after their own…"

Andersen turned around, smiling sadly. Murphy just stared at him in shock. Eventually, the engineer gave a little nod of confirmation, and turned back to the vista over the commons.

"That stayed with me, sir, even after the corporal got posted away to… where was it?"

"Earth. Rio Villa, as it happens…"

"Well, isn't that ironic... Point is, it stuck. As soon as I turned eighteen, I enlisted. The Alliance had taken care of me, and I wanted to do the same."

Silence fell again for a moment or two, and Murphy slumped against the railing, just staring out into space. Eventually, he found voice enough to say:

"Christ. I had no… that was _you?_"

Andersen nodded.

"I didn't know who you were until a few weeks ago," he admitted, looking down at his hands. "I did a little digging, and it was all there in the service record. I guess what I came here to say, sir, is… I owe you. You made me, and I didn't want _that _to be left unsaid. Wherever we go, whatever they throw at us next… I'm in this thing to the end."


	450. Shore Leave Bachjret Ward 6

**A/N: So, where's Murphy in all of this? Back on the Cambrai, updating the files. In-universe explanation for why I just spent five frickin' hours updating every chapter in The Cambrai Files. And I didn't even touch the old assessments - that was just obituaries, operations, and uploading them to FanFiction. Do me a favour and at least read the new bits.**

**...**

**Please?**

* * *

><p><em><strong>Level 18, Bachjret Ward<strong>_

_**Day 3, 1510**_

"To the end!"

Clink, clink. The three men's glasses came together noisily, before they tipped the contents back, draining them in two gulps and a slurp of a stra- err, emergency induction port.

"Oh, keelah, what is that?" Kan grimaced.

"I don't know," Sam replied. "He ordered the dextro."

He pointed at Kamur, and rather unhelpfully, the turian just shrugged.

"It's way too early to be drinking…"

"How many times, Kan? There's no day and night cycle on the Wards!" his C-Sec friend protested.

"Yeah, well there's a day and night cycle up here," the quarian grumbled, rapping the side of his skull, "and it's telling me I should be working."

"On what?"

"Something that isn't a glass?"

"Kamur, you heard the man - give him the bottle!"

"Ha ha."

"Look, just stop bitching and keep drinking. We lost a brother yesterday, and this is how we honour him."

"By getting pissed?" Kan frowned.

"It's what he would have wanted," Vimes shrugged.

"Doesn't mean we should do it."

"That's exactly what it means."

The quarian gave a little grunt as if he conceded the point, but didn't quite agree with it. Good enough. Sam just reached for the levo bottle, and poured himself another shot, as Kamur did the same with the dextro. The rest of the crew were having a party of their own in the suites Murphy had booked, but the three of them had slipped away on the quiet, finding a rather high-rent bar in the centre of Bachjret - Vimes' time in C-Sec had taught him you couldn't trust the cheaper bars to split levo and dextro properly - and grabbing a table, along with a couple of bottles. Whiskey for Vimes, and… something for the two dextros.

"Ah," Vimes winced, gulping down a second shot before he asked: "Where's Andersen? He should be here for this…"

"No idea," Kamur shrugged. "He slipped away before we got to the hotel. So did Murphy."

"Probably visiting his lady friend," Kan chuckled, warming up a little as he slurped his second glass.

"Kayla? Nah, she's not around," Sam murmured. "She's visiting family."

"Where? And how do you know?" his friend frowned.

"Bekenstein. Pretty much the only colony that hasn't been touched yet. And I know… because I know."

"That's a bullshit answer."

"Alright, fine… I called her when we got here."

"What? You mean you were trying to…"

"No! Nothing like that! I called because I wasn't sure Murphy would. I was going to tell her we were on leave and to look him up, but it turns out she doesn't come back until two days after we leave. Happy?"

"Eh," the quarian shrugged.

"I think that's a 'maybe'," Kamur chuckled. "Here, have another drink, quarian."

"That's your solution to everything, isn't it?" Kan scowled, nonetheless allowing the turian to fill his glass up again.

"For a reason," he shrugged.

There was a pause as the quarian drained his drink again, and then, head wobbling - man, was he a lightweight - he mumbled:

"What now, then? If we're honouring Tyco… what? Are we going to blow up a building or something?"

The human couple at the next table started, and turned to look at Kan's back with a mixture of concern and genuine alarm. Sam just mimed a drinking motion over the quarian's shoulder, and mouthed: 'One too many'. They nodded, and turned away, but still cast a worried glance at him every now and then…

"If we're honouring Tyco, the only thing to do is keep drinking," Vimes muttered. "Although, I guess we should go back to the hotel at some point. Or find another bar…"

"What's wrong with this bar?" Kamur asked, pouring the last of the bottle into Kan's glass as he did.

"We're already in it."

"That makes no sense."

"Maybe not to you…"

Beep beep. Beep beep.

With wildly differing reaction times, the three men all stared down at Kamur's wrist, upon which his omni-tool was glowing and chiming.

"You brought that with you?" Vimes frowned.

"Yeah. How else were you planning to get home?"

"Dumb luck?"

The turian just rolled his eyes, and ran a talon over his omni-tool, pulling up the newly-arrived message. He flicked through, lazily… and then his jaw dropped, his amber eyes dancing excitedly for a moment.

"Ha!" he whooped, drawing more stares from the rest of the bar. "You beautiful-! Oh, I know someone who'll want to see this…"

"What is it?" Vimes enquired, curiously.

"Good news. Very good news," Kamur grinned, practically bouncing in his chair. "I'll explain in a minute, just let me forward… you know what, I'm in the mood for drinks. Lots of them."

"Might as well start with these, then," the human chuckled, nodding down at the glasses on the table, all full and abandoned. "A toast?"

"Another one?"

"C'mon, live a little."

"Alright," the turian nodded. "To Tyco Maffei, and victory!"

"To Tyco Maffei, and victory…" Sam echoed, with a grin. He tipped his whiskey back, shuddered happily, and then muttered: "Now what the hell d'you mean by victory?"

"Just… take a look at this."

Kamur leant over the table, and slid his omni-tool under Sam's nose, allowing him to read the document.

"Andersen sent you this?" he muttered, reading the address line. "What's it… oh. Holy shit."

"I know, right?"

"That's… bloody hell. They really…?"

"Yup."

"And you think they'll…?"

"Hopefully."

"Well I'll be damned."


	451. Shore Leave Bachjret Ward 7

_**Level 12, Bachjret Ward**_

_**Day 3, 1510**_

"Hey, Arness! Beer?"

"Oh… no, I'm alright."

"C'mooon, live a little!"

"Fine," Wendy sighed, scowling at Alec.

"Good girl," the marine chuckled, pulling a brown bottle from the box at his feet and chucking it through the air to her. "Tonight's a night to let your hair down! And… _possibly _get your sister in here too."

_Smack_. Alicia Carter appeared at her brother's shoulder, and wasted no time in connecting her palm with the side of his head.

"Ow! What was that for?" Alec glared, rubbing his now-scarlet ear.

"For being a _dog_," his sister retorted.

"… fair enough."

Ethan couldn't help but laugh at the pair of them, not to mention at Wendy, who was struggling against the bottlecap with her thumbs, an expression of utmost concentration on her face.

"One of these usually helps," the sentinel smirked, reaching for the nearest bottle opener and tossing it to her.

"Ah. That it does…" she murmured, popping the top off her beer and taking a deep draught.

"Huh. Someone's thirsty," he observed.

"So would you be after the fortnight I've just had."

"The fortnight? Ha! That's been the last six months for us!"

"Then by all means, drink a bathtub of the stuff."

Cash just chuckled, and levered himself up out of the stiff chair that had been numbing his backside for the last ten minutes. The crew had congregated in one of the four suites Murphy had booked, bought a small winter's worth of beer from the nearest off-licence, and stacked it inside, making the other three suites look rather superfluous in the process. Now, they were scattered throughout the various rooms - Ethan, Wendy and the Carters were currently occupying a small study, as the sound of music and revelry drifted through from the main lounge, where most of the others were… well, _lounging_.

"Okay, that was predictable," a new voice sighed. Quite to Cash's surprise, Victor Cross walked in to join them, and he… _wasn't in armour_. He was wearing old Alliance civvies, from the boots to the rolled-up shirt sleeves, and Ethan used the word 'old' quite specifically - they were a few years old at least, not current issue. Curious…

"What was predictable?" Alicia frowned, snapping him back to the conversation.

"Dax and Yui have got the keg, and they don't look like moving any time soon."

"Didn't you buy two?"

"Yeah."

"So who's got the other one?"

"Irving."

"Oh… fair enough."

Alec snorted with laughter, drawing bemused looks from both his sister and Victor.

"Really?" the corporal chuckled. "You can't shift the old man, Cross?"

"Well, if you think _you _can, you're welcome to try," the big soldier retorted.

"Alright, I will. Watch and learn, buddy, watch and learn…"

Carter strode out of the room, bold as brass, and there was awkward silence for a moment. Then, finally:

"He's going to get his ass kicked, isn't he?" Alicia sighed.

"Hopefully," Wendy smirked. To the surprise of both men in the room, the ass' sister snickered in agreement. A moment later, however, something else caught her eye…

"Ooh! Victor, you've got ink!" she exclaimed, darting over to Cross and leaning in to examine his forearms. Sure enough, Cash could see Victor's forearms now they weren't covered by armour, and they were criss-crossed by jet-black tattoos. What on earth were…

Oh. Ethan came to the realisation a moment before Alicia did, and caught Victor's worried eye as the medic blurted out:

"Are these names?"

"Victor! Any beers left in that thing?" Cash called out, nodding to the cooler Alec had left on the floor. He knew damn well it was empty - Alec had given the last beer to Arness - but Cross looked rather relieved at the interruption…

"Err, no," he muttered.

"Shit," Ethan growled, tipping back the very dregs of the bottle in his hand. "I'm dry. We got any more?"

"In the kitchen," the other man nodded.

"Come on, legs, you can do it," Cash said sarcastically, making for the door. As he did, Victor's brain finally seemed to catch up to his predicament, and he settled on a get-out:

"I'd better check on your brother," he sighed, feigning reluctance. "See you later."

"Bye then…" Alicia frowned, pouting just a little.

Both men made for the door to the main room, and nothing was said in earshot, but as they passed through, Ethan felt a hand touch against his shoulder, a wordless gesture of thanks. Then, the music blaring out of the entertainment system on the far wall hit them, and the moment was gone.

"Oh, bloody hell…" Victor swore, under his breath. He took off across the room, and glancing after him, Cash couldn't help but laugh at the sight by the far wall. Irving had Alec on the ground, sitting on his shoulders while fixing him in a rather _firm _headlock. That'd teach the kid…

Tearing his gaze away, he made a beeline for the kitchen, and the promise of more beer. He swatted the door console with a lazy hand, paused a beat for it to open, then stepped through-

And clattered right into the turian coming the other way.

"Ah! Sorry!" Red cried, staggering back a little.

"Err, don't worry about it," he muttered, dismissively. "Can I just-ah-"

He stepped right, she stepped right. He stepped back left, she stepped left with him.

"Sorry…" she groaned again, shuffling out of the way altogether and retreating back into the kitchen.

Ethan just chuckled, and made for the island counter in the middle, on which several six-packs had been stacked. He broke open the nearest one, pulled a bottle free, and glanced around. Shit, no openers.

He glanced down. The bottlecap stared back. Ah, sod it. A quick bite behind the cap, and it popped right off, rolling down on the counter top.

"Huh. I didn't know humans could do that," Red murmured, curiously.

"Can turians?" Ethan asked, not thinking of anything else to say.

"Nah. We break 'em," she said simply, flashing a broad grin and tapping one of her fangs.

"I see you found the wine…" he smirked, nodding to the bottle of dextro in her hand.

"Yeah… your doing, I assume?"

"Seemed appropriate," Cash shrugged. "Kinda like an in-joke."

"Well, it's a very _tasty_ in-joke. Thanks, Ethan."

"Err… no worries?"

Red opened her mouth to continue, but just as she did, her wrist lit up like the fourth of July, and a familiar buzz tone came echoing out around the kitchen:

_Beep beep. Beep beep._

"Huh?" she muttered, glancing down.

"That _usually _means you've got a message," Ethan smirked.

"_Thanks_," the turian replied, with dripping sarcasm.

She pulled up her messages, and flicked through them for a moment as Ethan drank in silence.

"It's from Kamur… 'Turn on the news. Now.'"

"Well, that sounds ominous," Cash muttered. "Who d'you think died?"

Red just gave him a look of reproach, and made for the door. Ethan just took another swig from his beer, then set off in pursuit, his curiosity piqued.

"Oi!" the turian called, as she swept into the lounge. "Put the news on!"

"Huh?" Ekris frowned, sprawled out on the couch. "Why?"

"I don't know."

"… wow, you've got me convinced."

"Oh, just shut up and do it," she scowled. "Kamur says it's important."

"Fine, fine…"

The drell rummaged through the mess of empty bottle and ring pulls on the table in front of him before finally producing a small remote - at the press of a button, the music that had been pounding through the room faded, and the large vid screen on the wall burst into life. A Citadel NewsNet ticker was parading across the screen, reading 'Breaking News', and as most of the crew turned to look at the sudden interruption to their revelry, it cut away to a perfectly clipped asari behind a newsroom desk.

"This is Citadel NewsNet with your breaking news update," she murmured. "Within the last hour, the Turian Hierarchy has confirmed extranet rumours of a large troop deployment in the Apien Crest, with the aim of retaking the lost turian homeworld of Palaven. We go live to the turian embassy, where General Minin Resvirix is set to release an official statement."

Another cut, this time to the familiar silver and green of the Presidium. A turian in full combat armour, face adorned in white spirals - Ethan didn't know _what _colony that represented, only knowing the Palaveni and Taetrian markings of Red and Kamur himself - was stood on the steps of the embassy. No podium, no microphone - he was speaking with nothing more than the practised rumble of a drill sergeant.

"The Turian Hierarchy," he began, "can confirm that at oh-eight-hundred yesterday morning, a large scale fleet action was enacted in the Apien Crest, with the aim of retaking Palaven from Reaper forces. Turian and krogan forces forged beachheads in Cipritine and several other major cities, before proceeding to enact simultaneous strikes against the occupying Reapers. Casualties were extensive on both sides, but allied forces have successfully reclaimed large tracts of Palaven's surface."

"General Resvirix!" someone called out, from behind the camera. "Can you also confirm rumours that _civilians _have been involved in the destruction of Reaper ships - launching suicide runs, in fact?"

"I… cannot. The conflict is ongoing, and operational specifics are classified. I will say this, however, of _all _who sacrificed themselves in the fight for Palaven. Whatever they were in life, their deaths had no equal. They are worthy of joining the spirit of Palaven itself."

"General!" another journalist cried. "How would you evaluate the success of the operation, looking to the long-term?"

"Palaven is reclaimed," the general rumbled, with a single, mirthless laugh. "How would I _evaluate _that? I'd call it a damn miracle…"

The feed died away, as the journalists burst out into a cacophony of 'General, general!', all trying to get their own angles and questions in. The crew in the suite, however, were returned to the neat asari at the newsroom desk. As she looked to camera again, Ethan noted that CNN's editors were _very _quick - already, a picture of the burning planet had been slotted into the top-right of the screen, captioned: 'The Miracle At Palaven'.

"General Minin Resvirix, speaking live from the turian embassy," the newsreader concluded. "Citadel NewsNet will bring you more as the story develops."

The screen faded to black. Stunned silence filled the room for a moment…

And then a _roar _went up. In the space of a second, every man and woman in the room was on their feet. Red was dancing into the air, cheering ecstatically, and Ethan found himself leaping with her, as a few feet away, Ekris sprang to his feet and punched the air with a triumphant whoop. Somewhere in the background, there was a happy yell and a loud _clatter_ as Hei Yui sprang up, knocking his keg across the floor as he did. A noisy _crack _a moment later accompanied a celebratory headbutt between him and Dax, while the rest of the room just yelled themselves hoarse. Red was higher than any of them, bouncing around and clattering into Ethan in her distraction. She shot out an arm to catch him as he staggered back-

And suddenly a pair of smooth, plated lips made a peck at his own. They lingered for just a moment, his brain briefly failing to process what had just happened, and then the two of them broke apart, suddenly very still in shock. Red seemed to _freeze_, mouth opening and closing a couple of times, as her bright eyes blinked wide.

"Oh, sod it," he muttered, before returning the favour.


	452. Shore Leave Bachjret Ward 8

_**Level 12, Bachjret Ward**_

_**Day 3, 2100**_

The ward was… quiet, as night drew in. There was no darkness, no night-time chill like on the Presidium. It was still as bright as ever, in fact. But most of the population here, especially in the mid-districts, were humans, with a few turians and volus in the midst - apparently, there has been a large batarian population before they left the Citadel, and it was their properties the humans had mostly come to occupy. Ironic… At any rate, that meant most of the shops and promenades worked to human hours, inefficient as they were.

Luckily for Liselle, this particular bar was run by a salarian, so it didn't close until the small hours. Still, she was pretty much the only customer, sitting at an outdoor table with a bottle of wine, boots resting leisurely on the opposite seat. There had been a couple of turians in earlier, celebrating _something_, but they had quickly moved on to a more lively venue.

Liselle, though? She was happy with the silence, and the odd refill. The salarian was pleasant enough, and he kept himself to himself. What more could you ask for, in the midst of what was basically a busy city?

"Hrr. Asari."

It took a good degree of self control not to react to that, but she managed it. The voice had come from over her shoulder, and judging by the all-too familiar rasp… vorcha? Rather than turn around, she took a sip from her wine glass, emptying most of it, then dipped her head just a little, angling the bare glass up over her shoulder…

A pale, familiar face stared back at her, and her shoulders dropped ever so slightly in relief.

"Lisk…" she murmured. "What do you want?"

"Want to talk," the vorcha replied, much to her surprise. He was hardly the _chatty _type.

"Then talk…"

He nodded, and stepped around her, unbidden, to the far side of the table. Without warning, he yanked the opposite chair out from underneath it, causing Liselle's boots to thud to the floor and a frown of disapproval to flicker over her pale features. Lisk ignored her, sinking into the chair and staring her dead in the eye for a moment…

"I know you," he said, after a moment.

"Of course you do," Liselle scowled. "We've been working together for a month."

"No! Before!"

"Before _what?_"

"This! Here!"

"Alright, alright… slow down and try again, vorcha."

"_I know you!_" he stressed. "The witch!"

"Did you just call me a bi-?"

"No! _Witch! _Witch of Omega!"

"Fancy title. I'd have thought that was Aria's."

"Aria is _Queen _of Omega."

Liselle sighed.

"Of course she is. And you think I'm this… witch?" she smirked.

"Know you are," Lisk muttered. "Witch… infamous in Blood Pack. Grey asari. Beautiful. Deadly. Kills with guns, biotics… uh, _magic_."

"I've never heard it called _that _before," Liselle smiled, coyly. "Well… maybe once or twice. But what does it matter if I am this… witch?"

"Witch of Omega is _infamous_," the vorcha repeated. "Killed many Blood Pack brothers - even battlemaster, Weyrloc Jekk!"

"Oh."

The asari let her hand stray beneath the table, secretly coiling up a ball of biotic energy, as her crewmate leant across the table, smiling violently. There was a threatening glint in his eye, and then:

"Jekk was an asshole."

Liselle blinked. Lisk's smile broadened into a grin.

"Beat me," the vorcha continued. "Beat all of us. Glad he died. Hope it hurt."

"I imagine it did…" she murmured, under her breath. The krogan's murder had been… well, _magical_, to use the vorcha's own words. "So… we don't have a problem?"

"No. Witch kills for money. So do I."

"Then why _exactly _are we having this conversation?"

Lisk leant back in his chair, fangs still visible through a thin smile.

"Witch kills for money…" he continued, "but the Huntress kills for pleasure."

"The… Huntress?"

"T'Lon."

Liselle stiffened at the name, and her reaction must have been visible, because the vorcha's smile broadened.

"T'Lon kills my brothers too. She enjoys it. Thinks we're… _vermin_."

"That _is _the prevailing opinion…" Liselle drawled, coolly.

"Hrr…" he growled.

"Just saying," she shrugged.

"T'Lon hunts _you_," Lisk retorted. "Ardat-Yakshi are… _vermin _too."

She glared at him.

"_Just saying_," he echoed, harshly.

"And what else are you saying?" the asari asked, even-toned. "You came to talk to me for a reason, and you still haven't said what it is."

"T'Lon kills my brothers," Lisk growled. "_Enjoys_ killing my brothers."

A pause, as the vorcha's grin widened to its broadest yet, before continuing, simply:

"Would _enjoy_ slitting her throat."

"You know, vorcha, the humans have a saying…" Liselle murmured. "The enemy of my enemy-"

"Is friend."

"Quite…"

"If you find T'Lon. If T'Lon finds you…"

Lisk paused, searching for works amidst his rather small vocabulary, before settling for a universal sign - he drew a clawed thumb across his throat, releasing a guttural growl as he did.

"Sounds like we have a deal."

"Hrr… Good. Enjoy your night, asari. Watch your back."

"Oh, I will…"

As the vorcha rose, and turned to stride away across the empty ward, Liselle just put her glass to her lips, and drained the last of it. Only once Lisk was safely out of earshot did she add, quietly:

"I always do…"


	453. Shore Leave Bachjret Ward 9

_**Level 12, Bachjret Ward**_

_**Day 4, 0930**_

"_Bleeergh!_"

Ethan couldn't help but wince as Red dove off the bed again, burying her head in the bucket that lay beside it. He waited a few seconds, until he was quite sure she was done, before making a weak attempt at humour:

"That better not be morning sickness…" he scowled, sarcastically.

"_Not _funny," she replied, voice echoing up from inside the bucket. "And I'm not even sure that's possible…"

A moment's silence, before her head bobbed back up into sight. As it did, Ethan couldn't help but notice there was no smell filling the room as his brain expected there to be - dextro food was as bland on the way out as on the way in, it seemed. Or maybe only dextros could smell it, in which case… poor Red.

"I don't suppose there's any chance you just… drank too much?" the human suggested, awkwardly.

"Duh," the turian replied, to his momentary surprise. Then, she added: "I mean, I drank so much I forgot you were… you know… _levo_."

"Yeah… we should probably talk to the doc about that before the next time. Get some… immunosuppressants or something."

"Great…" Red sighed. "We can pretend we're quarians. That'll be fu-_bleergh!_"

She disappeared out of sight again, and Ethan didn't know whether to laugh or wince. He was probably _meant _to do the latter, but the former was very much a possibility. It _was _funny, or rather, would have been if it was happening to someone else. Schaden-something-in-German.

"Do you want me to get you something?" he murmured, with a softness that surprised even himself. "Water, or… I don't know, bacon?"

"Sure," she scowled, tilting her head to look up at him from the bucket. "Because that's what I need right now. _Levo food._"

He shrugged, and fell back onto the bed with a weary sigh. This routine had been going on for about half an hour, now, ever since Red had bolted awake - mauling his arm in the process - with stomach cramps. The bucket had been icing several bottles of posh wine in the hotel fridge before it was co-opted into its current, rather less glamorous role.

"So, I guess this makes it a bit harder to keep things secret," Red groaned.

"With this kinda dawn chorus? Little bit…" Ethan chuckled. "Plus, you kinda _jumped _on me last night. I think people might have noticed."

"Oh…"

"Wait… would you _want _to keep it secret?"

"No, I just… thought you might."

"Why the hell would I want to do that?"

She shrugged, and looked down into the bucket again.

"I mean, beautiful alien women?" he grinned, roguishly. "That's the whole god-damn reason we came into space."

"I'll bet…" the bucket rumbled.

"Besides, you've got a handsome alien shirtless in _your_ bed," Cash added. "That's gotta make the other turian girls jealous, right?"

"Somebody's got a high opinion of himself."

"_Somebody's _looked in the mirror."

Red reappeared again for the sole purpose of scowling at him. As she wiped a few flecks from her lips, he added, rather more humbly:

"That said, _somebody's _going to have to buy stacked heels. You're taller than him."

"I could kneel down, if it'd make you feel better."

They both paused a moment, staring at each other. If Red had been human, he suspected she'd be blushing.

"That… sounded better in my head," she murmured.

"Sounded pretty good in mine," he said, with a wry smile.

"You _see _the bucket, right?" Red scowled. "You remember why I'm-_bleeergh!_"

Ethan winced, as the turian disappeared for a good ten seconds.

"You alright?" the sentinel asked, after a moment.

"Yeah… I think that's the last of it."

"Sure?"

"Mm. There's nothing left to throw up…"

"Lovely thought… c'mere."

He lifted an arm, allowing her to curl up under it as she shuffled back onto the bed. It was… not unlike having his sister's cat sitting on his chest, what with the claws and all, but he'd admit she looked kinda _cute_, all balled up at his side.

"Well, as starts to a relationship go, that was fairly terrible, wasn't it?" Ethan chuckled. "Still, only way is up and all that…"

"Mhmm…"

They were silent for a minute or two, before a terrible thought sprang into Cash's mind, ricocheted around for a little bit, and finally emerged as:

"_Shit._"

"What?" Red frowned, eyes staring curiously up at him.

"Turian in-laws," he grimaced, simply.

"I actually think you'd like my dad," she shrugged, returning her head to his chest. "I mean, I don't see him that much, cabals and all, but Turian dads aren't that protective, and you're military. He'd approve of that, he's a lifer in the navy."

Red seemed to be content with that, but Ethan was very quickly doing the math. If she was the same age as him, which she seemed to be, and turians had kids about the same time humans did, and if her dad was navy…

"Red?"

"Yeah?"

"_Please _tell me your dad didn't serve at Shanxi."

A pause.

"Ah."

He groaned, and smacked his skull against the headboard a couple of times.

"Would your parents have a problem with… y'know, _me?_" Red asked, carefully.

"With you? Hell no," Ethan muttered. "My dad'd love you."

"Really?"

"Yeah… thing about my dad, he actually kinda likes aliens."

"Well, that's handy," she smirked.

"Also, you're a woman, and he'd be pretty damn happy I didn't turn out gay. That's the other thing about my dad: _terrible _homophobe, can't take him anywhere."

Red let out a warm babble of laughter which put a shiver through his chest, before finally muttering, with a hint of realisation:

"You're joking."

"Eh. Exaggerating, maybe."

"So… your parents really don't have a problem with aliens?"

"Nah. It'd be hypocritical."

"Why?"

"My mom's a volus."

Amazingly, Red actually looked at him seriously for a fraction of a second. Then, her brain caught up, and her plates creased into a scowl.

"Shut up," she said, smiling affectionately nonetheless.

"Ah, you got me, she's not… _or is she?_"

"No, she isn't."

"_Or is she?_"

The turian paused, smiled a wry smile, and then murmured:

"I guess it _would_ explain the height."

"Ouch!" the sentinel exclaimed, laughing a little nonetheless. "Here, miss, I found this knife in my back - I believe it belongs to you?"

"I could have said it explained the face," she shrugged, sweetly.

"So, this is what I should expect?" Ethan chuckled. "You're all sweetness and love out there, then once you get me into bed I'm meat to you?"

"No…" the turian murmured, thoughtfully. "You're also eye candy."

Ethan just laughed, and slipped an arm around her shoulders as he leant back on the headboard, restful for the first time in a long while.

"I'll take it," he muttered, still laughing. "I'll take it…"


	454. Shore Leave Bachjret Ward 10

_**Lower Docks, Bachjret Ward**_

_**Day 4, 1310**_

The lower level of Bachjret Docks was… pretty dire, to be honest. The sheer number of people crammed into such a small area made that almost inevitable - this was meant to be a through-fare for cargo, after all, but two of the loading bays had been turned into refugee camps, and what had once been the passenger lounge was littered with bodies who quite literally - and ironically - had nowhere to go. The only C-Sec presence appeared to be the two officers guarding the elevator to the upper docks.

Victor's eyes scanned quickly over the top end of the docks, looking for… ah, there she was. Slight figure, blonde hair about the shoulders, peering across the docks with a... _perturbed _expression. Odd.

"Alicia?" he called, striding up to her through the crowd.

"Huh?" the medic mumbled - her head snapped round, and at the sight of him, she added: "Oh. Hey Victor - what're you doing here?"

"They sent me to fetch you," the big soldier explained. "Vimes' lot just staggered back in. They've got food."

"Great," she muttered, absent-mindedly. "I'll be back in a bit."

"Something the matter?" Victor frowned.

"You see that guy over there?" Alicia asked, pointing to illustrate. "The one with the crate?"

He glanced across the loading bay, following her outstretched hand until his gaze settled on a human male, standing besides what appeared to be a large footlocker. There was a line of people in front of him, and he was having a rather animated discussion with the man at the front of that line, also a human.

"I see him," Cross nodded.

"What do you think?"

"About him? Huh… Too scrawny to be any kind of military, but his hair's well cut, and his clothes are good, if a bit shabby. That means he can't exactly be poor, and if he's down here with the refugees… Merchant?"

"You can tell all that from his clothes and his hair?" she frowned.

"I'm good at reading people," he shrugged. "Had to be, or I'd already be dead."

"Well, you're right. He's selling food to the refugees."

"Alright… I guess he could have _given_ it away, but that's still pretty good of him - so why do you look so pissed off?"

"He's selling Alliance ration packs."

"Huh. Probably scavenged them on his way here. Does it really matter, though? I've seen Alliance food stores, Alicia - they're not gonna starve for the want of one box full, and I _really _don't think they'll care if they're being given to refugees."

"Not the point," the medic muttered, dismissively. "I don't care that they're Alliance rations. Better given to the refugees than hoarded on a dreadnought. I _care _because I used to work in Ciudad Juarez. There was a big factory near our med clinic that churned those things out, and I happen know some Mexican woman makes them for twenty credits a pop."

"And…?" Victor murmured, although he already had his suspicions.

"He's selling them to the refugees for four hundred."

"Son of a bitch…" the soldier rumbled. "I'd expect that from a volus, but he's ripping off his own people!"

"In the middle of a war," Alicia added. "After they've lost their homes and families."

A pause between the two of them, as they continued to stare at the merchant. His customer was going from angry to desperate now, and the merchant was just trying to wave him away. Clearly _someone _couldn't pay.

Ever so slowly, a smile began to creep across Victor's features. He turned to his colleague, and muttered:

"Fancy doing something about it?"

"I already tried," the medic sighed. "He just laughed me away, even after I told him I was with the Alliance."

"Then I guess I should have a talk with him."

"Like I just said… oh. A _talk_."

"Mhmm. A nice, friendly… _talk_," Victor rumbled, setting off towards the scene. Alicia hesitated a moment, then trotted after him, asking nervously:

"Is this a good idea? I mean, he's allowed to do it… And we're _not _allowed to… _talk to him_. It's kind of illegal."

"Do you see any C-Sec down here?" the soldier shrugged. "There's one camera covering this whole bay, and it's shot out. Too high for Keepers to get too, too small for Citadel maintenance to bother with."

"I… hadn't even noticed there _was _a camera. Alright, let's do it."

"Good cop, bad cop?"

"Better idea… Good cop, _big _cop."

He chuckled, but didn't have time to reply - they were already coming up on the merchant's stand. Victor shuffled off to the side, falling back slightly and allowing his colleague to take the lead.

"Excuse me!" Alicia called, brightly. "We'd like a word!"

"What is it-?" the merchant began, rounding on them. As he did - utterly ignoring Victor - his eyes fell on the little blonde, and he snapped: "You again? Look, you little bitch, I already told you-_urk!_"

In the space of a second, Victor grabbed the man by his collar, yanked him up into the air, and held him dangling a foot above the floor - all without saying a word. The smaller man's legs flailed amusingly, and as he coughed and spluttered, a shocked murmur passed down the line of waiting refugees.

"Victor…" Alicia warned, with the air one would use to caution a hound. "Put him down."

Cross grunted, and _put him down _rather forcefully, causing the man to stagger a few steps before rounding on Carter once more:

"You can't... but… this is criminal, you can't just-!"

"Yes, we can," she replied, icily. "You're ripping off people who've lost everything, using goods you _stole _from us."

"C-Sec won't let you do this!" he spluttered.

"Do you _see _any C-Sec down here?"

Cross wanted to chuckle as Alicia echoed but his words, but that would have blown the 'thug' cover just a bit. Instead, he fixed a cold, threatening glare on the merchantman, and kept his silence.

"I tried to be reasonable before, but you wouldn't listen," the medic continued, harshly. "Lucky for you, you get a second chance. Because I'm a nice. Kind. Person."

Another soretemptation to laugh - the look on Alicia's face was priceless, and most certainly _wasn't _good cop - but Victor managed to clamp his mouth shut by biting his lower lip. The poor merchant didn't seem to find it funny at all, though - he just gulped nervously as he staggered to his feet.

"So, I'm going to give you a choice. Deal with me, or deal with _him_."

She nodded at Victor, and the merchant glanced over at him once more - Cross fixed his features into the meanest grin he could, cracking his knuckles as he did. The man gulped again.

"Well?" Alicia asked, snapping him to attention. "Me, or him?"

"Err… you," the merchant replied. "Just… keep him away from me, alright?"

"Alright. Now, here's the deal."

_Wham. _Victor - and most of the refugees - couldn't help but wince as the young medic brought her boot right up between his legs. He doubled over with a groan, and dropped to the floor in a heap. Alicia wasn't done there, either - biotic fire began to brim up around her arms as she leant down, still glaring, and hissed:

"Get the hell out of my sight, and never come back. How's that for a deal?"

The merchant didn't manage to reply - he just whimpered, and stumbled off at a run across the docks.

"Asshole…" Alicia murmured, under her breath. A moment later, however, something occurred to her, and she cried out: "Shit!"

"What?" Victor frowned.

"I forgot to get the key off him!" she groaned.

"And?"

"Well how else are we meant to open it?"

Cross raised an eyebrow, as if to say, _'seriously?'_ She stared blankly back, so the big man just rolled his eyes, sighed, strode over to the locked crate...

And delivered it a savage, back-heeled stomp, making sure to catch the lock with the hard part of his boot heel. It was a battered thing - it had been through a warzone after all - and fell apart without much effort, shattering into pieces on the floor. He smirked at Alicia, leant down, and opened the case with a flourish.

"Smartass…" she scowled. "Let's just get this lot dished out."

"Aye aye," he nodded, turning to the first of the refugees - the man had watched the whole exchange, and was looking noticeably… surprised. "You, sir!"

"Err… yes?" the refugee answered, nervously.

"How many in your family?"

"I… eight."

"Christ…" Alicia murmured, but something cynical had ticked in the back of Victor's mind, even as she began to dig through the chest. "Give me a moment. One, two…"

"Alicia…" Cross rumbled, halting her with an open palm and a hint of warning in his voice. As she hesitated, he turned to the anxious refugee, and muttered: "Name them."

"What?"

"Your family, sir. Name them."

"Err… okay. There's me-"

"And what's your name?"

"Eric."

"Alright. And the rest, Eric?"

"Like I said, there's me, Annabelle… Paul… err, Seth…?"

"You don't sound too sure," Cross observed, folding his arms.

"I…"

And then it broke.

"I'm sorry!" the man jabbered, weakly. "It's just, we got here a week ago, and we haven't eaten since, and I just thought-"

"Oi. Quiet…" Victor sighed, more gently than the words alone suggested. Eric fell silent, still looking wide-eyed at the big trooper. "There's just the two of you, am I right, Eric?"

"How did you know that?" he asked, quietly.

"Because Annabelle was the only that came right off your tongue. Your wife?"

"Daughter. My wife…"

He looked at the floor, brimming a little, and nervously wringing one hand in a nervous tick. Symptomatic, Victor noted. Poor bastard.

"Your daughter," Victor muttered, softly. "How old is she?"

"Err… eleven," the man replied, bemused.

"Alright, here's what we're going to do, Eric. I'm going to give you a ration pack for yourself, and one for your daughter" - the man's eyes shot up, brightening a little - "but I can't give you more. I sorely wish I could, but we've got to feed the rest of these folks first."

"I… I know."

"I'll do you a deal, though. You help me organise this lot - get them in a nice orderly line, tell them it's not first come first served, we've got enough for all of them… and I'll give you an extra for Annabelle once we're done. That sound fair?"

"Yes," Eric nodded. "Yes, it does…"

"Get to it, then. We've got a lot to get through."

The little man shuffled off, joining the rest of the crowd and starting a conversation with as many as he could, gesturing for them all to stand back and queue. Positively civilised… Victor just stood back a moment, observing with his arms folded.

It was a little while before he realised Alicia was staring at him, a curious smile crossing her features. He turned to challenge it, and frowned:

"What?"

"You're a big softie underneath, aren't you?" she smirked.

"On occasion," he shrugged.

"Well, I like seeing the other side of you. If I wanted the tough guy act, I'd just hang around with my brother."

"Fair enough."

A slight, expectant pause.

"You know, that _was _a compliment," Alicia pointed out.

"And…?"

"_And_, it's usually good courtesy to _return _compliments."

"Okay, hint taken. There's a whole other side to you too, Carter… and for the record, she's freakin' terrifying."


	455. Shore Leave Bachjret Ward 11

_**SSV Cambrai, Bachjret Ward Docks**_

_**Day 4, 1540**_

_Hiss. _Ria started in surprise as the door to the med bay slid open. The whole deck had been deathly silent for the last hour, with the only soundtrack to her solitude being the steady _bleep, bleep _of Rilum and Araya's monitors, and the slight rasp of Mac'Tir's oxygen mask.

Wheeling around, however, she found a visitor approaching - Captain Murphy was stepping into the med bay, sleeves rolled up and looking surprisingly… calm.

"Ria," he muttered. "Not interrupting anything important, am I?"

"No," she assured him. "Everyone's stable."

"Discharging soon, I hope? They should get _some _shore leave before we go back to it."

"Mac'Tir should be good to go tonight," the doctor murmured, with a casual wave of her hand. "Araya and Rilum might need another day or two of observation."

"Good, good… What about Sarah?"

"I'm going down to visit her tomorrow."

"Good…" he repeated.

"So… you wanted to see me, sir?"

Murphy paused, and a wry smile flickered over his features.

"Yeah, I did…" he nodded. "Come with me."

"Sir?"

"Just… trust me. You'll want to see this."

With that - and a beckoning wave of his hand - the captain turned on his heel, making for the med bay door and darting out into the mess hall. Bemused, the doctor rose from her chair and followed, noting that the crew was utterly abandoned as she did. The only soundtrack was the steady _clack, clack, clack _of her heels on the metal floor, and the more muffled _thud_ of Murphy's boots. Wordlessly, the two of them wound their way towards the elevator, slipped inside, and stood back as the captain pushed a button.

"Where are we going?" she asked, as the doors slid shut.

"War room."

"Mind telling me why?"

"Not particularly," he muttered, with a grin.

"Alright…"

The elevator door came open with a _hiss_, and they stepped out onto the CIC. It was almost as quiet as the crew deck, save for a whirring from the bow end - the pilots were shut away in the helm, as usual, but a couple of refit engineers were breaking the silence, wiring a new nav terminal into the wall on the far side of the CIC. There was a similar commotion coming from the science lab - repairs were fairly extensive in there, seeing as most of the fixtures had been ripped up and overturned - which was presumably why Murphy led her through the armoury instead. They turned the corner, strode through the room - which had been stripped bare, disconcertingly - and finally shuffled through to the war room. A couple of cables were still dangling down from the ceiling, and there didn't seem to be anyone addressing _that_. Power had been restored, though, and the war room was lit, if a little dimly.

Awkward silence persisted for a moment two. Captain Murphy turned to face her, leaning back on the end of the war room table as he did, and only once the door had slid shut did he speak up.

"Ria… you remember after Terra Nova?" he began. "We had a little chat, you accused me of not doing my job…"

"You accused me of doing it for you…" she chimed in, playfully. "Yeah, I remember."

"You also said you hadn't spoken to your family in a while."

"I… yeah. That too."

Well. _That _had killed the mood.

"I did a little digging with the fleet," Murphy continued. "Turns out, the Reapers hit a lot of comm buoys around Tyr to cut if off. They did the same with Terra Nova."

"And when comm buoys get destroyed, bandwidth gets restricted," Ria sighed. "_I know_. Personal comms to Tyr are running at a two-month lag right now."

"But the military gets priority on the bandwidth," the captain added, wryly. "If we've got business to discuss, civilians have got to wait."

"Uh-huh… and what does that have to do with me?"

"We're on a military ship," he muttered, patiently. "We're standing in the _war room. _By the _comm terminal_."

Ria just stared at him, wondering if he was saying what she thought he was saying. As if to answer, he jerked his head to the far end of the table…

And for the first time, she noticed the comm terminal - open, with a little blue figure hanging in the air above it. Her jaw dropped, and Murphy's grin broadened.

"I'll make sure you're not disturbed," he murmured, clapping her on the shoulder and making for the door.

"I… thank you…" was about all she could manage. The captain waved a dismissive hand over his shoulder, and disappeared through the door.

That just left Ria, and the little figure on the comms. Asari. Young - _very _young. And… beautiful, given the circumstances. After a moment of silence, the hologram's brow furrowed in confusion.

"Mom?" she said, quietly. "Are you there?"

"I… yeah, I'm here, Callie," Ria smiled, crossing the room toward the terminal. "Are you alright?"

"Yeah," the figure replied, calmly. "I'm fine… my arm hurts, though."

"Your arm? What did you do to it?" the doctor frowned, with a jolt of worry that was pure reflex by now.

"I don't know…"

Callie pursed her lips, frowned, and looked skyward as if the answer would be written on the ceiling. Ria almost laughed at the contemplative air in her voice, but she restrained herself in favour of a fond smile. After a moment, however, her daughter shattered the moment with three rather terrible words:

"I miss you."

The doctor clamped her eyes shut at that, and sighed.

"I know…" she murmured, after a moment. "I miss you too."

"I think daddy misses you too."

"He'd better…" Ria grumbled, under her breath. Audibly, she just said again: "I know."

"When are you coming home?"

"I…" - she hesitated - "…honey, I wish I could say tomorrow. But these people need me here. I'll be back very soon, though, okay?"

"Okay…" Callie murmured, uncertainly. "Do you want to talk to daddy?"

"If he's there," Ria nodded.

"Oh, I'm here," a familiar voice chuckled, and the thick Irish brogue was accompanied a moment later by a grinning human male. "Now Callie, why don't you run along and check on the boys? Mummy and I need to have a talk…"

"Okay," the little asari girl replied brightly, before skipping out of the shot.

That left Ria alone with the man, and a slight smile crept over her face. Troy didn't quite look right, with fiery red hair and bright green eyes both reduced to the same hologram blue, but it was unmistakeably _him_, and that was what mattered. They lingered in silence for a little while, just staring at each other, until he broke the silence:

"So, I spoke to your boss," he began. "Seems like a good guy. Why didn't you tell me he was Irish?"

"Because one, he's not, he's American-"

"_Irish_-American. They put the important part first."

"-and _two_, we haven't talked in two months. Speaking of which , _that's _what you start with? Not 'hello, dear', not 'you look well', just 'your _boss _is nice'?"

"It's called breakin' the ice," he shrugged, with that roguish grin he always wore. After a moment, however, his voice dropped to a more serious tone, and he asked: "How are you holdin' up?"

"I think I'm meant to be asking _you _that question," she pointed out. "You're the one on an occupied planet."

"Yeah, well, the way your captain puts it, you've been on several. And you still didn't answer my question."

"Alright… me, personally? I'm fine. I haven't been _shot_, so I can't complain…"

"That… doesn't sound too sincere, love."

"We, ah… we got hit hard in our last operation," Ria sighed. "Lots of wounded, I've been off my feet trying to keep them all stable."

"Any dead?" Troy asked, with genuine concern.

"Not on my operating table," she muttered, knowing the subtext of the question - he was a fellow doctor, after all. "But yeah, we lost two of our boys in the field."

"Shite."

The doctor - the _asari _doctor, rather - just nodded, sadly.

"How are you doing?" she asked, after a moment. "How's Calliedoing?"

"Callie's… fine," her husband answered, slowly. "Some days, I don't think she quite gets what's goin' on. Maybe that's for the best."

"And you?"

"I'm surviving."

"How bad is it on the ground?"

"Honestly? It could be worse. The Reapers focused on Terra Nova before us - hell, they blew up the rigs at Borr before they even hit Tyr. Guess we're just not that important, and even when they did make landfall, they went for the big cities. A little clinic in the valley? Doubt they even noticed it, and things have been getting better since the Alliance started dropping marines on the quiet-like."

"You're still at the clinic?" Ria frowned. "I thought the Alliance would be getting people off-world."

"How?" Troy shrugged. "First thing the Reapers did was blow up the spaceports, and they swoop down on anything that breaks atmosphere. If the Alliance tries to land anything bigger than a drop pod, it's under fire in minutes - you can't evacuate like that."

"Then shouldn't they be moving people to refugee camps, at least?"

"What good would that do? The Reapers are goin' for population centres, massive collateral - cram everyone into a refugee camp, and you're paintin' a giant bullseye on the lot of 'em."

"It just doesn't seem safe, the two of you being alone in the middle of nowhere…"

"Ria, this whole world's occupied. By feckin' robots the size of skyscrapers. _Nowhere's_ safe. Besides, we're not alone."

"You're not?"

"Nah, we've got a couple of Alliance boys with us. Privates, came in on the first drop. Their patrol came past the clinic lookin' for survivors, and the sergeant left the two of 'em behind to keep us safe. He said he was keepin' a route open for wounded, but I think he just wanted to spare his rookies a trip into the city. Most of the marines that went in there didn't come back, and the ones that did… they weren't pretty, Ria. They dragged a fair few back to me for surgery, but there's only so much you can fix…"

He glanced at the floor, sombre for a moment, before muttering:

"Anyway. Enough of that depressin' shite. It's good to talk to you, love."

"It's good to talk to you too…" she nodded.

"Listen, I know it shouldn't be my priority right now… but your boss isn't gonna get in trouble for this, is he? It's not exactly an emergency call."

"The way he's been behaving lately, I don't even think he'd care if he did…" Ria sighed. "He's had it rougher than most."

"I'll bet… Ah, god-damnit."

"What?" she frowned, as the comms flickered.

"Think the bandwidth's going," he grumbled. "Fleet must be sendin' out more orders."

"So… the line's about to cut out?"

"If they're busy."

The doctor sighed.

"Well… it was nice to talk," she smiled, weakly.

"Aye, it was… good to see ya, too. I mean… boy, that dress…"

"This old thing?" the doctor laughed, smoothing down a crease in her white garb. "Commando leathers. Standard issue."

"Makes you wonder how the asari get anything done…" Troy grinned, roguishly. "I'd be too distracted if I had to look at _them_ all day."

"Yeah? Well you'd better stay safe, mister, or you're never seeing them again."

"And wouldn't that be a shame? I'll stay alive, love. I think safe is relative these days…"

Ria nodded sadly at the truth in that. Some part of her wanted to tell him to look after Callie too, but that didn't need saying, to be honest. It was just an unspoken agreement between the two parents. Innate, as Lynus would put it.

"Speak soon," she murmured, finally.

"Aye. Speak soon, Ria…"

And with that, the comms faded, leaving an empty projector on the end of the table. The doctor could do little more than collapse into the nearest chair, as silence filled the war room once more.


	456. Shore Leave Bachjret Ward 12

_**Level 4, Bachjret Ward**_

_**Day 4, 1810**_

"I raise fourty creds."

"Damn it, I fold…"

Vor kept up a stoic mask as he watched the one human throw his cards down in disgust and take a gulp of whiskey, as the other smirked, and toyed with a credit chit. The volus to his left was watching on with a _literal_ mask, and beyond him, the turian dealer was puffing away on a cigarette, surveying the lot of them with cool disdain.

The batarian was smoking too, and it was a mark of how cheap this bar was that neither of them was being asked to stop. The air was stale and smoky, the whiskey was five creds a go as long as you didn't ask what was in it, and the poker table had been a cheap buy-in. Much as he disliked enjoying a human game, Vor did so enjoy mugging them at it…

"I call," he nodded, sliding another chit into the pot.

"Call," the volus echoed.

The turian went to stub his cigarette out before replying himself, and as he did, Vor glanced across at the dive's one fault - the three of his fellows sat by the bar with drinks of their own. Wolfe, Carter, and Carter's slightly less annoying sister. The two marines were just downing a double of whiskey each, as the girl sipped at something red in a tall glass. Luckily, none of them had noticed Vor - he'd gotten here a half hour before they stumbled in, and the booth his poker game was occupying was nicely sheltered from the bar itself. He could peer around the corner to keep an eye on them, but if they looked, all they'd see was the back of an anonymous batarian's head.

"Fold," the turian grunted, tossing his cards down - one of them flipped in the wind as he did, revealing itself as the seven of hearts.

Down to three, then, and the dealer dealt, sliding a five of clubs to the centre. Smiling inwardly, Vor kept his mask passive, even allowed a little growl of frustration to throw them off.

"Check," he announced.

"I fold," the volus sighed, throwing his hand down.

"I call twenty," the human muttered, throwing another chit into the pot.

Vor hesitated for effect, then:

"Call."

That pushed the pot to… somewhere over a hundred, judging by a quick estimate. Maybe two. As the turian reached for his deck to deal, however - he had dropped it to light another cigarette - there was a commotion from the front door of the bar.

There followed a bout of raucous laughter, but it rather lost impact without the punch line. The half-dozen humans traipsing through the door, however, seemed to find it _very_ amusing, whatever it was. Vor just rolled his eyes as the rabble made for the bar, squeezing in around his three shipmates.

Rather predictably, one of them made a beeline for Alicia. He was a slick-haired little git who looked like he spent _far _too much time in front of the mirror, and to her credit , the blonde just shot him a scathing look in response to whatever it was he said - something about a pretty lady and a place like this, Vor didn't quite catch it over the din the rest of the humans were making. A few of them were knocking back drinks at the far end of the bar, but by the looks of them, they'd had more than a couple already…

"Hey, batarian!" a voice snapped, closer at hand. Wheeling back around, Vor found the rest of the table staring at him. The turian, who had just spoken, followed his gaze and asked: "Friends of yours?"

"_Nope_," Vor grumbled, before glancing down at the table. The river had been dealt - another king. He grunted, weighed it up in his head, and finally muttered: "I raise twenty."

"I raise fourty," the human opposite him said, rather quickly - he had a good hand, then.

"Raise eighty…" the batarian challenged, coolly.

A beat of hesitation.

"I call," his opponent nodded.

"All bets in," the dealer grunted, cigarette still dangling from the side of his mouth. "Show your hands."

"Flush," the human smirked, laying his cards down. Two clubs, with another three on the table.

Vor paused, raising an eyebrow, but as he went to reveal his own hand, the conversation from the bar came drifting over, catching his attention once again.

"C'mon, baby, just let me buy you a drink."

"I've already got one."

"Then let me buy you another!"

A sigh.

"Look, just piss off, will ya?"

_That _got the batarian to turn around, with a low chuckle of appreciation. _Good girl, Carter_. Her 'suitor', however, didn't look quite so impressed.

"Frigid bitch…" he muttered, none-too subtly.

Cue the scrape of a stool, as the bigger Carter jumped down from his.

"Oi, pretty boy!" the marine barked.

"What?" Pretty Boy snapped, spinning around to face him.

_Wham!_ Carter caught him a right hook without missing a beat, and he toppled off his stool rather comically.

The entire bar fell silent. Wolfe gawped at his young colleague. Pretty Boy's friends turned to stare. Alicia just rolled her eyes. With remarkable prescience, the volus bartender ducked below his taps, and sure enough, a moment later, the punches began to fly.

Alec took the first one, as one of Pretty Boy's mates - somewhat meatier than the man himself - lunged forward and took a swing. The corporal staggered back, but before his attacker could strike again, Irving dove at his back with a growl, dragging him down to the floor and going to town on his head and chest, punch after punch after punch…

One of the half-dozen brawlers grabbed Wolfe under the arms and hauled him upwards, but the scarred marine grabbed either side of his head and _pulled _him down, cracking the man's jaw against his shoulder. Alec had recovered from his daze too, and the pair of them went at it, fists flying. Another human tried to get around them-

And to Vor's surprise - hell, to _everyone's _surprise - Alicia caught him half-way, lashing out with a biotic-fuelled kick that landed right between his legs. The batarian couldn't help but wince.

With measured calm, he turned back to the poker table. His opponents were all gawping at the bar brawl developing across from them, and the human's hand was still face-up on the table.

"Kings and fives, full house," Vor murmured coolly, throwing his hand down. The rest of the table turned to stare at him in surprise.

Vor rose from his seat, scooped up his winnings, and shoved them into his pocket. Rather casually, he cracked his neck and picked up his chair, slinging it easily over his shoulder.

"Gentlemen," he nodded.

With that, he turned and strode across the room. The brawl was still in full swing - at that very moment, Alec was slamming one of his assailants head-first into the bar, while Wolfe grappled with another. Pretty Boy was just stumbling to his feet, as Vor finally reached the bar, hefted the chair in one hand…

And proceeded to beat him over the head with it. It _exploded _dramatically, and Pretty Boy went down clutching his skull.

There was a moment's hesitation as both sides took in the intervention. Irving and Alec turned to face the batarian, fixing him with twin expressions of surprise.

"What?" he shrugged.


	457. Shore Leave Bachjret Ward 13

_**Level 20, Bachjret Ward**_

_**Day 4, 2140**_

"So… that went well."

"I still say they were overreacting," Vor grunted.

"You threw that guy through a _window!_" Alec spluttered.

"And _he _kicked someone's teeth out," the batarian muttered, nodding at Irving. "I don't see you bitchin' about that."

"Oh, I'll get to him in a minute…" the corporal scowled.

"Alec?" Alicia murmured. "Shut up."

"What?"

"You started that whole thing when you punched the creep!" she pointed out, emphatically.

"What, you wish I _hadn't?_" he retorted.

"Oh, I wouldn't say _that…_"

Vor just chuckled, and shut his eyes, leaning back against the wall of the cell. C-Sec had come running shortly after he tossed Pretty Boy through a window to the street outside - there was a correlation in there _somewhere _- and the fight hadn't lasted long after that. Now they were just stuck here… waiting… trying not to kill each other... Surprisingly, it was the Carters who were having the greatest trouble there, not Irving and Vor.

"So what's the problem?" Alec frowned. "Self-absorbed prick doesn't get the message, I break his nose. Not seeing an issue there…"

"The issueis, I could have dealt with him myself," Alicia replied. "Besides which, you do the same damn thing with the nice guys! You _literally _punched one of my boyfriends in the face, remember?"

"The guy looked shifty!"

"He had a lazy eye, Alec!"

Irving and Vor snorted in harmony, drawing glares from both siblings, and the room lapsed into awkward silence once again. A few minutes passed, in fact, before footsteps began to echo from the corridor outside. Judging by the heavy _thud_, they were metal, armoured… C-Sec coming to check on them?

The door came open with a _hiss_, and Vor discovered he was half right, because it was indeed a C-Sec officer who appeared in the breach, staring at them with folded arms and a stern scowl.

"A bar brawl?" Vimes muttered. "A frickin' _bar brawl?_"

"If you've come to give a lecture, you can piss off," Irving muttered. "We've got Carter for that."

The C-Sec officer just rolled his eyes, and stepped inside, shutting the door behind him. He leant casually against the doorpost, arms still crossed, and frowned:

"Seriously, though? A _brawl?_ I mean, I expect this from the batarian… and, actually, from you…" - he nodded at Irving - "and hell, maybe even you…" - Alec - "… but Alicia, I'm disappointed in you."

"What, I'm not allowed to get into fights too?" she scowled.

"No, I mean uniform are a bunch of frat boys. All you had to do was bat your eyelashes and they would have let you off scot-free."

"Instead if which, you're in here with us thugs," Irving grinned. "Speakin' of which, what's the verdict, Vimes?"

"Well, do you want the good news or the bad news first?"

"Bad news. Then you can work on cheering' me up."

"Well, the bad news is, we can't really deny you were in the fight. There were a dozen witnesses, excluding the guys you got into the fight _with_, and C-Sec caught you at the scene. I spoke to the chief prosecutor for this ward, and she wants to push for felony assault. She's got a stick up her ass about keepin' order in the apocalypse or something…"

"Shit," Alec muttered. "What's the good news?"

"The _good _news is, I got her down from felony assault to misdemeanour disturbing the peace. Which means no possibility of jail time, for a start, and nothing has to go on your service records."

"How the hell'd you do that?" Vor grumbled, with a note of appreciation in his voice.

"I pointed out some… _realities _of the system," Vimes shrugged. "For a start, while all the witnesses agree that you were in the fight, and most of them saw Alec throw the first punch, the barman also said in his statement that the guy he hit was makin' unwanted advances on Alicia. Sexual harassment."

"What, just because I'm a-" the medic began.

"_Yes_," the C-Sec officer replied, cutting her off. "We get it, you could have handled yourself. Just because you're a woman, doesn't mean you should have to play the victim. But if it gets the lot of you off a felony charge, I don't _really _think you can complain."

"Okay, point …"

"Now, sexual harassment is a civil violation on Earth," Sam continued, "but Citadel law has to cater to all species. And salarians take their 'first circle' of family very seriously. Hence, there's a little-known loophole that caters to them. Defending a 'first circle' relative - parents, siblings, uncles, aunts, cousins… - that's treated in the same way as _self_-defence."

"If it's a little-known loophole, how do you know it?" Alicia frowned.

"Because I arrested at least two guys who later got acquitted by using it. And they were both human, so there's no precedent to say the law only applies to salarians. Now will you lot _please _shut up? I'm trying to save your necks, and I've only got so much visiting time…"

Carter mimed zipping her lip, and fell into obedient silence, allowing Vimes to continue once again:

"That loophole's enough for legal sticklers like… y'know, the _judge_, and the jury would be a pushover in a case like this. Any jury on Bachjret's going to be majority human and turian. Both sexual species, so they'll empathise - males would see you defending your sister's honour, females would see you chasing off the kind of jerk they've probably all encountered at some point in their lives. Also, you all admitted straight-up what you did, which would chime well with turians. Any good defence lawyer could follow that argument through to justify the initial assault."

"We don't have _any _lawyer," Vor pointed out.

"Yeah, but I didn't tell them that!" Vimes scowled, as if that should have been obvious. "I dropped the name of an asari who owes me a couple. Tenacious, smart, and has a good record against C-Sec. I should know, she struck down half a dozen of my arrests when I was there… And once she plays the jury to justify Alec's attack, the rest of the case is like dominoes. The civilians mobbed Alec, the rest of you jumped in to defend your crewmate. That's not just supported, turian laws actually _mandate _it. All things considered, C-Sec's odds of securing a prosecution would be so low, it wouldn't be worth the legal costs to try it. The prosecutor was happy to cut a misdemeanour deal once I pointed that out…"

"So, this deal…?" Irving muttered, cannily. "What do we have to do?"

"Well, she wanted community service, but I told her that was impossible - you're serving military, and they need all hands on deck at the moment. In the end, I got you down to a fine. One-fifty for a first-time misdemeanour, and you reimburse the bar owner for everything you broke. I spoke to the guy, and that comes to another four hundred each."

"Is that a good deal?" Alicia asked.

"Five-fifty and nothing on your service records? For starting a bar brawl? I'd take it and run."

"Noted. And the captain…?"

"I won't tell him if you don't."

"Much appreciated…"

"Don't worry about it. Just pay up with the duty officer on your way out, head back to the hotel, and for goodness' sake, _don't _do it again."

"No promises," Vor grinned.

Vimes just rolled his eyes, and made for the door.


	458. Shore Leave Bachjret Ward 14

_**SSV Cambrai, Bachjret Ward Docks**_

_**Day 5, 0400**_

It was entirely too early to be heading for the training room. That was what Thorne knew any sane person would have been telling him as he stepped out onto the engineering deck. Those sane people, however, didn't have a biotic metabolism to deal with, and two days in medical seclusion were two too many for his taste. Luckily, O'Leiph had put him in the observation deck to free up a bed, giving him free rein of the ship. He had to duck around the refit engineers from time to time, and the doctor had explicitly banned him from joining the others on shore leave - probably justified, given the war stories already drifting back from the ward - but he could at least get some time to himself while his ribs fused.

_Clank. _

Thorne paused mid-step, as a loud clatter of metal on metal rang out from inside the training room. The refit engineers?

_Crunch._

Nope, not the engineers. Unless they were _very _bad at their jobs…

With a hint of hesitation - the crew got up to some weird shit sometimes - Thorne made for the door, absent-mindedly flexing his right shoulder as he did. The bandages covering his sewn-up midriff were anchored around that shoulder, restricting it just enough to be noticeable, but not enough to stop him throwing a punch or a biotic attack.

Whoever was in the training room hadn't locked the door - it came open at Thorne's touch, and he stepped inside-

Only to dive for the floor on all fours a moment later, as a chunk of metal came flying at his head. It missed his face by an inch, ricocheted off the door frame, and clattered down next to his hand. _It_, on closer inspection, was the arm of one of the training mechs, torn clean off and sparking gently from one end. The rest of the mech was still in the sparring circle, being laid into by a rather surprising opponent: the geth.

"Your chance of success is one in fourty-four thousand, seven hundred and nine," it murmured, between punches. "Cease your attack."

The mech did nothing of the sort - with its one free hand, it swung a shock baton at the geth's neck. The geth promptly grabbed the baton, snapped it in two, and proceeded to rip the other arm off. Then, it grabbed the mech by the throat and _hoisted _off the floor into a choke hold.

"Your chance is success is one in seventy-five thousand, two hundred and two. Cease your attack."

"It ain't gonna listen," Thorne called out, causing the geth's flashlight eye to turn his way. "It's a robot."

"The odds of failure are overwhelming," the geth said, sounding almost _confused_. "Why does it not retreat, and seek a more efficient solution?"

"Because it's not programmed to think destruction _is _failure," the biotic rumbled, coolly. "Not attacking you? _That's _failure."

"I see."

_Pop._ With the slightest of squeezes - and a force which Thorne suspected would have crushed his own windpipe - the geth tore clean through the mech's throat. Head and shoulders separated, and the dummy's body dropped limply to the floor. The geth was left clutching the metal skull for a moment, before it tossed that to the ground too.

"A self-improvement algorithm would make the platform much more efficient," it observed.

"It'd also make it useless," Thorne retorted.

"I do not understand."

"Come on. What kinda security guard runs away from the intruder? By the time it's found a more 'efficient' solution, the bad guys are inside and you're all dead. Besides, you start giving mechs self-improvement protocols, and you end up with… well, _geth_. Intelligent AI."

"And that is a bad thing?"

"It is for the poor sods who make you," he laughed, harshly. "Look what happened to the quarians. They build an _efficient _labour force, then a little way down the line the things get too smart and they panic. They lose their homeworld, they get kicked off the Citadel, they end up locked in those suits…"

"You speak as if you have experience dealing with the Creators."

"Matter of fact I do. But it doesn't take _experience_ to know nobody else wants to end up like them. Ever since your… _people _had their uprising, we've preferred our synthetics dumb and obedient like our voters."

"Like your…?"

"Eh, don't worry about it. What are you doing here, anyway?"

"Currently? Conversing with you."

"Smartass. I mean, why are you in here at four in the morning?"

"Time cycles are arbitrary," the geth shrugged - it had already learned to mimic that gesture, apparently. "And geth do not sleep. Given the context, your presence is stranger than mine."

"Yeah, well… couldn't sleep," Thorne muttered. "Needed to work some things out of my system."

"Have you tried deleting non-essential data from the local system cache?"

"Wha… _not _what I meant, tin can."

"Then what did you mean?"

The human frowned.

"Persistent, ain't you?" he said, after a moment.

"I am an observation platform," the geth replied. "Curiosity is in my nature, Malcolm Thorne."

"It's just Thorne."

"And my name is Cabal. Not 'tin can'," it murmured, pointedly.

"Noted. Tin can."

"You still have not answered… Malcolm Thorne. What did you mean?"

Despite himself, Thorne allowed a bemused smile to flicker across his features. The _robot _was giving him attitude…

"Alright…" he sighed, realising it would be easier to explain than dodge the question. "If you must know, I meant I needed to work off some energy. It's a biotic thing."

"I do not understand."

"You know what biotics are, right?"

"Yes. Organic ability to manipulate mass effect fields. Often brought on by pre-natal exposure to what organics call 'element zero'."

"Yeah. Well, those _abilities _take a lot of energy to use," he explained. "Biotics in the military get one and a half times the calorie ration of a normal soldier. Two times, even, if they're like me."

"Like you?" Cabal queried.

"Big guy, unusually strong biotics, with a penchant for getting into hand-to-hand fights as well as biotic ones. I burn through a _lot _of calories. Which comes to be a problem when I'm off the field. I'm not burning them any more, but I'm still adjusted to the diet."

"Excess calories must be expended before conversion into lipid fats."

"Right… I work out, or I get tubby. Now, the doc's had me in med bay for the last two days with no exercise, which means I've got a _lot _of calories to burn off right now."

"I see. That is logical."

"Thanks," he grunted, sarcastically.

"I have a question."

Thorne raised an eyebrow.

"Alright…" the biotic frowned, slowly. "Shoot."

"How do biotics work?"

A blank stare was all the human could manage. His mouth fell open slightly, before he managed to reply:

"You don't _know?_"

"No."

"_How?_"

"Geth biotics do not exist. My understanding is that mutation of organic tissue leads to biotic adaptation. This is not possible for synthetics."

"And you've never observed a biotic in all these years?"

"Never amicably. Encounters with organic biotics have resulted in hostility, not conversation."

"Figures, I guess…"

"Observations recorded in the consensus would indicate biotic abilities contravene physical and natural laws."

"We're _unnatural?_" Thorne laughed, darkly. "I'll leave that one for the god-botherers to decide… As for physics, we don't _contravene _it, we just… mess with the maths a little."

"I do not follow."

"Just quoting one of my professors from Grissom. Pretty much every biotic technique is derived from messing with a formula. Reducing one constant, raising another… It's all Newtonian."

The geth tilted its head to one side.

"Forgive me," it began, "but I did not estimate you to be an academic, Malcolm Thorne."

"I liked physics," Thorne shrugged. "I could bend it with my bare hands. The trick to the whole thing is that for all the time they spend teaching us, there are only three biotic techniques. We raise mass, we lower mass, we move mass. Anything else is just a combination."

"That seems unlikely."

"Doesn't make it wrong. Look, I'll give you an example. If you're coming at me, then I've got three options as a biotic. One, I throw you across the room. Moving mass."

"Simple application of force," the geth nodded.

"Right. Two, I hit you with a mass-lowering field. F equals m-a - once you weigh a few kilograms, it makes it much easier for me to go back to number one and throw you across the room."

"Also… logical, based on Newtonian concepts," Cabal admitted. "What is the third option?"

"I use a mass-_raising_ field. Also f equals m-a, in that once your leg weighs a ton, it's quite hard for you to lift it. A strong enough mass-raising field is a kind of… pseudo-stasis field. The justicar loves them - pins the enemy down, then moves in to execute. I think she uses the same technique for her barriers, makes the air massive enough to block bullets. It… would explain why her barriers are stronger than mine."

"You use a different technique?"

"Yeah. I prefer annihilation."

"You stated there were only three techniques," the geth murmured. "That was not one of them."

"It's an extension of moving mass," Thorne explained. "Instead of moving an object from A to B, I use several fields to move it from A to seven different places. _Tears _the object to pieces. If you're talented enough, you can tear them apart on a molecular level…"

"And are you?"

"Am I what?"

"Talented enough."

"Please. Offence, I'm one of the strongest biotics on this crew, if not _the _strongest."

"Arrogance?"

"Demonstrable fact. You saw me rip up that Atlas on the Vendetta. That was after a prolonged fight and having three of my ribs crushed."

"The empirical evidence is… hard to dispute," the geth admitted.

"Yeah. There's a lot of measures for biotics. Strength, stamina, precision… but when it comes to raw power, physical _force_, the only person aboard who can match me is the justicar. And, powerful as she is, she's had three hundred years to train her abilities. I've had twenty."

"You compare your abilities to the justicar's?"

"Sure. It's no different to the krogan testing their strength, is it? Or the rifles swapping kill counts? I compare myself to all the biotics, she's just the one who's closest."

"How?"

"Like I said, she's the one person here who can match me for force. The drell's come close before, but he only did it once and it almost killed him. The justicar gives me a run for my money. We're about even on raw power. She's got more finesse, I'll give her that… but I've got the edge on stamina. I can last longer, fight harder, push myself further than she can."

"And that allows you to focus self-improvement?" Cabal guessed.

"Sort of…" Thorne frowned. "But… nah, it's more tactical. Her control's just a quirk of her adaptation, same as my power. Saying I'm gonna improve mine is like Cash sayin' he's gonna grow a foot to beat Cross. But I guess it lets me know what to do in the field. They need a barrier? Let the justicar do it. They need to carve a path? I'm the man for the job."

"Geth operate similarly," the synthetic nodded, contemplatively. "Strengths and weaknesses are arbitrary. Comparison to other platforms is the only measure."

"Right."

"Does your organic process make you aware of weaknesses?"

"Sure."

"What are they?"

Thorne flashed a wry smile, as he muttered:

"Lookin' for combat tips, tin can?"

"I would be amiss not to," the geth admitted. "Data on our recent operations suggests biotics are prolific in Cerberus, and extranet documentation makes the same assessment of the Old Machines' forces."

"Been readin' up on Banshees, huh? Well, first rookie mistake doesn't apply to them, but it applies to Cerberus, and it applies to _me_. Don't assume biotics can only _use_ biotics. I carry an axe and a gun for a reason, and I've killed almost as many idiots who thought they were safe in a firefight as I have with my biotics. Biotic dampeners, this… omega-enkaphalin stuff - they don't stop a biotic from shootin' you in the head. In fact, just… _never _assume tech is gonna stop a biotic. Kinetic barriers to stop annihilators, mag boots to counter a lift attack… there's always someone who thinks he can get round biotics with expensive gear, but at the end of the day, if you're standing in front of a biotic attack, you're gonna get fucked by Sir Isaac Newton."

Cabal blinked at the expletive, and seemingly glossed it over as he asked:

"All enemies have a weakness. There must be strategies that are successful against biotics."

"Only one I can think of," Thorne shrugged. "Wear them down. Get 'em tired."

"That statement runs contrary to your first assertion. A biotic with no energy could utilise firearms, or melee weapons."

"Maybe when they're fresh. But an exhausted biotic? You can't shoot so good when you don't have the energy to lift your arms."

"Biotic exhaustion affects organics in a similar manner to muscular exhaustion?"

"It _is _muscular exhaustion," Thorne corrected. "We use muscle motions to trigger biotic techniques, and calories are calories, they burn the same if you're running or throwing a shockwave."

"I see. I believe I understand now. I will disseminate this data and transmit it to the collective for use against the forces of the Old Machines."

"_Great…_"

"Is there a problem, Malcolm Thorne?"

"Not _now_," he laughed, darkly. "But come when 'kill all organics' day comes around, I just taught you how to beat biotics. They _might _blame me for that…"

"Your assistance will be noted on that day," the geth murmured, reverently.

"…what?"

"That was a joke."


	459. Shore Leave Bachjret Ward 15

_**SSV Cambrai, Bachjret Ward Docks**_

_**Day 5, 0900**_

"Goood morning," Murphy said brightly, as he strode onto the helm. "Everyone having a… nice… day…?"

He trailed off as his wits caught up with his sunny disposition - he'd had a good night's sleep for the first time since they set off for Terra Nova - and prodded his brain into the noticing the rather… _sombre _mood in the cockpit. Akito was hunched over in the chair of the systems station, holding one of the few beer bottles that had survived Yui's impact with the liquor cabinet during the Cerberus raid. Erika was sat opposite him, with another bottle, and a rare mask of sympathy across her features.

"What's happened?" he asked, quickly.

"It's nothing…" Akito muttered.

"Bullshit. What's happened?" the captain repeated, firmly.

"I… you remember Operation Nomad, sir?"

"Like it was last week," Murphy laughed, with a touch of sarcasm that _might _have been too much.

"Remember we found the São Paolo? Destroyed?"

"Aye…"

"Alliance just put out the list of the dead. The helmsman was one Jorge Navarro…"

"Friend of yours?" the captain guessed.

"Best friend," the co-pilot nodded. "We bunked together back at Arcturus. He was… about the only guy in the class who could match me on cruisers. No offence."

He aimed that last part at Erika. She just gave a dismissive wave of her hand, and replied, quite genuinely:

"None taken."

"We swapped top rank on every cruiser and tactics module in the course," Akito continued. "Only time anyone beat us was when we ran frigate modules, and Little Miss Maverick here kicked our asses."

Erika blushed slightly, but he didn't seem to notice.

"Sounds like you were close…" Murphy noted. In truth, the whole thing sounded _familiar _to him.

"We were. He was a good guy. Real relaxed, charismatic. Had a way of putting people at ease. Not an antisocial jackass like me."

Akito and Erika both laughed a little at that.

"I'm sorry…" the captain murmured, realising that was long overdue.

"It's… fine," Akito replied, unconvincingly. "Truth is, I'm not just upset because he's dead. I mean, people die. I get it. It made me realise some things, though."

"What things?" Murphy frowned, curiously.

"Well, for a start, we both did the same stint out the academy," he explained. "One year as a co-pilot to get some experience, then five years as a pilot. I was on the Tokyo, he was on the Hyderabad. He started while Admiral Singh was captaining it, ironically enough, and Admiral Anderson was my CO on the Tokyo. Those were both old ships, so they put rookie pilots at the helm, but after six years, the whole line was due a refit, Anderson and Singh had moved on to the Normandy and the Logan, and we were too good to be wasted on ships in dry dock, so the both of us got reassigned. He went to helm the São Paolo…"

"And you got headhunted for the Cambrai."

"Right. Which makes me think… what if it had been the other way? He'd have been here having this conversation with you, and I'd have gone up with the São Paolo."

"You can't think like that, Akito. If you do, every thought goes down the same road. I mean, Logan and I got transferred off _Earth _a week before the Reapers hit. And at Arcturus, we just _happened _to evacuate the station on the Ain Jalut. We might've missed the ship and gotten blown up with the station. Or we might've caught a ride on a ship that the Reapers destroyed. Or I might have died on Benning, or Terra Nova, or any of the other worlds we've been to… if you stop to think about shit like that, you just end up with a list of ways you _could _have died, but didn't."

"You're… probably right," Akito admitted. "But it did make me realise something else, though. Made _us _realise something, to be specific."

Erika nodded, and Murphy frowned in confusion.

"What?" he asked.

"I went back through our graduate glass from Arcturus. Six of them are dead now, captain. We hadn't even realised…"

"Six of how many?"

"Thirty. One in five of the class."

Murphy sighed.

"Permission to be completely honest with you, flight lieutenant?"

"I… don't think you need _permission _for that," Akito frowned.

"Well, some folks wouldn't like to hear what I'm about to say."

"Say it anyway."

"Alright… one in five is _nothing_."

Erika and Akito both turned to stare at him in surprise.

"That… sounded really callous, didn't it?" he winced. "I didn't mean it that way, honest… all I mean to say is… the Alliance doesn't lose warships often. And losing pilots is even rarer, with escape pods and all. I mean, before this war started, how many helmsmen had the Alliance lost?"

"I… maybe thirty?" Erika guessed.

"Right. And the majority of those were in major conflicts, of which we've had one a _decade_since we came into the galaxy. The First Contact War, the Skyllian Blitz, and the Battle of the Citadel."

"What's your point, sir?"

"Thirty people…" Murphy sighed. "Marine Corps lost more than that on _Mindoir_, lieutenant, and that was a frickin' search and rescue mission! Our casualties were three figures on Torfan, without a single heavy ship lost. Every time a warship goes down, there's a chance the pilot dies. But there's also a chance the _dozens _of marines onboard die. The thought just occurs that… we're better at dealing with this shit. We're used to losing people. Pilots, though… you lose people so rarely that when a big conflict comes along - like Shanxi, like the Citadel, like _this war_ - you haven't always got the experience to fall back on. I mean, six dead from a class of thirty? The regiment me and Logan were posted to before we left, the one-oh-third? That was a regiment of at least a thousand men. Less than a hundred made it off Earth."

"With respect, captain, I doubt you knew all one thousand of them," Akito pointed out. "And marines don't train in proximity like us. You don't know every other marine…"

"Alright then… my N7 class. Eight other guys graduated Rio Villa with me. And I damn well knew _them_. We ate, trained and slept together twenty-four-seven. I went through N1 to N7 with most of them, and even the ones I didn't, like the colonel, I spent a month and a half with in N7. You know how many of those eight guys are left?"

The co-pilot shook his head. Murphy smiled, sadly, and raised his index finger.

"_One?_" Erika murmured, aghast.

"Yup. The first one died on Eden Prime with the two-thirty-two. Next one was on the Emden when it went down at the Citadel. We lost two when Earth fell, another two when the fleet was hit at Arcturus, and you both know what happened to Colonel Hunter… I graduated seven years ago, one year before you left the flight academy, and in that time, I've lost seven of the eight guys I graduated with. Just me and Lieutenant Commander Shepard left now…"

"Shit…" Solov muttered, under her breath.

Akito just fixed the captain with an understanding stare, as he concluded:

"I knew all those guys, just like you knew your friend Jorge. And I remember each and every one of them. You want me to add all the marines I've lost under my command? Because I remember them too. You're into double figures with them, and that's before I ever came aboard the Cambrai. I'm not saying don't grieve. I'm saying _take this like a marine_. Suck it up, and move on, because even if they're dead, you've got another day… and that's never a certainty."

"I… noted, sir," the co-pilot nodded. "Thanks for the pep talk."

"No problem," he laughed, mirthlessly. "Thanks for screwing up my good mood."

"Sorry… beer?"

He reached under the workstation, and pulled out a six pack that was missing two already.

"It's nine in the morning," the captain pointed out.

"No day and night on the wards," Erika shrugged.

"Aaand, taking my own advice, I could be dead tomorrow," he muttered. "Sod it."

Reaching over, he tugged a bottle out of the ring pull, and popped the cap off with his teeth. Akito just chuckled, and returned the bottles to the floor.

"To Jorge Navarro," the co-pilot murmured, raising his own bottle in a toast. He looked expectantly at the captain, but Murphy just shrugged:

"If I start listin' names we'll be here all day," he sighed.

"Alright then…" Erika interjected. "To the survivors, and another day."

"To the survivors, and another day," Murphy nodded. "I'll drink to that…"


	460. Shore Leave Bachjret Ward 16

_**Level 15, Bachjret Ward**_

_**Day 5, 2130**_

"It took you two days to call me?" Cat muttered, as she sidled up to the bar.

"Had some business to take care of," Andersen replied, vaguely.

"So I see…" she murmured, looking him up and down and apparently noting the shirt and waistcoat. He in turn noted the tank top she was wearing - the white one usually hidden beneath her flight suit…

"I was seeing a solicitor," he explained, dismissively. "And you can't walk into a lawyer's office in crew fatigues."

"I guess not. You clean up well, anyway…"

"Err… thanks? You look good too."

"Ta. Now are you gonna tell me why you were seeing a solicitor or not?" she smirked.

"I… it's kind of silly," he shrugged. "I was sorting out my will."

"Why?" Cat frowned.

"All that shit with Tyco… it just seemed like a good idea."

"Fair enough. How was it?"

"Well, as it turns out, I've got sod all to give, and no-one to give it to. I ended up giving all my money to a charity for street kids, and everything else to the Alliance. So, in summary… depressing. Hence the tequila."

He lifted his glass demonstratively, before draining it.

"Ah, I _see_…" Cat smiled. "Guess I've got some catching up to do."

"Yup. About half a dozen," he muttered.

"You heard the man," she nodded, to the bartender. "Two more. Salt and lime while you're at it."

"You realise that's just a gimmick to cover up the cheap stuff?" Andersen frowned. "Salt makes the drink less potent."

"Not when you're licking it off my neck," the pilot retorted, with a smirk.

Andersen paused, gawping for a moment, and all he could manage in response was: "Wow."

"You should see the look on your face," Cat snorted, turning back to the barman as he slid two brimmed shots their way, followed by a little bowl with salt and a slice of lime.

"I'll bet you were popular in the academy," the engineer smirked.

"You have _no _idea."

"Oh, I can imagine. I mean, twins?I saw the way the guys reacted to _that_…"

"Which guys?" she asked, curiously.

"The single ones. Alec, Sam, Ethan…"

A frankly _evil _smile crept over Cat's features, as she replied, slowly:

"Ethan? You mean you didn't hear?"

"Hear what?" Andersen frowned, reaching for his drink.

"According to Wendy, him and the turian… Zel, is it? They… y'know… _did it_."

_Psssh! _The engineer's tequila sprayed all over the bar as he snorted in surprise, drawing a reproachful look from the bartender and a _roar _of laughter from Cat. He looked across, wide-eyed, and gawped:

"You're _kidding!_"

"I speak the truth," Cat replied, smirking. "And more importantly, Wendy can't lie to save her life."

"Fair enough," Andersen nodded, as the barman discreetly slipped in behind him and wiped the countertop clean. "Good for them, I say. It took 'em long enough…"

The pilot shrugged as if she agreed, and looked down at her drink. With a hint of reluctance, she dipped her index finger into the salt, dabbed it to her tongue… and then tipped back the glass in one.

"Ah! Two more…" she muttered, sliding her glass towards the barman as she sunk her teeth into the lime. Andersen did the same, suppressing a chuckle as he did, but he couldn't have been _too _subtle, as she looked over and frowned: "What?"

"I told you it was the good stuff," he laughed. "I've had half a dozen already…"

"Yeah, yeah, I'm getting there…" the pilot scowled.

Sure enough, as two more glasses of tequila came sliding across the bar, she took hers and gulped it down straight. Then, after a moment's consideration, she took his and drunk it too.

"No, please, take mine," Andersen said, sarcastically.

"What? I'm catching up," Cat shrugged, gesturing to the bartender for another two. "So… Ethan and Zel. Does stuff like that happen often?"

"Stuff like what?"

"You know, people… getting it on."

"Oh. Err… not as much as you'd think, given the whole 'end of the world' thing. Tyco had his… _thing _with Vanyali while they were aboard. There's a good few people who _should _be, if they only realised it. Oh, and there's Saffiya and Mac'Tir. They've been together a while now…"

"Wait… I'm not so good with the names," Arness murmured, somewhat foggily. "Is Mac the blue drell, or the green one?"

"Green," he answered, amused.

"Right… and he's dating the justicar? Brave guy…"

"What's wrong with Saffiya?" Andersen frowned.

"Oh, nothing, she's just kind of… terrifying."

"_How?_"

"You mean besides the fact she could break me in two with her mind?"

"So could half the guys on the crew," he shrugged.

"That doesn't make it better! Maybe _grizzled_ marines like you don't notice it, but everyone on your team would be pretty damn scary if they weren't on our side."

"You realise I'm not a marine, right?"

"You go on marine missions, from a ship assigned to marine duty, under a CO who also happens to be, guess what, _a marine_. What does that make you if not a marine?"

"A severely underpaid technician," Andersen chuckled mirthlessly, reaching for his glass again.

"Oh, don't get me started…" Cat grinned, following suit. "Do you realise, I don't even get hazard pay?"

"Does anyone? I always thought it was part of the job…"

"Well, I don't care what you say. _Reapers _were not part of my job description."

He just laughed at that, and she flashed another brilliant smile.

"Alright…" the engineer sighed. "Less talking, more drinking."

"That's the spirit…"

They passed the next ten minutes in silence, save for more orders to the bartender, and the odd challenge of 'on three…' to each other. That sounded much worse in hindsight than in the context of the night, but at the time it was… nice. They sat back, enjoyed the music and the booze, and didn't speak again until the engineer muttered:

"S'good to relax. Been a while."

"I got that impression…" Cat nodded, a little… tipsily. "One question, though."

"Mm?"

"Why'd you ask _me? _I'd have thought you'd want to unwind with the guys…"

Andersen considered that for a moment, before adding, with a tone of drunken philosophy;

"You're new. No… pretence."

"And there was me thinking it was the boobs…" she smirked.

"Well, sure. Hot girl asks you out, you're an idiot to say no…"

She blushed a little, but that might have been the tequila, and Andersen's eyes drifted off across the bar… before settling on a wholly unexpected figure coming through the door.

"Oh, _shit_."

"What?" Cat frowned.

"See that girl coming in right now?" he groaned, sinking down in his chair a little.

"Short girl, mousy brown hair…?"

"Yeah. Her name's Rachel."

Cat's eyes narrowed suspiciously.

"How do you know that?"

"Our first shore leave. We kinda… _y'know._"

"Seriously?" she murmured, eyebrow rising. "Did you…?"

"I… honestly don't know. I woke up in the morning with her phone number, her picture, and sod all memory and holy shit is that her boyfriend?"

Cat wheeled around again, following his gaze right to the _hulk _who had just walked in behind Rachel. Black t-shirt, biceps _bulging _out from beneath it. And roughly twenty feet in height, Andersen's brain was assuring him.

"Big guy?" the pilot frowned.

He nodded, weakly.

"Looks like the captain of the football team…" his companion observed.

"Right. Tall, strong, and… did I mention tall?"

"Also dumb, arrogant, and… did I mention dumb?" she echoed, with a smirk.

"Cat, his arms are thicker than my _head_. Jesus…"

He turned back to the bar, snatched up the latest tequila, and practically _threw _it down his neck.

"Okay, I'll grant you he's… _big_," Cat mused, with a smile that suggested she was _enjoying _this. "But I'd like to see him fix a shuttle."

"Screw fixing it, he could probably carry it!" the engineer scoffed, with a hollow chuckle.

"Corporal, are you _jealous?_"

"No, just feeling a bit…"

"Inadequate?" she teased.

"_Short_," he retorted.

"Well, now you know how Cash feels…" the pilot shrugged.

"Ha-bloody-ha."

"Alright, alright…" she sighed. "I'll go easy. Question: do you like the girl?"

"Err… I barely _remember _her," Andersen admitted. "I mean, I guess I _did_, if we…"

Cat rolled her eyes, as if to say: _'Men'_. To be fair, she probably a point…

"Why?" he asked, a moment later.

"Just checking."

He paused, and fixed her with a hard stare.

"What are you thinking?" the engineer frowned.

"I'm thinking we make her jealous," his companion grinned.

"How?" he replied, leaning in with a conspiratorial air.

Cat just quirked an eyebrow at him.

"Really?" she smirked. "Smart guy like you can't figure it out?"

Before he could reply, she hopped down from her seat, popped the straps of her tank top off her shoulders - revealing the thinner black straps beneath, the male bit of his brain noted - and proceeded to ruffle up her hair with messy precision. Then she reached over to the bar, downed her shot, and shook her head with a little 'ah', before turning to Andersen, grinning.

"Come on, corporal," she murmured, offering a hand. "Let's dance…"


	461. Shore Leave Bachjret Ward 17

**A/N: So, I'm sorry this chapter took so long. Turns out, it was quite tricky to write for technical reasons, and I just hit a wall. Should be okay from here, though, and if I get it written fast enough, I'll upload a second chapter today to make up for the lack of updates.**

**PS. There's a new poll up on my profile. It's not story-influencing, just curiosity on my part. Also, there's a hint/spoiler in there for the eagle-eyed. Check it out!**

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><p><em><strong>Level 12, Bachjret Ward<strong>_

_**Day 5, 2200**_

"You sure you want to do this?" Ethan asked, quickly pulling his shirt off over his head.

"_Yes_…" Red purred.

"_Sure _sure?"

"Sure sure."

"Maybe turians do this a lot, but it's way more of a trust thing for humans…"

"And I trust you. So no problem."

"Alright, alright… but if you want to stop, just say so."

"_Will do_. Now, are you sure _you're_ ready? Because I have been known to bite."

She flashed a brilliant smile, and Ethan just chuckled, wrapping the last of the tape around his right hand. He patted it down, flexed his fingers to make sure they were free, and tightened his belt for good measure - then, he stepped into the ring.

The two of them had claimed one of the empty suites on the floor, and while the rest of the crew were getting pissed next door, they were… bonding. The turian way. They had cleared the main lounge, shoving furniture off to the side to leave an open stretch of floor, before slipping into something more comfortable. While Ethan wrapped his hands and shed his shirt, as he usually did before working out, Red had donned what she assured him was _light _armour for a turian - a cross-belt holding pauldrons to her shoulders, and a pair of trousers that looked like the pants of a flight suit.

"Ready?" she murmured again, dropping back into the lithe, drop-shouldered turian stance he recognised from the few times he'd fought Kamur - or seen the hastatim lay into some unfortunate Cerberus trooper.

"Ready," he nodded, falling into his own boxer's stance.

Wordlessly, they drifted to either edge of the rough circle they had cleared, and began to step around it, counter-clockwise, taking the measure of each other. On the face of it, Cash knew, his odds weren't good. Red was taller, had a longer reach, had skin that, if anything like Kamur's, was like thick hide to strike, and her senses were that little bit sharper than this. Ethan made up for it on the battlefield with severity, brutality, lethal blows… but none of that was of much use in the training ring. Omni-blades, maybe, if he used Andersen's old stun setting… and biotics were the wildcard. Truth be told, he didn't know _which _of them was stronger there. His L3s could spike pretty high, but turian implants? Not a clue…

Red took a step forward. Clearly, her own calculations were finished. He responded with two steps of his own. She circled again. He paused, then whipped round with her, noting she had advanced again, two steps this time. One more for the human. One for the turian…

And then they came to blows. Red took a long-limbed swipe at his head with her left hand. He ducked it, stepped to the side, and blocked low with both hands as she put a right towards his gut. The sentinel darted back, a taloned fist swung at his head-

He caught it in his left hand, and pushed Red's arm off to the left, spinning her round and exposing her back. The follow-up was to strike the back of the neck, the back of the knee, the lumbar… but for some reason - an entirely obvious reason in hindsight - he hesitated.

That, in further hindsight, was a mistake. The moment she recovered her senses, Red spun clockwise and dove at him, swinging out her left leg as she did and wrapping it behind his own. He attempted to shift, and counter, but all it took was the application of a palm to his chest, and she was able to throw it down with her own body weight, landing hard on top of him with his knee gripped tightly in the back of hers.

"Argh! _Jesus_, Red!" he swore, as she squeezed the lock and shot him a wry smile.

"You know, it's no fun if you _let _me win," she murmured.

"What, turians never heard of chivalry?" Ethan quipped, grunting slightly in pain despite his best efforts not to. The knee lock was… really _very _tight.

"Not in the ring," the turian shrugged, sweetly. "Now are we gonna go properly, or what?"

"Fine," the sentinel muttered. "I promise not to go easy on you. Let me up, and let's do this."

"Who said anything about letting you up?" Red grinned.

Ethan just sighed.

"Of course not…" he growled, under his breath.

A pause, to search through everything he remembered of the CQC manuals…

And then he _lunged _to the left, rolling onto his front. Red, still attached to his leg, went flying with him - she hit the floor, her knee shuddered for just a moment, and he used the moment to wriggle free, stumbling to his feet and backing off across the room.

"Alright," she muttered, standing too. "Good move. Not very… precise, though."

"I like to improvise," the sentinel shrugged, delaying a moment to catch his breath.

"Uh-huh."

The turian called his bluff, pitching forward and rushing him with surprising speed. A high punch came at his still slightly groggy head - he ducked it narrowly, spun around as she ground to a halt, and lashed out with a body blow of his own, still holding back ever-so-slightly.

Red swatted his hand away, dealt a kick to his ankle, then dove in and grabbed his wrist, yanking it out into a painful armlock. By the book, he suspected. Improvising once again, he ducked his shoulders to throw her off, then swung around to her back. His right arm was still clutched firmly in the turians talons, but with the left, he reached up over her high collar bone and latched a hand around her throat.

"Ah," she muttered, as the two of them paused, each locking the other. "Deadlock… break?"

"Nope," he grunted.

With that, he _kicked _hard, not at his opponent, but at the empty air. His legs flew out into a sitting position, and gravity took them both to the floor. Using the arm around her neck, he pinned the turian's shoulders to the ground, and smirked down at her.

"Give up?" he challenged.

"Nope," Red retorted. She released the armlock, flashed a brilliant smile up at him…

And then punched him right in the mouth. The shot was more _surprising _than actually damaging, but it still knocked the marine for six - he tumbled onto his back, releasing his grip and allowing the turian up. She swung around a moment later, dove at him-

He threw up a leg at the last second, planting it squarely over Red's belted chest and forcing her back with a rough shovefrom his boot. She stumbled a moment, balancing herself out, and he used the time to stagger to his feet. Once again, the turian ran at him before he could regain his senses, and he decided to fall back on the _wildcard_. He planted his feet, faked a blocking stance, and then threw a biotic cannonball right at her.

Red yelped rather comically, and hurled herself to the ground, skidding along and rolling a couple of times. His shot flew off over her head in the process, and _shattered _a glass fitting on the far wall. That sounded expensive…

"Seriously?" the turian laughed, looking up at him from the floor.

"Mhmm."

"Right. It's on."

When Red _launched _herself to her feet, skin rippling with biotics, Ethan began to reconsider the whole 'wildcard' thing. That turned to full-blown _regret _as she sent a shockwave at him, shaking the walls and floor as she did - he dodged narrowly to the side, but a standing lamp in the corner of the lounge took the hit for him, and hovered a few feet in the air before thudding back down to earth.

The two biotics rushed in, closing the gap between them in a matter of seconds and going at it with the same series of punches and kicks as before - this time, however, the fists and feet were wreathed in blue fire. Red swung a punch at him, he parried it away the left. She thudded her other fist into his shoulder, and that _stung _the 'soft-skin', but he came back with a left hook to the gut, a right to the hip, a blow to _her _shoulder...

That proved ineffective, with her steel pauldron taking most of the hit, and that anti-climax swung the momentum the turian's way once again. She made a feint at his head, then ducked low and tackled him around the midriff, taking them both to the floor and producing a brilliant _thrum _in both biotics' blood as she did. A couple of stout body blows, then the sentinel regained control, grabbing her under the arm and rolling them both over so that he was straddling her waist. A chop to the head was blocked by the turian, a shot to the gut wasn't - then she got a knee right into the base of his spine, causing him to spring up and stagger back. The turian escaped, putting a few feet between them as both recovered, and called still further on their reserves of energy to fuel the fight. A moment's hesitation, they wheeled around each other as they had at the start, and then they dove in again, swinging-

_Whump! _Quite to the surprise of both combatants, a loud shudder went through the room itself as their fields crossed, and _exploded_.

One moment, Ethan had been swinging at his training partner's head, the next he was airborne, as the walls and floor shook, dropping several paintings from their brackets and hurling an armchair across the room. In the brief moment before he went upside-down, he saw Red somersaulting away in the opposite direction - the blast slammed her straight into a small coffee table by the far wall, and judging by the _crash _that followed, she obliterated it on impact. A second later, Cash hit the long sofa that sat on one side of the room, _bounced _once, and tumbled over the back of it.

When his vision finally stopped spinning, he found his head and shoulders pressing hard against the floor behind the couch - his feet were dangling above, propped up on the backrest, and there was still a flicker of biotic blue in the air. Utter silence filled the room.

"Ow," was about all he could manage.

Nothing immediately, then:

"Ow…" the turian echoed, sounding rather subdued.

"God-damn biotics…"

"Mmm…" Red agreed, with a sub-harmonic groan.

_Hiss_. The door came open, a few feet from Ethan's head, and amber light filtered in from the hotel corridor outside. For a moment, he thought it was the concierge coming to bite their heads off, but then a familiar, scruffy-haired head poked through the doorway.

"For _fuck's _sake!" Vimes barked - he was a little… _tipsy_, if he was dropping the f-bomb. "I swear to God, you two made less noise when you were in bed together!"

"Is that a suggestion, officer?" Red chuckled, weakly.

"Zel, you can give him the time of his life," Sam replied, sarcastically. "Just do it _quietly!_"

"No promises!" she called out - the C-Sec officer just growled, and retreated back down the hallway, leaving the door to slide shut behind him.

_Thud. _Ethan finally managed to unhook his legs from the back of the sofa, and they clattered down next to the rest of his body. After a moment, he hauled himself up the backrest, and slid his elbows over it to prop himself up. Red was sat on the far side of the room, amidst the wreckage of the table.

"Up for another round?" the turian asked, perkily.

"I'm struggling to remember why I agreed to round one…" Cash groaned.

"Because you were hoping for round two," she smirked, nodding next door.

"Something like that… do me a favour, though? _No biotics_."

"Shame…" Red sighed. "Ria gave me some really good leaflets, too..."

"… you're joking, right?"

She just grinned.


	462. Shore Leave Bachjret Ward 18

**A/N: Alright, as promised, a double update. This one's a bit short, but then the last one was over 2000 words, so it all equals out... FYI, this chapter is mostly a response to a question that's been cropping up since the middle of Vendetta.**

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><p><em><strong>SSV Cambrai, Bachjret Ward Docks<strong>_

_**Day 5, 2220**_

"Alright… how do you feel?" Ria murmured, carefully.

"Well," Mac'Tir nodded, rolling his head on his shoulders and producing a satisfying _crunch_. "My breathing feels much easier."

"Good. You've gone twelve hours without the mask, so I'm giving you the all-clear for now. But I'm officially telling you to _take it easy_. Your body took a pounding, whether you can see it or not, so best not to push it just yet."

"I understand," the drell murmured. "Is there anything else, doctor?"

Ria glanced around the med bay, then jerked her head towards the vacant surgical theatre. Mac'Tir seemed to get the message, and followed across the room, between Rilum and Araya's beds, and through the door. The doctor shut it behind them for good measure, as the drell frowned:

"Is there a reason for this?"

"Three," she nodded. "Araya can't keep a secret to save her life, Lynus has a photographic memory and a tendency to ramble, and you're a proud fool who doesn't like to admit when he's suffering. So I figured we'd exercise some doctor-patient confidentiality."

"In that case…" he blinked, "I appreciate it. What did you wish to discuss?"

"Your health," Ria muttered, grabbing a datapad from her waist and tapping away on it. "You've been okay without the breather so far, but you still might experience some symptoms - shortness of breath, dizziness, etcetera. I'm prescribing you an inhaler with salbutamol - human drug, and as far as I know it's not toxic or allergenic to drell. Should open up your airways, ease your breathing a little if it gets tough."

"Alright."

"I'm also sending a memo to the captain recommending you not be put on full combat duty for the time being."

A pause.

"Why?" the drell frowned, curiously.

_Whack! _Out of nowhere, Ria caught him around the head with the datapad in her hand. He barely _flinched,_ she noted, and instead shot her a questioning stare as she replied, not unkindly:

"_That's _why. A week ago, you would have ripped that thing outta my hand before I raised it. As it is, though, your lungs are only functioning at ninety percent. That means ten percent of the oxygen that should be going to your brain and your muscles _isn't_. Your reflexes and your stamina are going to take a hit. If it was one of the big guys, I'd be less concerned, but you're not a slugger, Mac. You're only at your best when you're sharp, and right now you're not."

"Will that improve in time?" Mac'Tir asked, patiently.

"Assuming you keep to your exercise regimen, yes," the doctor nodded. "You might not quite hit the peaks you used to, but you'll come close, and with your level of fitness, you'll still be doing better than most of the crew. Once your reflex times are up to what they were before, I'll see to it that you're put back on the roster. Shouldn't take more than a week, your lungs just need time to adjust and replace the dead cells…"

She trailed off, and glanced down at her datapad, prodding it a few more times. Mac'Tir cocked his head to one side, and eventually muttered, presciently:

"There's something else you want to say."

"… yeah," she admitted.

"Say it."

"Alright… I'm attaching a list of hanar clinics to your prescription. Mostly on Shalta Ward, and they've got drell specialists."

"_Kepral's _specialists," he corrected, glancing down at the list as she wrote it, before noting, with remarkable candour: "Although I suppose they're one and the same at this point…"

"I don't think you _have _Kepral's," Ria said, quickly. "Even if I did, I wouldn't know enough about drell biology to make the diagnosis. What I _do _know is that your lungs sustained a fair amount of tissue damage - a result of Kamur leaving you on the battlefield instead of getting you up here straight away. Not his fault, the med bay wasn't exactly _safe_, but the scans show what they show - you've got dead tissue in both lungs, and while your body will replace some of it naturally, it'll also leave a fair amount of scar tissue. Which… is a contributing factor to Kepral's Syndrome."

"_Everything _is a contributing factor to Kepral's Syndrome," the drell pointed out, bitterly. "I assume this scarring is irreparable?"

"Yeah," the doctor nodded. "Like I said, your lungs are at ninety percent. Exercise might get them to ninety-nine, but you'll never get that one percent back. The scarring's so minor, any surgery to remove it would _add _more lesions than it removed, but it's still there, nonetheless."

"If the damage is irreparable, but I do not yet have Kepral's Syndrome… what would I want with these clinics?" Mac'Tir frowned.

"They all run screening programs. If your breathing's not back to normal in a week or two, or even if it is, I'd recommend you register yourself. Kepral's has a reasonably good prognosis if caught early - ten years or more, better than most human cancers, and the salarians just doubled their funding for research into the disease, so that's set to improve."

"Planning for the worst-case scenario," he nodded. "Wise. I will keep your advice in mind."

"Please do," Ria murmured. "It's not just a professional opinion, Mac, it's a personal one too. I'd say the same to Ekris if I thought he'd listen. Get yourself checked, and if that worst case scenario comes to pass, it might give you an extra six months, even a year. That's gotta be worth it."

"Indeed… Thank you, doctor."

"My pleasure. Now get outta here, and try to _relax_, for goodness' sake."

The drell just quirked an eyebrow at her.

"I'd settle for you not jumping off any buildings," she muttered, folding her arms.

"Hmm. That, I believe I can manage…"


	463. Shore Leave Bachjret Ward 19

_**Level 15, Bachjret Ward**_

_**Day 6, 0800**_

"Argh…"

That was about all Andersen could manage, as he blinked awake. His brain felt _heavy_, but he managed to prod it into surveying his surroundings all the same. Something soft and squishy beneath his back - a bed, then, he hadn't fallen asleep on the street. Small window to the right, light peeking through the blinds - that didn't mean much, given the permanent day cycle, just that the fake sun was on that side of the ward. The walls were blank and decoration-free, so it was a hotel, not somebody's apartment… and it sure as hell wasn't the hotel he was _meant _to be in.

Oh, and there was a slim arm draped over his chest. In hindsight, that should have been the first thing he noticed. An equally slim body was attached to it, and above that, a tangle of wavy brown hair. With a slight groan and impeccable timing, the body shifted. A pair of sleepy eyes turned to look up at him… then sprang wide open.

"Oh, shit," Cat swore.

"My thoughts exactly…" Andersen groaned.

An awkward pause, then:

"Did we…?"

"I… don't know…"

She lifted up the covers, and glanced down.

"Well, I'm naked," she sighed. "That's probably a good start."

The engineer just groaned again, and slumped back into the bedding. Cat did the same, dragging the covers up to her chin, and the both of them stared at the ceiling for a moment or two.

"What's that?" Andersen asked, quite suddenly. "Hanging off the ceiling fan?"

Cat squinted up at the object for a moment, then reported, bluntly:

"I _think _that's my bra."

"Huh."

More silence for at least a minute, as Andersen covered his eyes with one hand - the light _hurt_, and the embarrassment in the room was crushing in its own regard. Eventually, however, he blurted out the first thing it occurred to him to say:

"I swear to God, this wasn't intentional."

"The implication being that you _tripped and fell?_" Cat smirked - that was good, a touch of humour to break the tension. Sort of.

"Okay, it wasn't intentional at the _start _of the night," he conceded.

"That, I believe…"

"So… do you remember what happened?" the engineer asked, hesitantly.

"I think we both know the answer to that…"

"Right. Me neither. Last thing you _do _remember?"

A pause, as Cat's eyes rolled up, contemplatively.

"Shot number seven," she answered, finally.

"Uh-huh…"

"How about you?"

"I… remember dancing? Then it… kinda gets hazy."

"Right."

"… _shit_."

She laughed at that, despite the situation.

"So… what do we do now?" Andersen muttered, still staring at the ceiling.

"Well, I don't know about you, but I'm never drinking tequila again," Cat replied.

"Helpful as ever… any other pearls of wisdom?"

"Yeah," she nodded, glancing up at the fan again. "Clothes are for wearing, not decorating the room with… is it kind of weird that I'm wondering which of us did that?"

He chuckled, and rolled stiffly over the edge of the bed - he thudded down to the floor on his hands and knees, leaving the covers behind with Cat, and spent a good few minutes staring at the ground before his head stopped hurting. Only once it was steady…_ish_, did he glance around in search of clothes.

Boxers and jeans were close to hand, and he pulled them on gratefully, all the while making sure he was below the level of the bed, out of sight - illogical, considering the events of the night before, but hell, he wasn't in the most _rational _frame of mind at that point. Only once he was modest - relatively speaking - did he kneel up, and look around again.

"Where's your shirt?" Cat asked, groggily.

"Dunno…" he muttered, then: "Huh."

"What?"

"It's _two feet _inside the door. Someone was eager…"

"Oh God…"

The engineer staggered to his feet, and made for the door - as he did, however, he stumbled across something black, crumpled up by the foot of the bed…

"Think you might want these back," he called, throwing the _something _towards Cat.

"_Oh God…_" she moaned.

"If I was an asshole, I'd make a joke about you saying that last night," he muttered.

"You _are _an asshole," Cat retorted.

Eventually, he made it to the door, and leant heavily against it as he bent down to retrieve shirt and waistcoat from the heap on the floor they now comprised. His shoes had been kicked to the far corners of the room, and he wasn't sure his legs would manage the trip to fetch them, so he left them there, instead making his way back across the room.

"Is this the bathroom?" he asked, nodding at the door beside the bed.

"_Why _are you asking me?"

Andersen shrugged, and pulled the door open as he reached it. It did indeed lead to a bog-standard hotel bathroom - sink, mirror, toilet and leaky shower, occupying a space not much larger than said shower. On closer inspection, he noticed it wasn't actually leaking - it had been left on from the night before. He yanked the lever until it stopped, then made for the sink, dumping his shirt and waistcoat on the floor.

The first thing he did was fill the sink to the brim - it took at least a minute, thanks to hotel plumbing - with cold water. Then, he braced a hand either side of the bowl, and dunked his head into it, face first.

That… woke him up, to say the least. He emerged from the water a moment later with a noise that was half-sigh, half-growl, spattering most of the sink's contents over the mirror as he did. He reached instinctively for a towel to dry his face… and realised there weren't any. Drunk Andersen had forgotten to pick them up. He'd been too preoccupied with the pretty girl, the selfish bastard. Reluctantly, Sober Andersen wiped away the worst of the water with his arm, then plucked his waistcoat up off the floor and dried the rest of his face with that, before returning to the mirror.

Bloodshot eyes. Check. Unkempt hair. Check. Red marks on the neck… he rubbed a thumb over the top-most one, and it came away crimson. Ah, lipstick. Check.

With another groan, he _cracked _his neck, then stooped down to pick up his shirt. For a good minute or two, his arms insisted they were too big for it, before he finally managed to slide it on, roll up the sleeves for comfort, and fold the collar the right way over. He gave up on the buttons after the third attempt, and left them hanging open, before making for the door.

Cat had been busy while he was in the bathroom. By the time he emerged, she had managed to kick the covers wholly _off _the bed, recover her bra from the ceiling fan - no mean feat for a woman with a hangover - and regain most of her modesty. She was sat on the edge of the bed as he entered the room, just pulling her tank top back over her head.

"Urgh… I look like a mess, don't I?" she groaned, fussing with a loose strand of hair that fell in front of her eye.

"You look awesome," Andersen chuckled, truthfully.

"Aww, you're cute," the pilot replied, sardonically. "_You_ look like shit, though."

Another chuckle, and he clutched his heart in mock injury. In his current state, everything was either _really _grim, or _really _funny. He slumped down on the end of the bed next to Cat… and then in unison, the two of them flopped back onto the bare mattress. Back to staring at ceiling…

"So… what _do _we do now?" he asked, eventually.

"Well, I vote we don't tell my sister," Cat laughed, weakly. "Or… your mates. Hell, let's just _never _tell anybody. Let's pretend it never happened."

"Sounds healthy," the engineer chuckled. There was a long pause, however, as he mulled it over, before muttering, quite suddenly: "I agree."

"You do?" she frowned, glancing over at him with an eyebrow raised and surprise clear in her voice. It was probably deserved - even _Andersen _was surprised. At… himself. Somehow.

"If the last few weeks have taught me anything…" he sighed. "It's that taking this further ends with one of us getting hurt. I don't want that."

"No… me neither…"

Another long pause. Andersen stole a glance at his bedfellow, but she was staring up at the ceiling yet again. He sighed, and did the same.

"So we just… act like it never happened?" Cat murmured, finally.

"Like what never happened?" he replied, simply.

She cracked a grin.

"You don't remember?"

"Remember what?"

"You copped off with some girl from the bar," Cat smirked.

"Oh yeah?" he laughed. "What was she like?"

"_Way_ outta your league…"


	464. Shore Leave Bachjret Ward 20

_**Level 12, Bachjret Ward**_

_**Day 6, 0920**_

"Ooh, here comes the bit, here comes the bit!"

"_Enkindle this, criminal scum!"_

_Bang, bang, bang, bang, bang…_

_Boom!_

"Ha!" Araya cheered. "I love that part…"

Vimes just shot her a _look _from the other end of the sofa.

"Seriously?" he muttered.

"Shut up. Blasto is awesome."

The C-Sec officer just shrugged, and took another gulp of his beer. Truth be told, that was the only way he'd lasted this long…

"_Turian! This one requires a weapon…"_

"You know, most hanar don't actually like Blasto," Ekris piped up, from the armchair.

"What?" Araya frowned. "_Why?_"

"Because it's _terrible_," Vimes interjected.

"It's the inspirational tale of the first hanar Spectre!" she continued, ignoring him. "That's like us not liking Commander Shepard!"

"_Lots _of humans don't like Shepard," the C-Sec officer pointed out. "Besides which, Shepard's not _fictional!_"

"Shush."

"And, fictional or not, at least half the trailers call Blasto a _jellyfish,_" Ekris added. "That… did not go down well on Kahje. Neither did his using 'to Enkindle' as a verb for… _y'know_. To the hanar, 'to Enkindle' is to give life, and culture, and knowledge. Blasto just loves asari."

"Who doesn't?" Araya chimed in, and Sam almost choked on his beer.

"No, I mean… _loves _asari," the drell muttered, awkwardly.

"Mhmm…" she nodded.

"Oh."

Mercifully, the door to the suite _hiss_ed open, cutting the conversation short. The three of them turned expectantly towards it - Alec had gone on a beer run ten minutes prior, and Vimes for one needed a refill - but brows rose as Andersen walked stiffly through the door, rubbing his neck and looking… _dishevelled_.

"Somebody had a fun night," Sam grinned, as the engineer dumped a sodden waistcoat by the door - nobody asked.

"_Somebody _wants to curl up in a corner and die," his friend groaned, putting a hand to his temple.

"Uh-huh. Who's the lucky girl, then?"

"What?"

Vimes pointed to his neck, and Andersen rubbed his own, looking puzzled for a minute.

"Oh, this?" he blinked at last, apparently only just remembering the lipstick marks. "I… don't remember."

"Seriously?"

"I had a lot to drink!"

"_Seriously?_"

"I. Don't. Remember."

"Ah. Gotcha. Message received and understood… She turned out to be a dude, didn't she?"

_Smack. _Andersen caught him a clap round the back of the head, then tumbled groggily over the back of the sofa, flopping down between Vimes and Araya.

"Beer?" Araya asked, holding up the six-pack on the table.

Andersen just shook his head, and mimed throwing up.

"I'll take it that's a no, then…" the vanguard murmured, setting the beers back down.

The engineer, meanwhile, seemed to have noticed the vid screen for the first time. To his credit, he lasted a good few minutes without commenting. Finally, however, as Blasto threw a volus through a plate glass window - Sam hadn't been paying enough attention to know _why _- he burst out with:

"What the _hell _are you watching?"

Vimes just sighed, and pointed to the holovid case lying next to the beer. Andersen craned over to look, and his brow furrowed as he read aloud:

"Blasto 3: From Kahje With Love."

"Extended Cut!" Araya added, happily.

"Okay, that answers the _what_. I'm still pretty confused on the _why_, though…"

"So are we," Sam snorted. "We think boredom's got something to do with it."

"And beer," Ekris noted.

"Yeah. That too."

"I hear the new one flopped," Andersen muttered.

"They made _another one?_"

"Mhmm. Something about a Prothean in a fridge, I dunno…"

"Sure, because _that _won't offend the hanar," Ekris chuckled, sarcastically.

"Guys?" Araya interjected. "Stop being assholes. I'm trying to watch the film."

"You've already _seen _the film," the drell groaned.

"So?"

"_Somebody stop him!" _a human female shrieked, on-screen. On closer inspection, she was wearing a bad knock-off of C-Sec armour. _"We're not trained for this!"_

"Oh, that's bullshit," Vimes growled. "_Any _C-Sec marksman…"

He trailed off, and settled for making a gun with his fingers, aiming it at the screen and muttering: _"Bang."_

"_Look!" _her turian partner cried. _"It's Blasto!"_

"_Blasto! I thought you were dead?"_

"_This one got better…"_

_Bang, bang, bang…_

"Have any of you actually met a Spectre before?" Andersen asked, curiously.

"Not face to face," Ekris muttered. "But we had this one mission, out in the Traverse. Eliminating an arms ring. Top secret, real high-risk. Team of about a dozen specialists: infiltrators, hackers, demolitions experts, all training for _weeks _on a mock-up of the base. The mission finally comes around, we hike two days across the desert to reach the place, and you know what happened? Spectre and two of his mates got there the day before. Blew the front door down, killed everybody in the compound."

"I'll be damned," the engineer chuckled. "What about you, Sam? You must've run into a couple on the Citadel…"

"Stop. Interrupting. The film," Araya growled.

"Just the one," Vimes nodded, speaking over her and receiving a glare in return. "Asari. Tela-something."

"What was she like?"

"Complete bitch."

"Huh."

"_Krogan," _Blasto murmured, as Araya bumped up the volume on the vid screen to drown them all out. _"This one will not let you steal the Destiny Ascension!"_

"_Try and stop me, Blasto!" _the villain growled, before launching himself at the hanar.

"I call bullshit if Blasto wins!" Vimes called out, with a chuckle. "Real life, the krogan rips his tentacles off and eats his… do hanar have eyes?"

"I don't _think _so…" Ekris muttered, contemplatively.

There followed a very long, contrived, and most of all _expensive _fight scene, over the course of which the boys thoroughly annoyed Araya by cheering for the krogan. After ten minutes, several cars were on fire, a bunch of extras were dead, and Blasto had the krogan at gunpoint, to their extreme disappointment.

"_Alright!"_ he barked. _"I'll give you the codes, just let me go!"_

"Krogan begging," Andersen observed, wryly. "Because _that's _realistic."

Araya elbowed him hard in the stomach, and he lapsed into silence, going very _green_.

"_This one does not negotiate with criminal scum," _Blasto murmured.

_Bang!_

Cue dramatic music, an unflinching walk-away, and a montage of Blasto receiving medals and adulation from the Council - which Vimes noted was comprised of a vorcha, a volus and a salarian - before disappearing with an asari maiden on each tentacle. And, roll credits.

"Please tell me it's over…" Ekris said, a glimmer of hope in his voice.

"Wait! There might be something after the credits!" Araya replied, eyes still glued to the screen. The drell just groaned, and slumped down in his chair.

Vimes, however, had just realised something. He turned to Andersen, and frowned:

"Weren't you meant to be meeting Arness last night?"

"Huh?" his friend muttered. "Oh, yeah, I was."

Sam's eyebrow rose, and a smirk flickered over his features.

"_No_," Andersen scowled, firmly. "We had a few shots, then we got split up."

"_Really?_"

"_Yes_. She… went off with some other guy."

"Too bad. He better looking than you?"

Andersen smirked, for some reason, and chuckled:

"Yeah. The guy was pretty damn handsome. Awesome body…"

"Lucky bastard, whoever he was," Sam grumbled.

Another grin.

"Yeah…"


	465. Shore Leave Bachjret Ward 21

_**Presidium Commons, Presidium**_

_**Day 6, 1500**_

"I appreciate your help, chief. I know you're meant to be on leave right now."

"No worries. Gettin' smashed loses the appeal if you do it all the time."

Dr O'Leiph just nodded, and laughed to herself. In hindsight, with three centuries behind her, she probably knew that even better than Irving did…

"So, you were up here yesterday?" the marine asked, as they climbed the stairs of the Sirta block.

"Mhmm."

"How was she?"

"Good. Recovering well. I reckon she'll be happy to see you."

"Happier to get out of here," he pointed out, wryly.

The doctor just shrugged. A moment later, they rounded the top of the staircase, and drew up to the door of the apartment they were making for. Irving hovered behind the asari as she tapped at the door console, and casually shrugged to shift the strap of his duffel bag further up his shoulder.

A moment later, the door came open with a _hiss_, and he followed her into the apartment itself.

"Hello?" Ria called, cautiously. "Lieutenant?"

"Just a minute!" a voice replied, from a room towards the back of the apartment. There was a clatter of footsteps, and then, after a few seconds, the sound of another door coming open.

A tangle of red hair was the first thing to come through the open doorway - loose around the shoulders, not up in a bun or ponytail as it was in combat, and swiftly followed by a smiling face and a slender body.

"Chief!" she smiled, spotting him with more than a little surprise. "What are you doing here?"

"Just paying a visit," he grinned. "How are you feeling?"

"Well, my kidney's not trying to kill me anymore, so… great."

"You've been lucky," Ria chipped in. "A proportion of patients in your situation never recover kidney function. That would have meant daily dialysis, or a transplant."

"Instead, I get to go right back out and get shot again," Sarah laughed.

"I don't recall you getting _shot _the first time," Irving pointed out. "I was the buggar who got shot, and I had to keep working after it…"

"Aww, poor chief," she cooed, teasingly.

"Right…" the doctor interjected. "If it's safe to leave you two together, I'll go down to the front desk and clear your discharge papers, Sarah. Shouldn't take more than a few minutes, and then you're free."

"Sounds good," the lieutenant nodded.

With that, Dr O'Leiph departed, fussing busily with a datapad she'd just pulled from her belt. The two marines were left in silence for a few minutes, and Sarah drifted over to the window. _Beautiful _view over the commons… y'know, if you noticed things like that.

"So…" she murmured, eventually, turning round to face Irving. "Hope you didn't have _too _much fun without me."

"Sure…" he chuckled, mirthlessly. "Terra Nova was a _blast_."

"You went back to Terra Nova?" Sarah frowned, tone changing completely for a minute. "How was it?"

"Like you going back to Elysium," he muttered. "Scott was always a shithole, but after the Reapers got there… it was hell. Hardly recognised it."

"And the mission?"

"Worst fighting I've had since Vancouver. Maybe worse."

"Seriously?"

"Yeah. We got pinned down in a bombed-out building, waited… two, maybe three hours for evac?"

"We?" she asked, a fuller question remaining unspoken.

"About ten of us by the end," he replied. "Big team of ours, plus some resistance fighters."

"Ten _by the end?_" Sarah echoed, presciently. "How many at the start?"

"Err… just me and the batarian," Irving admitted, with a grunt.

"You and Vor made nice?" she smirked.

"Well, I haven't killed him yet…"

"A minor miracle in itself."

The big marine laughed, and paced back a little way across the room, to perch on the back of the sofa. Sarah lingered by the window for a minute or two, before piping up again, rather more quietly:

"Chief?"

"Ma'am?"

"Ria didn't say anything yesterday, and I want to know before I go back so I don't put my foot in it… who have we lost since I left?"

"Oh, geez…" Irving muttered, rubbing his head and trying to remember himself. "You left… just after Noveria?"

"Right," she nodded.

"Well, Vanyali's still out," he began. "Not dead, but… not wakin' up any time soon, the way I hear it. We lost Maelar on Terra Nova, and the quarian left to go fight with the resistance."

"Kan?"

"Klara."

A flicker of surprise crossed the lieutenant's features. Not unwarranted, he supposed.

"Anyone else?" she asked.

"A few… we lost Zya in some… _ugly _circumstances. Then our last op? We went to Benning - Arrete and Tyco both bit the dust. Those two are still a bit raw for most folk."

"Noted… Tyco's really dead?"

"Took a whole fuckin' cruiser with him, but… yeah. Surprised me too, ma'am."

"And… any new additions to the crew?"

"Couple of shuttle pilots, lieutenants Wendy and Cat Arness - good fliers. And, combat crew… just the geth."

"The _what?_" she gawped.

"The geth," Irving repeated.

"See, chief… you're saying that quite _casually_."

"Yeah…" he muttered, slowly, "…I'm realising that might be a mistake. We have a geth now."

"Uh-huh."

The door _hiss_ed open before they could discuss that any further, and Dr O'Leiph came striding back in, boots clacking loudly off the polished floor.

"Well, lieutenant, you're officially free to go," she grinned. "Although I think it goes without saying you should hold off on the drinking. Are your bags packed?"

"Oh, yeah, I'll just-" Sarah began.

"Don't worry about it," Irving grunted, "I'll get 'em."

"You sure? You've already got your hands full with… actually, what _is _that?"

"Gym bag," he shrugged.

"Hitting the weights, chief?"

"No. But you are."

A broad grin flickered over Irving's features, and Sarah's brow rose. After a moment, she turned to the asari, and scowled:

"Why do I feel like this was your idea?"

"Guilty as charged," Ria conceded, a slight, bemused smile turning the corner of her mouth. "It's just a quick course of physical therapy, lieutenant. You've been out of it for almost a month, and sedentary at that."

"Sedentary _with_ _kidney failure_," she pointed out. "It's not as if I've gotten fat."

"No, you're as thin as ever… and that's _really _annoying," the doctor frowned. "But back to the _professional _point, you're out of practice, and you've probably experienced some muscle wastage. Nothing more than a few percentage points, but that's no reason not to try and correct it. Irving's going to spot you for strength and cardio today, ease you in, and then we'll move on to specialist training tomorrow."

"Specialist training?"

"You're a biotic. We need to make your reflexes and your fast-twitch muscle are up to scratch, as well as your fine control."

"And how do we do that?"

"Easy. Boxing. Some time on the speed bag, a couple of rounds of sparring…"

"I'm meant to spar with _him?_" Sarah frowned, jabbing a finger at Irving.

"Nah," the big marine chuckled. "Wouldn't be fair. Err… no offence, ma'am. You're goin' in with Vimes."

"Better, but still a fair bitbigger than me."

"He also used to _be _a boxer," Ria murmured, matter-of-factly. "News to me, but in this case it helps us. He knows what he's doing, Sarah."

"Alright… but how's he going to train biotics?"

"He's not. You'll need another biotic for that. I'd do it myself, but… well, to be blunt I'm not _human_. I probably didn't learn the same techniques you did. I'll try to rope in Ethan for the job. He went through Grissom, same as you, so he should know the same triggers."

"He's the only other person from Grissom?" Sarah frowned. "I thought there were a few of us…"

"Araya and Thorne went through the Ascension Project too," the doctor admitted. "But I doubt Araya's stable enough to be a teacher, and Thorne… well, to be honest, I don't know where he _is_. Ethan's military like you, and he knows the ropes. He'll get you up to speed."

"So, all in all… a _fun _couple of days," the lieutenant sighed, sarcastically.

"I'm afraid so," Ria smiled.

"If it helps, just think of it like boot camp," Irving grinned. Then, on a tangent, he added: "I always fancied being a drill sergeant…"

"Chief?"

"Ma'am?"

"Shut up."

"Aye aye…"


	466. Shore Leave Bachjret Ward 22

_**Level 12, Bachjret Ward**_

_**Day 7, 1100**_

"_Maestros score! Sixty -fifty!"_

"Yes!" Aeryn cheered, shooting up off the sofa with drink in hand. "You _beauty, _T'Sanis!"

"Come off it!" Zel groaned, from the nearby armchair. "D'Geris was blocking, _clear _foul!"

Andersen just exchanged a look and a shrugwith Sam, as Kamur weighed in on the side of his fellow turian. The biotiball game continued in full swing on the vid screen, the players quite oblivious to the uproar they were provoking. As one of the asari _Maestros_ slipped under the arm of her turian opponent, however, Andersen's omni-tool whirred into life.

"Message?" Vimes guessed, taking a bored swig of his beer.

"Mhmm," the engineer nodded. "Sounds like we're about to get another visitor."

"Please tell me Yui didn't order another stripper," his friend scowled.

"No, this one's from the captain…" - he blinked - "The message, I mean! Not… err… you get the point."

"_Three-ball!" _the commentator cried out, excitedly. _"Aaand… it's good! Three for the Cipritine Cabals!"_

"Woo!" Zel whooped, as Kamur roared his approval too, and Aeryn shook her head.

Andersen just detached himself from the sofa, leaving his beer on the table, and made for the door of the suite. Sure enough, as he got halfway to it-

_Knock knock knock_.

"I got it!" he called. Not that anyone else even _looked up _from the game. Reaching the door, he gave a wave of his omni-tool, paused a beat for it to open…

And frowned, as a grey-skinned salarian appeared on the other side. The newcomer just cocked his head to one side, squinted, then after a moment's hesitation, murmured:

"Corporal Andersen. Right?"

Andersen's eyes narrowed.

"Right…" he muttered. "So who the hell are you?"

"Kass Linron."

"Ah. Tyco's friend."

"Mhmm. Your captain thought I should make… introductions before I join your little crew."

"Uh-huh," Andersen nodded, folding his arms.

"Do… we have a problem?" the salarian frowned, tilting his head to one side once again.

"_Uh-huh._"

"I see… what is it?"

"Trust."

"Hmm… not entirely unexpected. I assume you don't trust me, then?"

"Why would I? I know who you are, salarian. You work for the Shadow Broker. A… criminal _kingpin _wanted in connection with several hundred felonies, several _thousand _counts of extortion… and a few war crimes to boot."

"Tarring me with the same brush, corporal?"

"Well… I did have a nice little chat with Tyco about you, too."

"Ah."

"Yes… _ah_."

"The verdict, dare I ask?"

"Not entirely negative," Andersen shrugged. "Intelligent, cunning, good with tech…"

"Right…"

"… tremendous physical coward, mild kleptomaniac, acts solely in the interests of self-preservation or material gain…"

"Huh. Well, Tyco and I didn't part on the best of terms."

"You and I didn't _meet _on the best of terms," the engineer pointed out. "We _met _because my friend died. Acting on your intel."

"Touché…"

Andersen paused, and sighed, and allowed the more reasonable part of his brain to take over for a minute.

"Murphy says you're an intel broker?" he asked.

"That's right."

"You any good at it?"

"It _is _my job," Kass scowled.

"Plenty of people are shit at their jobs," Andersen retorted, with a chuckle. "Impress me, salarian."

"Alright… That little line-up by the vidscreen, watching Usaru… _destroy _Cipritine, judging the field goal percentage? Right to left. The one on the end, Vimes? C-Sec man. I honestly thought he'd be the one giving me trouble, not you, but given their current form, 'detective' isn't exactly a mark of intelligence any more…"

The engineer bit his lip, pretending to listen closely while setting a scan to run on his omni-tool.

"The asari? Aeryn T'Rel. _Somehow _a commando, despite having a better reputation for negotiation and diplomacy than combat. Currently cheering for the Maestros because she played for their youth team when she was sixty. And, judging by the expression on your face, you didn't know that."

Andersen blinked. He hadn't been aware of _any _expression on his face - he was too busy glancing at the scanner readout. Old Bluewire model, discontinued. Smart. There wouldn't be software for that, only the manual approach. Subtly, he tapped a line of code into his omni-tool, and set it to work.

"The turian next to her?" Kass was saying. "Zelva'Aris Manado. Only daughter of a middling military father - her father's a lifer in the navy, her mother's a medic. Probably would have been a fast-track officer herself… but she's a biotic, so instead she got packed off to the Cabals aged fifteen. Never saw live combat before she joined your crew. Has a taste for cookies, and pint-size marines…"

The human's omni-tool rumbled silently, and flashed once to alert him. Kass didn't seem to notice. He was too busy showing off, as he jabbered:

"Big turian? Captain Kamur Destra. Hastatim, de facto leader of the 5th Taetrus Regiment now the higher echelons are dead. A bit weird that he's here with you while his unit's dying on Oma Ker… but each to their own. And that just leaves you, corporal."

Andersen _did _look up at that, with a curious smile on his face.

"I'll admit…" the salarian shrugged. "_You _gave me some trouble. Even the Shadow Broker can't find anything on you before the day you enlisted. I know that name of yours is an affectation, that you made it up in the recruiter's office… but I don't think either of us knows who you really are. After that, it's all service record. A few disciplinaries for modifying files - _tut tut_ - and a bunch of commendations for technical ability… are you even listening to this?"

He had trailed off, because Andersen was looking down at his omni-tool again, filtering through files and more coding.

"What?" the engineer murmured, coolly. "Oh… no, I'm not."

"Then what _are _you doing?"

"Hacking your omni-tool."

There was a pause.

"_Right…_" the salarian nodded, with the expression of one who'd just caught on to a joke.

"Right," Andersen echoed, letting him think it _was _a joke for just a moment. Then he smirked, held up his omni-tool-

And popped out the omni-bow program he'd just stolen from the salarian.

"Huh," Kass grunted.

"Yeah… You did your research. That's admirable. But you're talking to one of the two guys on this crew who can do _what _you do, as _well _as you do. And the other one's a geth. So, Sur'Kesh Hadari Talat Nest Linron _Kass_… you'll have to do better than that to impress me."

"… well played, human."

"I try. You stay out of my background, salarian, I'll try to ignore yours. Deal?"

"Deal," Kass nodded, still smiling wryly.

"Good man," Andersen muttered. "Now… want a drink?"

"Err… no," the salarian replied, shaking his head after a beat of hesitation. "Your colleagues seem rather _preoccupied_. I'll make my introductions when I come aboard."

"Suit yourself."

Kass turned, and stepped back into the corridor outside. Once he was half a dozen paces away, however, the engineer called after him:

"Kass?"

"Hmm?"

"Do me a favour, and send me a copy of everything the Shadow Broker's got on me. I'm curious to see what she's found…"

"She… how did… how does everyone…?"

He trailed off, groaned, and carried on down the corridor, shaking his head and waving his hands. Still standing in the doorway, the human allowed himself a little smirk.

"You, ah… you know who the _Shadow Broker _is?" a sceptical voice murmured, as Vimes appeared at his side.

"Hell no," Andersen laughed. "Murphy just told me to say that."

"Why?"

"Duh. To screw with his head."

"Huh. So… the captain's evil?"

"Pretty much."

A pause.

"I feel like I should be more surprised…"


	467. Shore Leave Bachjret Ward 23

**A/N: Right. It's been a while. Sorry about that. Life got really hectic all of a sudden, and to be honest, it's still pretty hectic. I'll try my best to keep updates going, though, and to make up for the last week and a bit, I'm going to release five chapters over the course of tonight - that's all the rest of this shore leave, and the briefing for the next operation. Those of you who paid close attention to the latest poll will already know a little about it. For now, though, enjoy the rest of shore leave...**

* * *

><p><em><strong>SSV Cambrai, Bachjret Ward Docks<strong>_

_**Day 7, 1320**_

"So, first impressions on Kass?"

"Undeniably intelligent, but he's a smartarse about it, and I get the feeling he's _plotting _a lot more than he lets on."

"That's… basically every salarian I've ever met," Murphy chuckled. "The friendly ones included."

"Reckon we can trust his… employer?" Andersen asked, glancing over his shoulder.

"For the time being," the captain nodded. "His employer's been good to their word so far, and let's face it, we're all on the same side where the Reapers are concerned…"

"Tell that to Cerberus…"

His CO just shrugged, as if to say: _"I'll give you that one."_

The decontamination protocol finished just as their conversation did, and the inner door of the airlock chimed, before sliding aside.

"The commanding officer is aboard," it announced, as the two men stepped through, and turned left towards the helm.

A few moments later, they were walking onto the bridge to be met by two rather bored-looking pilots. Akito Yurai swivelled round in his chair, datapad in one hand, and muttered, without glancing up:

"Morning, boss."

"It's the afternoon."

"Oh. Afternoon, boss."

The captain paused, and his eyes narrowed.

"Have you two actually _been _ashore?" he asked.

"Not recently. Work to do."

"Uh-huh. How's my ship?"

"Really, captain…" Erika grinned, spinning round to face him too. "I think we all know by now she's _my _ship."

"You just fly the damn thing," Akito said, with a bemused smile. "I work her systems…"

"And I _fix _her systems," Andersen pointed out.

"And _I _pull rank on the lot of you," Murphy frowned.

"Eh… fair enough," Yurai shrugged. "Do you want the full technical spec, captain, or just the headlines?"

"Save the jargon for him," the captain muttered, nodding at Andersen. "I just need to know if she'll be ready to fly before shore leave ends."

"Should be, captain. Major repairs are all done - hull breaches are fixed, engines are good as new… we're just working out a few logistical issues."

"What issues?"

"This is a prototype ship, boss. SR2, cutting edge tech. But… that means some parts aren't standardised. Most are, like the heat exchangers and the electronics, and even some of the specialised stuff was easy to acquire. This Silaris armour they installed? Asari-made, and there are a _lot _of asari on the Citadel."

"But, that cuts both ways," Andersen mused. "It's all fine when we need specialist parts from the asari or the turians, but when we need specialised Alliance parts…"

"…they're with the fleet, not on the Citadel," Akito nodded. "Right."

"So what are we missing?" Murphy frowned.

"Only a couple of parts, but they're fairly important. The Thanix cannon's power coupling got fried in the escape, for starters. We were going to leverage a replacement from the turians, but then they went and stormed Palaven - all naval hardware's being sent to their fleet. Also, a few attenuators on the eezo core blew out when we were hit. That's a trivial fix for a regular ship, but we've got a _Tantalus _- that's bleeding edge, even the salarians can't match it."

"Have you been able to track the parts down?"

"Yeah. Wasn't easy, but we got hold of some from the First Fleet, should be with us tomorrow. Figure that means we owe Admiral Lindholm one, but at least we'll be space worthy."

"Eh, the admiral owes _us _for that shitstorm on Cyone," the captain shrugged. "We're even."

"Uh-huh. I'll let _you_ have that conversation then, sir…"

"Yeah. Because you were totally gonna take that bullet for me," he scowled, sarcastically. "Anything else I need to know?"

"Err… software's a bit screwed. I had to take the whole system offline while they fixed it, then run a hard reset. Deleted all the 'tweaks' we'd made. The corporal and I'll have to spend an afternoon getting it back up to scratch."

"_Great…_" Andersen groaned.

"All that's extra, though," the co-pilot shrugged. "The software's not _broken_, it's just not optimised. We can tweak it in-flight. Hell, we could even fly without the Thanix, we just wouldn't last long in an engagement. The only thing we _need _before we can take off is the core fixed."

"You said the parts are arriving tomorrow?" Murphy frowned.

He nodded.

"Tell the refit engineers to work through the night if they have to. We're meant to be departing the day after tomorrow."

"Aye aye, sir. I'll keep you updated."

"Appreciate it. I'll be in my quarters if you need me - going to try and contact the fleet, find out where we're headed before we head there."

"Well, there's a first time for everything…" Akito grumbled.


	468. Shore Leave Bachjret Ward 24

_**Level 16, Bachjret Ward**_

_**Day 7, 1500**_

_Thud thud thud thud thud thud…_

"Come on! Fifty, you're halfway there!"

_Thud thud thud…_

"Sixty, _don't _stop there!"

Sarah just glared at Vimes, and leant in fully so that her shoulder was almost touching his, angling her screaming arms towards the pads.

"Seventy!" he counted, as she put jab after jab into the damn things. "Eighty… ninety… you're flagging, pick it up!"

With a little rumble of frustration, she stood back, leant upright, and swung in again, putting everything she had behind the last ten.

"Six, seven, eight, nine… one hundred!"

They broke apart, and Sarah wheeled away to the edge of the boxing ring, lungs heaving. This wasn't even the first session of the day - it was her second bout in the ring with Vimes, and she'd spent the whole morning with Ethan Cash, rehearsing every biotic trigger Grissom had ever taught her a hundred times over. Even before _that_, she'd woken up at eight for a cardio session with Irving, and now, seven hours later, everything was hurting…

As she collapsed against the top rope, however, there was no solace to be found in the _smirk _coming back across it.

"Feelin' good, ma'am?" Irving grinned.

"Fuck. You."

He just laughed, and nodded back across the ring. Turning around, Sarah could only groan as she saw Sam dropping his pads, and cracking his knuckles.

"Defence drill," the C-Sec officer nodded, curtly.

"Back to it, I guess…" the gunnery chief chuckled.

Sarah didn't even have the energy to swear at him. She just stumbled back to the middle of the ring, as Vimes dropped into a fighting stance once again.

"Left, to the head," Sam called.

_Thud_. The hook came right at her face, and more due to reflex than any kind of effort - that was the point, she supposed - Sarah swatted it away. They were using thin black grappler's gloves, not the big, ridiculous boxing gloves, but in that instant, she was wishing they'd chosen something with a bit more… _protection_.

"Right, body!" her 'opponent' barked.

She threw a palm down, knocking his fist away, and took a step back across the mat.

"Left, right!"

_Left, right_. A quick parry for each hook at her chest.

"Left, right, left!"

_Left, right, left._ The movements were automatic, a quick twitch to either side as a strike came in.

"Right, left, right!"

_Right, left… left? _Slightly groggy, Sarah spotted the feint too late, and a padded fist smacked into her cheek. She could tell Sam wasn't punching at his full strength - on account of the fact she was still _standing_ - but there was still a sharp intake of breath from the edge of the ring, and a frown on Vimes' brow.

"Right!" he continued, not relenting.

She blocked right, and stepped back.

"Left!"

She blocked left, low, took another step.

"Fight back!" Sam shouted, as another jab forced her right onto the ropes.

Now _that_, she had been waiting for. With a growl, she lunged in and threw a punch at her tormentor's head. He knocked it away rather effortlessly, stepped under her arm and jabbed her quickly between the ribs. Ria hadn't been kidding - the rather unassuming detective knew his stuff, and for such a light blow, it stole a fair amount of air from her lungs, knocking her to one side.

Sarah bailed towards the far side of the ring, well aware that she was dazed and exposed, with the detective on her flank. She spun around, leant against the ropes, and bounced back, flexing her shoulders and going in with a mixture of weariness and frustration.

A moment later, however, that seemed to be a bad idea. She put one, two, three strikes at Sam's midriffs, but he swatted each one away rather effortlessly, and countered with a rough hook to the shoulder which knocked her back again. The lieutenant gave a little growl of frustration, and felt a familiar shudder beneath her skin…

Vimes came in on the offensive next, swinging high at Sarah's head. She ducked the swing, but was a touch too sluggish in dodging away - the detective caught her flank with his other hand, and pursued her across the ring with a punishing volley of shots toward her head and chest. It was all she could do to get her hands up, weather the blows.

_Thud. _A quick jab beneath her guard caught her in the stomach, almost doubling her over. She struck out, but Sam parried once again, throwing her fist off to one side. He stepped back, preparing to launch in again-

But this time, Sarah swung first. With a _scream _of frustration, she lashed out, hand glowing as she did.

A biotic fist caught Vimes square in the chest, and the regret was _instant _for Sarah as she saw the detective leave the ground, hurled off his feet and across the ring. He bounced once on the far side, rolled over, and fell down on his back, limp for a moment. Back by the ropes, the biotic was still heaving with effort, breath tearing out of her lungs as flecks of blue danced off her arms.

Finally, after a few seconds of awkward silence, Vimes sat bolt upright, looked to the edge of the ring, and calmly murmured:

"We done, chief?"

"I'd say so," Irving nodded, _grinning_. "See you later, Vimes."

Sam assented with a jut of his head, then clambered upright and made for the ropes, stepping out between them as if nothing had happened. Sarah, on the other hand, was gasping for air, and practically _fell _against the top rope where Irving was standing.

"Here," the marine grunted simply, passing her a water bottle. "Drink up."

She took it gratefully, and drained the bottle in a matter of moments, before tossing it down empty on the mat. An instant later, however, that seemed like a bad idea - the water flooded into her guts, and she dropped into the corner trying _very _hard not to throw up…

"Thank _fuck _that's over…" she swore.

Looking up, however, she just saw Irving's brow rise.

"It's not over, is it?"

"Nope."

_Groan._

"What's left?"

"Cardio."

"How far?"

"Four kilometres."

"Screw. That."

A mixture of reproach and amusement flickered over her colleague's features, as he leant down over the top rope and shrugged:

"Doctor's orders."

"I repeat…"

"Okay, okay…" - a sly smile crossed his lips - "How about I run it with you? Will you do it then?"

She glanced at him, and looked him up and down before frowning:

"In armour?"

"Sure, why not?"

A pause.

"_Alright…_" she grumbled. "Give me a hand up, damn it."


	469. Shore Leave Bachjret Ward 25

_**Level 12, Bachjret Ward**_

_**Day 8, 2000**_

The crew's last full day had passed rather uneventfully, all things considered. Most of them had spent the morning hung over from a night in the clubs, and those who were still standing had filtered off to make various preparations for shipping out. Dax had taken Kamur and several of the more ballistically-minded crew to a gun store to restock the ship's arsenal, while Dr O'Leiph and Alicia went off in search of medical supplies.

Tonight, however, the whole crew was back together. Only Murphy and the pilots were absent, with the rest crammed into one suite at Sunset Plaza. There were some fairly substantial piles of alcohol, a lot of dancing, shifting bodies… and some truly awful music, the kind that left you deaf for six hours the next morning. When in Rome, though…

At that moment in time, Andersen was winding his way out of the main lounge to the little kitchen next door, in search of another beer. As he stepped through the door, however, a serene voice came drifting down to him:

"Tired of the dancing already?"

He started in surprise, and looked around to see Saffiya, cross-legged on the kitchen counter, with her hands in her lap and a bemused smile on her face.

"Tired?" the engineer muttered, subconsciously glancing back at the scrum of bodies on the dance floor, and one body in particular. "Yeah, sure… let's go with tired."

"I see. So you're not avoiding Miss Arness, then?"

Andersen's eyes shot up, as the justicar flashed him a rare smile - no, a _smirk_.

"Her or her sister…" he said, in a rough attempt at sarcasm. "I'm not quite sure."

"I suspect you should be avoiding _both _of them," the asari murmured. "What happened?"

"Long story," Andersen grumbled, reaching for another beer from the island counter.

"Given the two of you went drinking together, I suspect it's rather a short story. You drank, you danced… and then you _danced_."

"'Danced?' That's what you're going with?"

"Mhmm."

"Right…"

A deep draught of beer did nothing to make the situation any less awkward, so he settled for changing the subject:

"Speaking of dance partners, where's yours? I haven't seen Mac in an hour…"

The change was almost instant. Saffiya's eyes flickered downwards, her brow furrowed, and as she reached to her side, Andersen realised for the first time that there was a glass of wine there, no doubt from the bottle of Thessia Red standing open on the middle counter.

"He's sleeping in one of the other rooms. We… had a long day."

"Uh-huh. Is he alright?"

"Yes, just… tired."

"He's looked rough these last few days…"

"I know."

She trailed off, and took another sip of her drink.

"Want to talk about it?"

"No."

"_Need _to talk about it?"

"…perhaps."

Andersen nodded, and hopped up onto the counter next to the asari, beer in one hand.

"Alright…" he sighed, reluctantly. "He's a drell… is it Kepral's?"

"The doctor doesn't believe so, but she advised him to seek a second opinion if his condition doesn't improve."

"Okay… so if he's not got Kepral's, why do _you _look so depressed?"

"It's just a reminder of an… unpleasant reality."

"That he's gonna die before you do?"

Saffiya turned to stare at him for a moment, brow rising in surprise.

"Sorry…" Andersen mumbled. "Bit blunt. I've had a drink."

"Well, it's true, isn't it?" Saffiya sighed.

"Sure, but I figured you'd be used to it. I mean, it's not just Mac - you're gonna outlive everyone on the crew except the krogan and the other asari."

"That thought doesn't particularly _help_," she muttered, wryly.

"Sorry," he said again. "Like you say, though, it's true."

"Indeed…"

Another gulp from the wine glass, and Andersen took a swig of his beer to fill the silence.

"You're really not used to it, are you?" he asked at last.

"Are you?" Saffiya retorted, not unkindly. "You've lost a lot of friends lately…"

"Yeah, but I haven't been losing them for three centuries," Andersen pointed out. "You must have done this before. Other friends, partners…"

"'Partnerships'aren't common until we hit the matron stage," she noted. "Mine came a year ago, if that. Before then…"

"You did a _lot _of dancing."

"A _little _dancing," she scowled, blushing a deeper shade of blue nonetheless. "And I became a justicar before too long. My code left little room for a personal life after that."

"What about family? I mean, your father was what - turian, salarian? You must have outlived him, at least…"

"No…"

"Seriously? What was he, a krogan?"

"_She _was an asari. I'm a pureblood."

"Huh. Never knew that."

"Well, I don't exactly broadcast it…"

"Why not?"

She glanced across at him, with a look of mild annoyance that quickly turned to genuine surprise as she realised he was _really asking_.

"You… don't know?"

"Saffiya, I spend my free time fixing the ship and writing code, not memorising asari _decorum_. So give me the ignorant human version - why's it so bad to say you're a pureblood?"

"Our people differentiate by mating with other species," she answered, after a moment's hesitation. "To mate with another asari smacks of backwardness… inbreeding, even."

"So? Not your fault your parents did it."

"Were it only so simple… do you think your peers would be so forgiving if your parents were sister and brother?"

"Hell, they might've been," he scowled, before adding under his breath: "Sure would explain the hell out of my childhood…"

"You… don't know who they were?"

"Not a clue."

"You're awfully calm about it," she observed.

"Not like I can do anything about it," the human shrugged. "Not like I'd want to, to be honest… I mean, they didn't make me who I am. I made me."

"Very philosophical."

"Still true."

"Can I make an observation, corporal?"

"Sure, why not?"

"You're awfully calm about it _all_. Death, I mean. You talk about it so easily, and I've never seen you freak out about it…"

"You've never _seen _it, doesn't mean it doesn't happen," he muttered, tellingly. "Besides, you're not exactly 'freaking out' yourself."

"_This _is me freaking out," the justicar smiled, holding up her glass.

"Fair enough. And… I guess I'm just used to it. When I was a kid, you didn't count on anyone being around for long. People… died. It was just something that happened."

"That's rubbish though, isn't it?" she murmured, calmly. "It's one thing to be okay with the _idea _of death, to distance yourself. That's what a justicar is taught to do. But, when you let people get close…"

"It really kicks you," he concluded.

She just nodded, and went back to her glass. Silence reigned for a moment or two, and Andersen took another gulp of his beer, suddenly very thirsty. After a while, and rather quietly, Saffiya spoke up:

"You're a good man, Andersen."

Looking down at his feet, the engineer drained the dregs of his bottle, and muttered:

"I hope so…"


	470. Shore Leave Bachjret Ward 26

_**SSV Cambrai, Bachjret Ward Docks**_

_**Day 9, 1030**_

_Bleep bleep, bleep bleep._

"Akito?" Murphy muttered, opening the comms. "What's our status?"

"Pre-flight checks are complete, sir. We can depart as soon as you're ready."

"Are the crew all aboard?"

"Yeah, the last few just filtered in."

"And Kass?"

"Hasn't left the intel room since he got here. Our systems are going crazy with outbound data requests…"

"He's doing his job, then. Just keep fielding the requests, and tell Cabal to keep monitoring them."

"Aye aye, sir. We've also got two comms incoming. Long line from the Fifth Fleet, and a short-wave from Shalta Ward - from the location, I _think _it's the hospital."

"_Fifth_ Fleet?" he echoed. "Is it marked urgent?"

"Well, it's not a code red or anything, but if Hackett's getting in touch…"

"Point taken, but he can wait a few minutes. Patch the hospital and make the line private."

"Alright…"

There was a moment's delay, and Murphy rose from his desk, folding his arms behind his back as the comm panel on his desk bloomed outwards, replacing Akito's audio wave with a static-filled video screen. Finally, the line blinked open to reveal a grey-skinned salarian, who seemed to be slightly surprised that he'd gotten a reply at all.

"Ah!" he cried. "Captain Murphy, I presume?"

"Err… yes?" the captain frowned.

"Excellent! I-"

"Adari," a female voice interjected, from off-screen. "I really think you should let me-"

"Nonsense!" the salarian muttered, with a wave of his hand. "Captain, it's about your crewmate, the lieutenant-"

"Is she alright?" Murphy interrupted, as his stomach lurched.

"_See?_" the female voice sighed - rolling her eyes, Doctor Malin stepped into the vidscreen, and quickly added: "Vanyali's fine, captain. She's still stable, no signs of deterioration."

"Thank God…"

"I apologise for my colleague." - she shot a hard stare at the salarian - "Doctor Rensel here is very… _focused _in his work. He sometimes overlooks the care aspect of our profession."

"And the 'tell me your name' aspect," Murphy noted. "What's the matter, doctor?"

"Nothing's the _matter_, per se," Doctor Rensel explained, speaking up once more. "Your lieutenant's condition is stable, as my colleague said. However, we've been exploring treatment options, ways to wake her up."

"And… you've found one?"

"Perhaps. Natural recovery doesn't seem to be forthcoming, but we found documentation of an old human technique that was… circumstantially effective."

"The technique involves inducing hypothermia in the patient," the asari doctor explained. "It had incidental success rates with coma patients who fell victim to cardiac arrest, but the practice isn't widespread. We'd need specialist materials and equipment to do it."

"So you're going to try and… _freeze _her?" Murphy frowned.

"No," Doctor Rensel replied, as if that should have been obvious. "The process only involves a drop of two or three degrees over a twenty-four hour period, but it's enough to cause hypothermia."

"And… how exactly does that help?"

"We're not sure. Medical theories disagree, but the most prevalent theory is that it provokes a severe evolutionary reflex."

"How severe?"

"Severe enough to wake a coma patient, supposedly," Malin shrugged.

"Alright… why are you calling me, though?"

"We need you to sign off on the procedure. It's not standard practice for this hospital, and coma patients are tricky enough when it comes to consent. We can get hold of the equipment, but at the end of the day, we need someone to say we can do the thing."

"And that someone's me?"

"She's got no next of kin, captain. You're the closest thing we have."

"Alright… I guess I wouldn't be doing my job if I didn't ask what the risks are."

"Minor cell damage," Rensel admitted, "but the risks are… really rather minimal. If the temperature fell unchecked, it could cause organ failure, frostbite, brain death…"

"_But _it's not falling unchecked," Malin interjected, as Murphy went pale. "The drop is only a couple of degrees. 'In the wild', so to speak, hypothermia at that stage would have mostly psychological effects - amnesia, mental confusion, and so on. Obviously, that doesn't effect a patient who's unconscious."

"Okay… and she'll be monitored?"

"Closely. The both of us are keeping an eye on this procedure, and Doctor Campbell-"

"Who?"

"- I'm sorry, _Gina _is her attending. She'll be looking after her over the full course of the treatment."

Murphy paused, looking at his feet for a nervous moment.

"What's the alternative?" he asked, cautiously.

"We sit here and wait for her to wake up on her own."

"Which could take years… right. If it works, what kind of physical condition will she be in?"

"The treatment itself shouldn't have any negative effects, but she's been in a coma for a while. She's already undergone muscle degeneration, some weight loss… her physical fitness will take a while to recover. Also, I believe there are some obvious psychological issues she'll have to deal with."

"That's putting it lightly…"

"I can't talk from experience," Rensel mused, "but I believe that would still be better than lying comatose."

"What makes you say that?" Murphy asked.

"The prevailing theory on coma is that patients retain moderate awareness of their surroundings. She's… trapped in there."

Murphy shared a tense stare with the salarian, before, at last, he gave a little nod.

"Get her out, then," he muttered.

"Gladly," Rensel answered. "Sign on the dotted line, captain."

A holographic display popped up on Murphy's end of the line, and after a moment's hesitation, he quickly drew a finger across it, making a rough scrawl of: 'Cpt/Z. Murphy'.

"Much appreciated," the doctor murmured. "We'll keep you informed, captain."

With that, the connection blinked and died. Murphy just stood there for a minute, taking in the entire whistle-stop conversation. After a moment, he simply slumped down into his chair, a smile on his face, and pulled the comms open once again.

"Akito?" he began. "Get us aweigh. And let's see what Admiral Hackett wants. I'm in a _giving_ mood today…"


	471. Operation Tremor Briefing

_**SSV Cambrai, Aethon Cluster**_

_**Day 1, 1610**_

"Docking lines secured," the intercom announced, in Erika's voice. "In-flight safety protocols are suspended. Crew from the Perugia are coming aboard."

"So, to be clear," Andersen muttered, as he and Kamur stepped into the elevator, "you don't have a clue what's going on either?"

"Nope," his friend replied. "But we're in the Aethon Cluster. That's turian territory…"

"What? It's volus territory."

"Same thing, they're a client race. And I guarantee you, the ships and soldiers dying here aren't volus, they're turian."

"Thinking about Oma Ker?"

"My squad? Sure… If we're in this cluster, it's for Irune or Oma Ker. Not sure which I'd prefer."

"I'd prefer to be able to breathe the air," Andersen noted, wryly. "So Oma Ker, please."

Kamur just nodded in agreement, and they lapsed into silence as the elevator rumbled upwards. A minute or two later, the doors slid open to show them the familiar view of the CIC, and they stepped out around the corner.

As they did, another figure was striding across to join them from the armoury door - Zel Manado, sniper rifle in hand.

"You armed up already?" Andersen frowned.

"Of course she did," Kamur muttered, before Zel herself could reply. "She's a turian. Who else are we waiting on?"

"Just us," Zel replied. "The krogan's already in the war room with Murphy."

"Which krogan?"

"Yui."

"_Shit._"

The sniper looked at him quizzically, and he explained:

"If the captain puts Dax in the team, he needs a gunner. If he puts Yui in the team, he needs a wrecking ball. This is a heavy op."

"Then let's get in there," Kamur rumbled, nodding tensely to the armoury door - he had been rather tightly strung ever since they arrived in the cluster.

Wordlessly, the three of them made a beeline through the armoury - Andersen couldn't help but notice that Kamur grabbed a pistol from the nearest bench on the way, and shoved it through his belt - then turned left into the next corridor, right into the war room…

There was already a small gathering around the table. Murphy was at its head, arms folded, still in civvies - presumably, then, he wasn't leading the op. Yui was leaning against the wall to one side, fully armoured and nursing his Claymore. And off to the right, much to Andersen's surprise, an unfamiliar woman with tanned skin and brownish hair tied in a taut ponytail, a beret on her head. Hanging over the table to complete the ensemble was Admiral Hackett, in neon-blue hologram form. That in itself was surprising.

"Gang's all here," Murphy noted. "Admiral, I'll leave you to explain."

"Much appreciated," Hackett rumbled, with a hint of sarcasm. "I'll cut right to the chase. I know you're all under Admiral Singh's purview now, but I needed a spec ops team, and Normandy's otherwise engaged, so I pulled the Cambrai. Your objective for today is Oma Ker."

There was barely a flicker from the assembled commandoes - they had guessed as much already.

"The initial Reaper attack on Oma Ker was swift and brutal," the admiral continued. "Major infrastructure was bombed from orbit, and most evac routes cut. The Reaper offensive in the Aethon Cluster, however, has degenerated into a series of ground wars. Remnants of the turian military and partisan groups have been fighting for every inch of Oma Ker, and the husks are bogged down in the swamps of Irune. A month ago, allied divisions were dropped on Oma Ker to help bolster the defence, but the battle is still a losing one. Oma Ker is falling slowly, but it will fall. We need a game-changer, and AEC thinks they've found one."

"AEC?" Zel piped up.

"Alliance Engineering Corps," Andersen answered, instantly.

"Your lot?" Kamur frowned.

"Mhmm. Techs and scientists. So whatever they've come up with… should be interesting."

As he spoke, Andersen kept his stare fixed on the admiral. Thus, he failed to notice the curious look he got from the woman in the corner. Despite her _curiosity_, though, she kept her silence.

"AEC has delivered a prototype device to the Fifth Fleet," Hackett continued. "They're calling it an advanced EMP, and according to their projections, it could wreak havoc among Reaper infantry. We're putting together a task force to deploy the prototype."

"Behind enemy lines?" Andersen guessed.

"Right in the thick of it," the admiral nodded, with the slightest twitch of a smile.

"Sarlik…" Kamur murmured. "The capital."

"Precisely. An Alliance armoured group dropped on the outskirts of Sarlik six hours ago, along with three of a four-man science team from AEC. They've cleared an LZ for delivery and subsequent transit of the prototype, we just need a team to get it on the ground."

"That's us," Murphy added. "Techs from the Perugia brought the EMP aboard while you were on your way up. You drop in the Mako, get the prototype to its target location, and activate it."

"How do we do that?" Andersen asked.

"You don't," a new voice interrupted. "I do."

The woman in the corner finally stepped up to the table, and flashed a salute at the team, before announcing:

"Corporal Moreno, Alliance Engineering Corps."

"Err… Corporal Andersen," the engineer muttered, awkwardly. "…Alliance Engineering Corps."

"Hey look, it's female you," Kamur whispered, out of the corner of his mouth.

Andersen elbowed him hard in the ribs, as Moreno turned to the table.

"The rest of my team is on the ground," she explained. "They'll be accompanying us too. Once we're down, the entire armoured division moves with us to the main deployment site - the city's spaceport."

"Sure, we… roll through a Reaper-infested city," Yui grumbled. "Just like that."

"We've got a full armoured division with us," the corporal replied, dismissively. "We'll be fine."

"Seems _someone's _never fought Reapers before…" Zel said, rather pointedly.

"I've read the field manuals," Moreno retorted. "I know what we're up against."

"I read the manuals too," Andersen grunted. "So no, you don't. They've torn through whole _fleets_, never mind armoured divisions."

"All we have to do is get the EMP to the drop-off. We've got full escort, and turian firepower on hand."

"You got backup from the Hierarchy?" Kamur frowned, addressing his question to Hackett and Murphy rather than the young tech.

"Taetrus Fifth," Murphy nodded.

"My squad?"

"Yup. They're running recon for the main force, and joining you en route."

Kamur grinned, and flexed his talons with an air of nervous excitement that Andersen recognised all too well.

"Well… that seems to be everything," Hackett murmured, looking rather overwhelmed at how quickly the conversation had derailed. "I need your team on the ground in ten. Dismissed."

The hologram flickered out, and Murphy leant away from the table, concluding:

"Kamur. You're in command of our team on this one. Captain Greene of AEC has command of the overall op, so you'll be reporting to him."

"Wait… _what?_" Andersen interrupted. "You can't be serious."

"What's the big deal?" Zel frowned - Kamur and Yui were looking similarly confused. "He's an officer."

"He's an _AEC _officer!" the engineer replied, a little spike of frustration in his gut as they just didn't _get it_.

"It's our op," Corporal Moreno pointed out, "and Captain Greene has the activation protocol for the EMP."

"Good for him! Doesn't mean he can lead an armoured convoy!"

"All AEC officers go through tactics training," she continued, patronisingly. "It's protocol. He's done full tactical sims just like any marine officer."

"I spent four months _maintaining _those simulations," Andersen muttered. "They tell you how to fight batarian pirates, not Reapers! Has this captain of yours got any _actual _combat experience?"

"Well, I admit he's never fought _Reapers…_" Moreno blustered.

"Has he fought anything _else?_"

She opened her mouth to reply, then closed it, and the silence was damning. Andersen just closed his eyes and sighed. To his side, there was a little groan, from Kamur of all people.

"You don't train your tech officers in combat?" he scowled.

"Not if they work in a lab!" the corporal replied, indignantly.

"We train our techs like our marines," the turian growled. "Exactly for operations like _this_. Captain…" - he turned to Murphy - "you need to get me on the ground. Now."

"You?" Murphy echoed, brow rising.

"They've put a _paper captain_ in charge of this. My men won't follow him."

"They have to!" Moreno protested. "Chain of command!"

"Chain of command implies you have a _commander_," Kamur growled, contemptuously. "Not a scientist playing at soldiers. Captain?"

Murphy's face had gone grim, with his jaw tightly set and his eyes hard.

"Gear up, and get to the hangar," he said, eventually. "We'll settle this on the ground."


	472. Operation Tremor Part 1

_**SSV Cambrai, Aethon Cluster**_

_**Day 1, 1620**_

The mood was rather awkward after the explosion in the war room, and being crammed into the Mako's tiny interior didn't help matters. The 'prototype' - a hefty, polished steel crate - had been mag-locked to the roof, as it was too big to fit through the crew hatch, and the Mako itself had been rolled to the edge of the hangar bay ramp, held in place only by a couple of mechanical clamps. The ramp was down, as evidenced by the wind _howling _over the Mako's exterior.

Kamur and Zel were up front, at the controls, while Andersen, Yui, and Corporal Moreno took the back seats. None of the three had much to say.

"Final check," Kamur rumbled, from the fore. "Everybody strapped in?"

"Yup."

"Yes."

"Think so."

Andersen looked across at his fellow AEC corporal - Moreno was tugging nervously at her harness, checking it rather ineffectually.

"For God's sake," he snapped, "let me look…"

He leant over - as much as his own harness would allow him, anyway - and checked the locking points of the harness, before giving the shoulder a quick _tug _to tighten it all the way. The corporal grunted a little, but didn't protest. As he finally leant away, satisfied, she murmured:

"Thanks."

"You're no good to us if you splatter on impact," Andersen muttered.

"Right…"

Silence again, as the various whirs and rumbles came echoing through amidst the tearing wind. The ship was shifting, swinging around and down if he had to guess… made sense. They were closing to drop altitude, his logic told him, and then-

"Can I admit something right now?"

He and Yui both turned to look at Corporal Moreno, who was looking in turn at the two of them, a little wide-eyed.

"Err… sure," Andersen nodded.

"I'm freakin' terrified right now."

She gave a nervous little smile, and then hung her head, breathing very deliberately and carefully.

"You've never done this before, have you?" the other engineer guessed.

"What? Been dropped out of orbit in a tank? No, that wasn't exactly part of my job description…" she muttered. "This stuff's for marines, not techs like us."

"Us?"

"Yeah. You said you were AEC too?"

"Right… signals."

"See? You can't have spent much time on battlefields before…"

"Ha!"

They both looked across the crew compartment, to see Yui chuckling to himself.

"What's so funny?" Moreno asked.

"The kid there's been on more missions than I have," Yui grinned.

"What?"

"Hey, you're the one who got to kill a Reaper!" Andersen retorted.

"_What?_"

"Heh. Yeah, that was pretty cool…" the krogan rumbled, smiling at the memory. "Point still stands, though. You're a proper little soldier now, not some wimpy tech… err, no offence.

"None taken?" Moreno frowned, although Andersen suspected she was just taking every precaution not to piss off the krogan.

Before the conversation - or the soul-searching it might have provoked in Andersen - could continue any further, the intercom blared out again, in Akito Yurai's voice:

"Coming in for final approach," he reported, calmly. "Diverting power to barriers, just in case we hit AA cover. Mako team, you'd better be buckled in."

"Ready to drop," Kamur confirmed.

"I still think you should be letting me drive!" Andersen shouted.

"Drive? We're _falling_," the turian retorted.

"Yeah, well make sure you don't activate the core too late!"

"I won't, damn it!"

"And make sure you trigger the thruster burn late enough!"

"I will, damn it!"

"Dropping in three!" Akito interrupted. "Two! One! Release!"

There was an almighty _clunk_ as the clamps freed, and the whole craft shuddered. They were weightless for a moment, and then the suspension _bucked_,as Andersen's brain told him the ramp had just disappeared from beneath them. The wind's howling got even louder, and in the next seat, Corporal Moreno had gone _very _white. Yui was just grinning, laughing maniacally, and Andersen himself had his eyes clamped tight shut, concentrating on something else.

"What was the drop altitude?" he called.

"Fifteen-hundred!" Kamur replied. "Why… oh, spirits, you're doing the maths, aren't you?"

"As opposed to what, eyeballing it?"

"As opposed to _using the instruments._"

"Those things are overrated. By the way, you want to spin the core up… now."

_Whump. _A dull ripple passed along the tank's spine as the eezo core whirled into action, and a shiver caused all the hairs on Andersen's arms to stand up beneath his armour, just as they did when one of the biotics let off a powerful blast.

"Thrusters?" his friend hollered, from up front.

"Not yet, fuel cells are limited… sweet spot's in three, two, one…"

_Kssssh…_

"You went early!" he shouted, as the Mako's thrusters began to blare either side of their heads.

"Call me cautious, but I didn't want to be a bloody smear on the road! Brace for impact, everyone!"

The compartment fell deathly silent for a moment, save for the rush of wind and fire outside, and even Yui gripped his harness rather tightly. Andersen was counting down to impact. Three, two, one…

_Wham. _The tank hit down with a bone-shattering _crunch_, bouncing the occupants around and rather thoroughly shaking up their internals. For a moment, Andersen's head was a bleary daze, but then it crystallised, presenting him with a view of the remarkably _intact _interior.

His arms took a few more seconds to come back, but finally, he managed to reach up and unclip his harness, extricating himself rather gratefully from it as his fellows did the same.

"Everybody alright?" he asked.

"Fine," Corporal Moreno nodded, shakily. Yui just grunted, and proceeded to tear himself rather clumsily out of his own harness, which was already stretched the breaking point to accommodate him.

"Kamur? Zel?" the engineer called. "You alright up front?"

"I… yeah, fine…" Kamur replied, slowly. "But we've got a situation here."

"Let me guess," he sighed. "You missed the landing?"

"No, we hit the LZ… But it's… kind of on fire."

"What is? The tank?"

"Err, no. The landing zone…"


	473. Operation Tremor Part 2

_**Sarlik Outskirts, Oma Ker**_

_**Day 1, 1625**_

"Got it… ah, shit!"

Andersen recoiled from the crew hatch, as a puff of smoke and a _wall _of heat came through from the other side.

"Spirits…" Kamur groaned, leaning down and covering his mouth with one gauntlet. "Grab your breathers, it looks bad out there."

Everyone went scrabbling under their seats for a moment or two, drawing out various articles of armour - Zel and Kamur slung angular turian helmets over their heads, Yui pulled on a great krogan dome, and Andersen grabbed for his N7 breather. Corporal Moreno had a simple breather, not a helmet, and pulled the mask over her jaw, looking ashen.

"Alright… Andersen, Yui, on me. Moreno, sit tight, Zel - keep her safe, discourage the curious. Eyes sharp."

The other turian just nodded, and hefted her sniper rifle from her back as the other three commandoes sidled over to the hatch. Kamur jumped down first, landing crouched and unfurling his rifle, and Andersen quickly followed, noting the irony that he was drawing the _same _rifle - quite literally Kamur's, in fact. The two of them took a few steps apart, and as they waited for Yui to clamber down behind them, Kamur let out a low whistle at the scene playing out around them.

The turian hadn't been kidding. The whole damn place was on fire… Burning black husks were all that remained of several tanks dotted around the perimeter, and the ruined buildings around them were also burning, just for good measure. Closer at hand, though, were the bodies. It rather vindicated Yui's 'proper soldier' comment that the sight of them no longer shocked Andersen. It was… horrible, but it wasn't shocking. Human forms were scattered across the landscape, some charred, some shot, and weapons littered the ground amongst them.

"I don't see any turian corpses…" Kamur murmured.

"Nice priorities," Andersen scowled.

"Sorry. Just worried about my team. The way I hear it, this place has been hell for the last few months."

"Certainly looks like it…" the engineer nodded.

With a loud _thud_, Yui hit the dust behind them, and strode through the middle of the pair, shotgun slung up over his shoulder.

"Anyone still alive?" the krogan grunted.

"Doesn't look like it…" Kamur sighed.

"Reckon the Reapers did this?"

"Well, last I checked, Oma Ker doesn't have any _thresher maws_."

"Hey, you never know…"

"Just… get moving," the turian groaned. "Spread out, look for survivors."

They did just that, fanning out across the ruined camp, but the effort was futile from the start. There wasn't a hint of movement amidst the drifting smoke, and the radar was blank, save for the three of them.

"Hey!" Yui roared. "Anybody still alive?"

Andersen just rolled his eyes, and made for the nearest cluster of bodies. Two marines - he shut their eyes, and took their tags - and another figure, a little further back, wearing lighter armour and still clutching a pistol.

"I think I got one of the science team!" he called, kneeling over the man's body.

"Me too!" Kamur replied. "Has yours got a tag round his neck?"

"No…" Andersen frowned.

"Ah. In that case, I think I found Captain Greene. This must be the code for the EMP…"

"He's dead?"

"Well, he sure isn't talkative…"

"Husks over here!" Yui barked. "Load of dead 'uns!"

"I don't see any live ones," the turian mused. "Probably moved on to another target. Are we done here?"

"If you've got the code, I guess so," Andersen replied. "We'll be a hell of a lot safer once we're out of this kill zone."

"Right. Everybody back to the truck."

"Aye aye."

Footsteps rang out amidst the crackle and spit of burning tanks, and a few minutes later, the three of them were back by the Mako, faces grim beneath their visors.

"So… this went to shit," Andersen murmured.

"Nothing new there," Kamur shrugged. "Zel, we're comin' up, don't shoot!"

With that, the turian reached up to the still-open crew hatch, and hauled himself easily through it, as Zel shuffled back on the other side to let him through. Andersen glanced at Yui, the krogan nodded _'You first'_, and he jumped up in the turian's wake.

"How's it look out there?" Zel was frowning, as he clambered into the compartment.

"Rough," Kamur was replying, "but no sign of my team."

"What about mine?" Moreno asked, stepping up from the back of the compartment.

The turian shook his head.

"I'm sorry. Is this the passcode you need for the EMP?"

He reached into his collar, and drew out a key card on a chain, before slinging it to the corporal. She caught it, looking crestfallen, and quietly murmured:

"Yeah… this is it."

"Have we got incoming?" Zel asked, business-like for a moment.

"Not yet," Kamur muttered. "But we need to get moving."

"What?" Moreno frowned.

"You heard. We need to move out before the Reapers catch on to us…"

"You can't be serious. We need to abort."

The four Cambrai operatives just turned, and _stared _at her.

"Everybody's dead!" she continued. "There are _five of us_. You weren't even sure we could make it when we had a whole armoured division!"

"No, I wasn't sure we could make it with your idiot captain in charge," the turian growled. "Luckily, he's not any more."

"He's dead! Have a little respect!"

"Why should I? There are _dozens _of bodies out there, corporal, and he got the lot of them killed!"

"You can't just assume-"

"No, I can't, but I can _see!_ The admiral said that division had been here six hours, but there's no barricades out there, no fortifications, the tanks aren't even in defensive positions - he couldn't have screwed it up better if he tried!"

"And he died for his mistake… doesn't that make up for it?"

"Hardly. Now, I don't know what we do with this prototype of yours, but I'll tell you now, I am _not _leaving my squad out there to die because he messed up. Andersen, with me. Let's get this thing moving."

The Mako's interior was _crackling _with tension, as Kamur and Andersen stepped through to the fore, shutting the dividing door behind them. From the crew compartment, the engineer could just about hear the _clunk _of Yui hauling the exit hatch shut, and the shuffling of boots on the steel floor.

"That was a little harsh," he chided, gently.

"For a human, maybe," Kamur scowled. "That captain's fucked up our entire mission, and he might have killed my men. I'm not exactly gonna shed a tear for him."

"Me neither…" Andersen admitted, "but she" - he jabbed a finger back at the crew compartment - "is green enough as it is without being _pissed _at us. We need to work together. And… she is kinda right. He died with the rest of them."

"Maybe it's a turian thing," his friend rumbled, "but I thought that was expected of him."

An awkward silence, as Andersen realised he had a point.

"Alright…" Kamur sighed, finally. "What do our comms look like?"

"Nothing on long range," Andersen grumbled. "So we can't contact the Cambrai until this shit's done."

"What about short range?"

"A few scrambled signatures."

"Look for the nearest one using turian encryption. That's got to be my squad."

"Way ahead of you. I've got a turian signal two klicks north, and it's right on the recon team's path. I've marked the location - you drive, I'll try and open up a channel."

"If we're too late…" the turian growled.

"We won't be. Just drive."


	474. Operation Tremor Part 3

_**Sarlik South, Oma Ker**_

_**Day 1, 1640**_

"Half a klick out. Got anything?"

"Almost… ah! I've got a frequency, but it might not be secure!"

"Doesn't matter, patch it through!"

As the turian kept his grip firm on the controls, Andersen punched the console to his right, swiped his omni-tool once, and called out:

"Check, check! Is there anyone on this frequency?"

"Affirmative!" a sub-harmonic voice replied, amidst the din of a firefight. "This is Lieutenant Maxam, Taetrus Fifth-"

"Grattus!" Kamur barked.

"Captain?" the voice said, in clear surprise. "What are you doing here?"

"Explain later. Your backup's dead in the water, but we're inbound in a Mako. What's your situation?"

"Pretty grim, sir! We're dug in tight, but the Reapers are pressing - multiple casualties!"

Kamur cursed under his breath. That… wasn't the start he'd been hoping for.

"Just hold on," he rumbled, finally. "We're half a klick and closing, shouldn't be more than a minute on this terrain!"

"Understood- damn it! Tyrus, suppressing fire, keep their heads down!"

The comm channel faded to static, and Kamur kept his eyes firmly on the road. Battered, ruined buildings were shooting past on either side, the human tank's suspension riding out every bump and pothole in the cratered road, occasionally lifting a wheel or rocking over a few degrees. The Mako was tough as ever, though, and quite soon, their blip on the radar was right on top of the one Andersen had marked.

"There!" the engineer cried, pointing off up ahead. It caught Kamur off-guard, to be honest - he was usually the first to spot _anything_, much less a fight…

Sure enough, though, the road was blocked up ahead by a bloody mess of a fight. Greyish forms were swarming across the street, golden shots were flying back the other way from makeshift barricades, windows, even a rooftop off to the right. The Mako rolled right up, skidding to a stop twenty feet or so from the back of the Reaper force, and as it did, two spitting husks turned to look at the intruders.

"Take the gun and cover us!" Kamur barked, rising out of the driver's seat.

"Aye aye!" Andersen replied, darting over to the gunnery controls.

The turian himself made for the door, simultaneously reaching for the Phaeston on his back. The door to the crew compartment came aside a moment later, presenting three rather clueless squadmates.

"We're here," he muttered, simply. "Moreno, head down. Zel, Yui, with me."

That was about all that needed to be said. The krogan and his fellow turian exchanged a look, then rose and grabbed their weapons - as they did, Kamur strode over to the crew hatch, leant down, and _kicked _it open, before dropping down into the street.

The moment he did, a bullet went whistling past, missing his visor by an inch and sailing off down the road. He spun on instinct, found the Marauder that had broken away to attack him, and mowed the bastard down with a burst of rifle fire. A moment later, Zel hit the ground behind him, sniper rifle in her arms, biotic barriers flickering. Yui's legs were dangling through the hatch, bringing up the rear.

"Engage!" Kamur bellowed, as the krogan thudded down to join them. "And keep your heads down, Andersen's on the big gun!"

With that, they swung up towards the Mako's front wheel, and the difference between turians and krogan was immediately obvious. The former fell in in order - Kamur at the front, rifle braced, Zel behind him, tucking her shoulder behind the wheel and levelling her sniper rifle. The latter, however, just… charged.

"Raargh!"

Kamur glanced back at Zel, and she just rolled her eyes, as they watched the red hulk go rushing in, shotgun ringing out and knocking bodies to left and right.

"Open fire," he ordered.

_Crack crack crack crack… _He swept his rifle along the line, bringing half a dozen husks and Cannibals crashing down. A pair of Marauders, realising they were being flanked, turned to attack-

_Thunk, thunk. _Zel gave them each a bullet to the head, and they dropped.

Off on the left, Yui hit the Reapers' flank, driving into the midst of a squad of Cannibals. He laid one out with a round of buckshot, gutted the second with his bayonet, then dove on the other two, fists and shotgun butt swinging wildly.

"Grattus!" Kamur yelled. "Still alive in there?"

_Crack crack crack. _Three rounds arced out of a ground floor window, tearing a Marauder apart.

"And kicking, sir!" his lieutenant's voice replied.

"Keep your heads down! We've got a heavy gun!"

There was no reply from the building, but the captain's keen eyes caught a shuffling movement from the pavement outside, and a surge from the Reapers as they tried to pursue the turians inside. As they did, however:

_Crack crack crack crack crack crack… _The Mako's machine gun lit up violently, and swept along the back row of Reaper forces, decimating it. Kamur saw half a dozen different husks go down, and their attempts at retaliation were futile - one Marauder turned and sprayed shots at the Mako, only to be hit with two rounds a moment later, with gruesome results. Realising the turians were no longer the greatest threat, the Reaper forced whirled around, and-

_Boom! _Andersen put a mass accelerator round dead-centre in the midst of the mob, lighting up the street and catapulting bodies to left and right, charred and in pieces. A few stragglers came stumbling out, but the defenders made short work of them - Zel put down two staggering Cannibals with ruthless precision and two rounds from her Viper, while Yui leapt on a crawling husk and mashed its head into the road.

Kamur, for his part, stepped out around the bulk of the Mako's wheel, slipping his rifle into his off-hand and reaching instead for his combat knife. The last few Reaper troops were being mopped up by his squad's crossfire, but one Marauder was apart from the rest, staggering towards the Mako. As it saw him, it made a lame attempt to raise its rifle and fire, but he swatted it away with his own, and decapitated the thing with one quick swing of his knife. As the husk dropped limply to the floor, he reached calmly for his omni-tool, and muttered:

"_That_, Moreno, is how you make an entrance."


	475. Operation Tremor Part 4

_**Sarlik South, Oma Ker**_

_**Day 1, 1650**_

However _grand _the entrance had been, Zel couldn't help but feel tense as they made for the bombed-out building Kamur's squad was sheltered in. She kept her rifle close to hand, clutched tightly, and her nerves were thrumming gently with biotics, half-expecting the Reapers to come crashing down around them - there were still a couple of destroyers roaming the city outskirts, synthetic screams coming in from the west…

As they neared the squad's holdout, however, Zel allowed herself a brief smile beneath her visor, because a familiar face had just appeared in what remained of the doorway - the same familiar face that had dragged her to safety on Menae. Grattus Maxam looked like hell - his helmet was gone, his left arm was bloody, and his armour was battered, streaked with smoke and dust. He was smiling broadly, though, as Kamur tore his helmet off and glanced around at his men.

"Captain," the lieutenant nodded.

"Grattus," Kamur replied, with a flicker of a smile. "What's the sitrep?"

"Morale's not… great," his second admitted, and quite suddenly the mood dropped through the floor. "We've lost a few guys."

"Who?" the captain asked, tensely.

"Vidanis a few weeks back, for starters. Sent him to open up a door, and there was a Banshee on the other side. Poor bastard didn't stand a chance. We lost Beni and Varin in the firefight today, too."

Kamur cursed in turian, and Zel couldn't help but flash an expression of sympathy from beneath her helm. It wasn't exactly the perfect reunion for him… but, the hastatim was a professional, she'd give him that. After a moment with his head bowed, he looked up, and muttered:

"What's the _professional _sitrep?"

"On the target zone? It's pretty grim up there, too… enemy presence is heavy as you move into the city, and the moment you draw attention to yourself, you get swarmed. We almost didn't make it back out… I'll be honest, my recon report was going to be that we don't stand a chance without the humans' tanks. I guess they're not coming, though?"

"Went up in flames," Kamur confirmed, shaking his head. "So did the humans. We've got one of the science team with us, so we should be able to set off the EMP, but if what you're saying's true…"

"We won't get far enough to deploy it," Grattus concluded. "I know protocol says we're meant to push on anyway, but where the hell does that get us? We'd be dead, and the package would be dead in the water."

"So advancing's out," the captain noted, with surprising calm. "But, so is retreat."

"It is?" the other hastatim murmured, carefully.

"Yes, it is. We don't run from a fight, Grattus."

"I'm not talking about running, sir. I'm just saying, we've lost people, we're down to a dozen guys… is it worth losing the rest for this… experiment?"

"The humans think so," Kamur sighed, "and they've lost a whole division for the thing. Besides, look around you, Grattus - this is a losing fight. If we don't get this thing up the hill, we probably lose Oma Ker. Slowly."

The lieutenant looked to his feet, huffed resignedly, then nodded:

"We're hoping for backup, then. Which… isn't a great situation either."

"Because the comms are out," the captain chuckled, mirthlessly. "I know. But we had short-range comms on the ride up - can't you raise anyone close by?"

"The only team nearby was medical," Grattus replied, shaking his head, "but they bugged out a few hours ago. Airbases outside the city are trying to co-ordinate troops on the ground, but the Reapers are pressing them, and even if they're still intact, we've got no long-range comms."

"Err… permission to speak?" Zel piped up, nervously.

"Since when did you ask permission?" Kamur blinked.

She just shrugged.

"Go on then," he nodded.

"It might be nothing, but when we were walking up here…" she murmured, taking a step back and pointing off over the rooftops, "… is that a radio tower?"

Her talon settled over a little steel spire rising over the city streets, and for a moment or two, Grattus and Kamur squinted to follow it, stepping out into the road for a better angle.

"You know… I think it just might be," Kamur frowned. "Good eyes, private. Grattus, can you spare me a couple of snipers?"

"It's your squad, captain. Besides, for you, the krogan, and a tank… yeah, that seems a fair trade. Tyrus! Braxi! Get out here!"

There was a clatter of movement from inside, and Zel cracked another smile - again obscured under her helmet - as two more familiar faces came striding out of the building with rifles ready. Compared to the rest of the team, Rien and Selim looked pretty much unscathed - the perks of being tucked up in a vantage point sniping, she supposed.

"You two," Kamur began, as they joined the huddle, "I need you to go with Private Manado here. We've located a radio tower to the east, and it looks at least half-functional. You can move fast and quiet, so I need you to get over there, and get a message to command, whoever that may be. Get us backup, air support, whatever they can be scramble, but we need _something_."

"The rest of us will be digging in here," Grattus added, seemingly in harmony with his CO. "We'll hold them off as long as we can, but if we're gonna make a move, we need more firepower."

"Understood," Tyrus nodded. "We'll get it done ASAP."

"Good man," the captain smiled. "Check your gear, then get moving. Grattus, I'll go tell Andersen to bring the Mako up here, get it dug in somewhere we can defend it."

"I'll go," the lieutenant muttered, shaking his head. "I think you should speak to the men, sir. They've been missing you, and they're all pretty low right now."

"They need a morale boost, or a browbeating?"

"Whatever you feel like, sir. Just put some fire in 'em."

"Ha. That, I can do."

Grattus nodded, saluted, and strode off towards the Cambrai team's tank with a purposeful air. Kamur wheeled away a moment later, walking back a little ways towards the turian squad's holdout, and hollering:

"Squad! Get out here, on the double!"

As battered marines began to emerge from the building, with varying degrees of confusion, Zel just glanced down and checked the sights on her Viper. Still dead-centre, as always.

"Is that the tower he was talking about?" Tyrus asked, nodding over her shoulder at the steel spire.

"Yeah. I figure it's ten minutes out, if we make good pace."

"Let's aim for eight, then. You good, Braxi?"

"Better if you stopped using that _bloody _nickname," the big man growled. "But sure. Let's move."

"Alright, alright… after you then, private."

Zel nodded, and swept around, making for the nearest alleyway into the back streets and just trusting the two other snipers to follow. Behind them, she could hear boots shuffling to assemble on the broken road, and the slight rumble of the Mako's engine ticking over. They were half way down the alley before Kamur's voice rang out, hovering over the rooftops for all to hear:

"Squad, listen up…" he began, in a steady rumble. "The aliens and the outsiders would have the world believe our war ended with Palaven, that victory already belongs to the turians… You and I, though, we know that _that_ is not the case. You have fought and bled for Oma Ker, even as they call victory, and you know this war is far from finished…"

A brief lull, as the captain's voice died down. The snipers paused for just a moment, listening attentively, _knowingly_, for Zel in particular knew more had to be coming. Sure enough, just as the silence grew most deafening, Kamur broke it once again, in the loud bark she had grown so used to, quickly rising to a crescendo...

"This war will only be finished when each of us is victorious, or dead!" he roared. "Those are your options! And should we die here today, we will die _well_, we will die _strong_, we will live on in the spirit of the Fifth and they will _sing _our names on the homeworld! I stand before you, your captain, and I will hold my ground! If each of you has any honour, you will hold yours too! Victory or death, hastatim!"

"Victory or death!" they echoed, voices ringing off every wall.

"Come on…" Zel murmured quietly, to her two fellows. "We need to move…"


	476. Operation Tremor Part 5

_**Sarlik South, Oma Ker**_

_**Day 1, 1700**_

"Andersen, suppressing fire on the right, they're pushing strong! Moro, get a missile on that _fucking _rachni!"

"Affirmative!"

Sounds of battle came drifting over the radio, along with the occasional bellowed order or chatter of gunfire. As Zel wound her way through the side streets, flanked by Tyrus and Braxi, she couldn't help but notice the voices were getting more strained, more angry, more _urgent_… they were getting hit hard.

"Tower's just up ahead!" she called out, as they rounded a corner to find the metal structure at twelve o'clock. "Can either of you see a way in?"

"Door on the right-hand corner!" Tyrus replied. "Should be able to force our way in- _damn it!_"

He ducked low, sliding on one knee as a couple of rifle rounds went skidding through their midst.

"Marauders, three o'clock high!" Braxi rumbled. "I got 'em!"

The big marksman broke off to the left, dropping back from the other two and kneeling behind a low stone bed. It wasn't much cover, but it was better than nothing, and at any rate, he worked fast. No sooner had he crouched down than he rattled off his first round - a shot across the bows, scattering the two skeletal figures on the far rooftop. A moment later, he sent a second whistling out, knocking the left-hand Marauder out of sight as it exploded.

_Crack crack crack! _Zel instinctively popped her barriers as another burst rang out from the right-hand Marauder, but it was firing at Braxi, not them. He ducked low, the shots went skimming past, and then rose up once more, locked his arm:

_Thunk. Boom! _The second Marauder disappeared too, in a flash of blue.

"You two keep moving!" Abraxis called, now some way behind his fellows. "I'll sweep the street, check the perimeter!"

"Copy that!" Tyrus replied. "Keep your head down! Manado, do the honours on that door?"

"My pleasure!" she nodded, bounding in front of him as the pair neared the broadcast tower.

On reaching it, she paused a half-step, allowed her biotics to well up into her arm… and then swung out with a vicious cry. The door, already battered and bullet-scarred, gave way rather easily - it _disintegrated_, chunks of metal flying back through the doorway, and the two snipers darted inside, quickly taking stock of their surroundings.

"Console's on the far wall," Zel noted. "You get a line to command, I'll check upstairs."

"No, wait!" her companion hissed, urgently.

"What?" she frowned.

"The only thing you're gonna find up there is Cannibals… _feeding_," he muttered, quietly. "Disturb them, and you'll bring a horde running."

"Best to pick our fights," Zel agreed. "I'll cover the stairs, though, just in case."

"Well, sure. I didn't say you should be _stupid _about it."

She just rolled her eyes, and sidestepped a little, giving her a clearer angle on the staircase in the corner of the room before levelling her Viper at it. Mere moments later, however, she wheeled around at a clatter of footsteps from the doorway behind her back.

Tyrus had the same reaction, and the pair of them were both aiming weapons at the busted as Braxi strode in, looking rather nonplussed by the two rifles pointing at him.

"It's alright…" he rumbled. "Just me."

"Any hostiles on your tail?" Tyrus asked, rifle dipping nonetheless.

"Didn't leave anything alive," Braxi grunted. "We good on comms?"

"System seems intact," his friend nodded. "Just about to make the call. Cover the doorway."

The bigger sniper just nodded again, and shuffled into the middle of the room so that he was back to back with Zel as she turned to the staircase once more. Just out of her field of her view, she heard Tyrus step up to the radio console, tap a few controls, and call out:

"Command, this is Sergeant Tyrus of the Taetrus Fifth, First Platoon! Do you copy?"

A pause. A crackle of static.

"_He _made sergeant?" Zel whispered, over her shoulder.

"Astounding, isn't it?" Braxi deadpanned.

"Sergeant Tyrus, we copy," the console replied, silencing the two of them. "What's your situation?"

"Our platoon's pinned down and in need of backup!" Tyrus barked, quickly. "We need whatever you can throw our way - air support, armour, infantry… anything!"

"Confirm, you said your platoon? How many personnel?" the faceless voice asked.

"About a dozen."

Another break, and quite suddenly, Zel found herself hoping turian command wouldn't be _predictable_.

"We've got a whole regiment trying to flee the western hot zone, sergeant. Can't afford to assign assets for a platoon that's half-gone."

Predictable indeed. Damn it. Tyrus let out a sigh, and for a moment, Zel's stomach lurched in resignation. Then, quite suddenly:

"Alright, you desk-bound bastard, listen up!"

"_Excuse me?_"

Braxi just chuckled to himself, and Zel rather quickly realised _why _Tyrus had made sergeant. It was the same reason Kamur had made captain, nicely evidenced by the tirade he launched into a moment later:

"You heard!" he shouted. "You're tucked up all nice and safe in a bunker while I'm getting my backside shot off, so if you _dare _cut this line, I am coming back to haunt you! That _half-gone platoon _is all that's left of an Alliance joint op - our backup's gone, and we're carrying a critical package!"

"A package? Going in, or out?" the radio operator asked, reluctantly.

"In," Tyrus muttered. "Deployment zone is the old spaceport, but we don't stand a chance of reaching it as is. We need backup, or the whole op's dead in the water."

"I… I don't know how much I can do, sergeant. Artillery's a no-go, and our radio contact with allied infantry is patchy at best."

"What about air support?"

"Our last flight of gunships went down yesterday."

"Fighters?"

"Two. They're loaded for bear and headed for the hot zone."

"That's a suicide run. Reapers are all over that zone, they'll be shot down in seconds."

"Protocol is protocol, sergeant."

"Screw protocol! We need those fighters, _ASAP!_"

"I…"

The voice faltered, and Zel turned around with no small amount of curiosity, before the radio tech murmured, weakly:

"This package… how critical is critical? Because there's every chance we lose a regiment if I pull those fighters…"

"It'll save the city," Tyrus said, firmly. "Maybe even Oma Ker. The whole planet's a losing battle, but this might be a game-changer."

"Might be?"

"_Is_."

"Ah, spirits… diverting the fighters now, sergeant, and I'll try to raise whatever infantry's in the sector. I assume I'm sending them to your location?"

"Negative. We're using a remote tower, the rest of the platoon's dug in to a building at co-ordinates two-zero-six, one-six-four. We'll be falling back to that position too once we're done here."

"Okay… I'll tell the fighters to stay in short range as far as possible, but I won't be able to keep you informed of reinforcements."

"Noted. If we all die, I'll assume you couldn't find any."

"I… right. Good luck, sergeant."

The comm line flickered out, and Tyrus hung his head, letting out a long, low sigh of… not relief… _resignation?_

"Are we good?" Zel called out, after a moment.

"Yeah, we're good," the sergeant nodded, turning back to them and reaching for his gun.

"Then why do you look so grim?" Braxi asked, bluntly.

"I… just told that guy we were gonna save the city," Tyrus sighed. "I _really _don't want to die a liar…"


	477. Operation Tremor Part 6

_**Sarlik South, Oma Ker**_

_**Day 1, 1710**_

"Another drop, incoming!" someone called out, from the barricade line.

"Heads down!" Kamur roared, in response.

He dove to the floor, and the men either side of him followed suit, all of them hitting the deck as another flaming meteor _thing _came crashing down in the street, just feet away, battering their makeshift defences with a rush of fire and energy.

"Up!" the captain barked, a moment after the fire passed. He lunged up above the sandbags he was using for cover-

And found one lone husk diving at him over the top of them, even as the rest were cut down by crossfire. As the _thing _came at him, spitting, he dropped his rifle, grabbed the husk with one arm, and reached for his knife with the other. He threw it roughly to the ground, pinned it with a boot across the chest, and drove his blade into its throat, spattering silvery blood across his knuckles.

Leaning down to recover his rifle, he wiped the blade clean, and took a brief moment to scan the squad's defences. They had dug the Mako in at the centre of the line, and the turian would begrudgingly admit that Andersen, at the gunnery controls, was killing more husks than his whole team combined. The tank was vulnerable with only the two engineers inside, however - Kamur had put an MG team behind sandbags to guard the left flank, and was personally defending a barricade on the right, along with two of his men and Yui. Grattus, being a slightly better marksman - another _begrudging _admission of his - was on the first floor of the building behind them, directing grenadiers, and the remaining riflemen in place of the snipers. He had also been in charge of deploying the two Cobra missiles they had left, but those were gone now, used to bring down a Banshee that had come dangerously close to their flank.

"Captain!"

Kamur snapped back to attention as his omni-tool lit up, the radio crackling into life.

"Captain Destra!" it called.

"I copy," he replied, hastily.

"This is Tyrus! We're on our way back now, ETA seven minutes!"

"Did you make contact?" the captain asked.

"Affirmative!"

"And the backup?"

"Fighters incoming for close air support. They're trying to rally infantry too, but no guarantees!"

"Brilliant!" Yui laughed, leaning over the barricade to put a shotgun round through the Reaper ranks. "More kills for the rest of us!"

"ETA on the fighters?" Kamur asked, ignoring the krogan completely.

"Immediate!"

"Copy that- spirits! Rachni, crawling up to the rooftop at two o'clock! Andersen?"

"I've got them," the engineer replied, and the Mako's turret swung around to face the rooftop where three scuttling figures had just appeared. It hovered over them, adjusting by minutiae for a moment or two, and then:

_Boom! _A mass accelerator slug, right on the lip of the rooftop. Beautiful shot, he had to admit. It tore a chunk out of the building's top floor, sending two of the Ravagers flying back out of sight, and the third crashing down into the street as the floor crumbled beneath it. The creature was mown down by crossfire before it could stand.

The radio had gone quiet - Tyrus and the snipers were busy, it seemed - and Kamur was left to the firefight once again. As Yui dropped down to prepare another Carnage round, he gave the turian a brief nod, and he swung up over the barricade, rifle at the ready.

_Crack crack. _A running husk went skidding to the floor, cut down before it got anywhere near the barricade.

_Crack crack crack, crack crack crack. _Three shots each for a couple of Cannibals in the background, both of which toppled limply to the floor.

_Crack! _He clipped a Marauder's head, mere moments before Andersen swept the Mako's machinegun back to the right, cutting down the rest of the squad the turian husk had been leading.

"More Reapers dropping on the left!" Grattus called out, "And I see another drop in the next street! They're piling on the numbers, captain!"

"Stick to your assignments!" Kamur barked. "Andersen, cover the firing arcs, keep that gun cool!"

_Bang. _Yui rose up at his side, levelling his Claymore into the crowd and bringing down no fewer than _three _husks with a wide spray of buckshot.

"Friendly contacts, this is fighter wing Barec! Do you copy?"

"We copy!" the captain snapped, dropping down behind the sandbags once more - _spirits_, the radio was busy today. "Tell me you're close, Barec!"

"Thirty seconds out!" the pilot replied. "Heavy payload - keep your heads down and hold on to your teeth!"

"Everybody!" Kamur yelled. "Heads down!"

"What?" Yui scowled.

"I said head-"

_Boom!_ Without much warning at all, the world became a maelstrom of fire and noise. A wave of pressure _slammed _Kamur onto his side, and in the blur that passed for his vision, he saw Yui hurled off his feet, dangling comically in the air before crashing back down to earth.

_Boom! _More smoke, more flame, more screeches and shrieks from the decimated Reaper forces… and all of a sudden, he realised something was _very _wrong, because there were screams and yells that didn't much like a husk to him.

"Spirits!" he heard Grattus swear, the radio filling his ears like a fog. "Barec Wing, what the _fuck _are you doing? Danger close, danger close, abort your next run!"

Kamur didn't hear the reply. He attempted to drag himself upright, but succeeded only in pulling the uppermost sandbag off the top of the barricade, collapsing back down with it. He saw a large metal bulk _thud _to the floor - in hindsight, he realised that was Yui throwing down his helmet - before a huge arm came out of the smoke, grabbing him under the shoulder and hauling him to his feet.

"What happened?" he coughed, pulling up his rifle.

"They dropped a bomb on us," the krogan grunted, simply. "What were you expecting?"

Kamur just shrugged off the question, and set his mind to more urgent matters, opening up the comms:

"Andersen, are you alright?"

"Still in one piece," his friend confirmed. "The Mako's a tough son of a bitch."

"Grattus?"

"All fine up here, captain, but…"

_But_, Kamur had just caught sight of the left flank, and he already knew what Grattus was about to say. Their MG position was _gone_, consumed by the fire and smoke that were still clinging to the road surface. And the two men who had been manning it… well, one of them was in pieces, fallen by his gun. The other had been hurled against the Mako's back wheel, and Kamur thought he saw a flicker of movement, although that could have been the shimmer of smoke and heat the blast had produced. In hindsight, the memory would provoke a fair few emotions - anger, sorrow, regret - but at the time, his main concern was tactical:

"Left flank's wide open!" he roared, even as a crackle of fresh gunfire forced him to fall in behind the barricade on the right. "Andersen, you're exposed!"

"Confirm that!" Grattus added. "I see husks moving on your vehicle! Squad, mow 'em down, mow 'em down!"

"Too late!" one of his marksmen reported. "They're in the hatch!"

"_Aargh!_"


	478. Operation Tremor Part 7

_**Sarlik South, Oma Ker**_

_**Day 1, 1715**_

"Left flank's wide open! Andersen, you're exposed!"

"Confirm that! I see husks moving on your vehicle! Squad, mow 'em down, mow 'em down!"

"Too late! They're in the hatch!"

"_Aargh!_"

Andersen was out of his seat before the scream, out even before Kamur's warning was done, but you could only react so fast. It took a second to reach for his pistol - and a subconscious second before that to realise the pistol was better than the rifle in an enclosed space - and precious moments more to throw open the door to the crew compartment. By the time he rushed through it, the husks were already inside.

_Crack crack crack! Crack crack! _To his surprise, he saw the first two brought crashing down by a volley of pistol fire. Low-calibre, a Predator - Moreno had drawn her standard-issue pistol, and was blasting away as she shrunk against the wall. Her firing was wild, though, panicked at best, untrained at worst, and a third husk was almost upon her…

Acting on pure, _stupid _instinct, he stepped between them. The skeletal form crashed into his back, gnashing wildly at his neck and shoulders, and one of Moreno's rounds skimmed off his shields in the split-second before she realised he was there.

Adrenaline coursing, however, he noticed none of this. He wheeled around and threw his body weight backwards, slammingthe hissing creature into the compartment wall. While it was dazed, he brought up his pistol, aiming squarely at the two remaining husks now scrabbling and scrambling across the floor to reach him.

_Bang bang. Bang. _Two shots to the gut for the first one, and one to the head for the second. A third attempted to clamber up through the crew hatch-

_Bang. _He sent it crashing back into the outside world with another shot, and for a moment at least, it seemed there were no more husks on the way. That just left _the one on his back_.

Moreno, to her credit, swung out with all her might to pistol-whip the son of a bitch, catching it right where skull met neck. That just seemed to piss it off, though, because its hold tightened, and it began to bay and hiss even more angrily than before.

Andersen tossed his pistol to the floor and reached up with his main hand, grabbing hold of one of the skeletal arms that was latched around his throat. He yanked hard, bucked his shoulder, and felt rather proud of himself as he executed a rough judo throw on the creature, slamming it to the floor. Moments later, he had wrapped his omni-tool in a wreath of burning plasma, and punched it through the monster's skull, killing it.

A slight pause, and the engineer found himself breathing heavily - from adrenaline rather than exertion. Cautiously, he looked over his shoulder to the figure now _staring _at him from behind, and murmured:

"You alright?"

"I… yeah, I'm alright," she nodded, shakily. "That was- hey, look out!"

Andersen's head snapped round, and his stomach dropped as he saw the grim visage of a Marauder staring back at him through the crew hatch. A clammy hand took hold of one side, and the barrel of a rifle came hovering up…

"Down!" he roared, with surprising gusto, reaching back with his off-hand to _drag _Moreno down with him.

They hit the floor, quick logic telling his brain they were safe at that angle - for a moment, at least, until the Marauder came climbing in - as his hands went instinctively for his pistol, and his torso twisted involuntarily to shield the girl. He found his gun a moment later, brought it up to bear on the skeletal turian in the doorway-

And before he could pull the trigger, that skeletal turian's head _exploded_, a silver-blue cocktail of blood spraying into the Mako's interior as the Marauder's skull bounced off the frame of the crew hatch, before dropping out of sight. The _bang _took his brain a moment to process, so much so that it seemed to lag behind the creature's violent death by several seconds.

Another pause. An awkward moment of heavy breathing as both engineers pressed themselves to the floor. And then, another turian face replaced the first.

This one, however, was distinctly alive, and looked more than a little relieved as it spotted them in the corner.

"Spirits…" Zel sighed. "You're alright. What happened?"

"Your fighter support got a little trigger-happy," the engineer muttered, rising to his feet and dashing over to the hatch. "Thanks for the save."

"Not me," she grunted, shaking her head. "Tyrus."

"Then thank you Tyrus. Now, we need to get this gun firing again. Can you cover the flank?"

"I'll see what we can do," the sniper nodded. "Tyrus? Braxi?"

"Little busy here!" her colleague replied.

"What?"

_Thud. _Zel wheeled around, and through the crew hatch, Andersen saw a big turian hit the ground, sniper rifle falling by his side. He went for his pistol, still on the ground-

And the Brute that had put him there came stomping into view from the left, a hideous snarl filling the air as it did.

"Braxi!" another turian cried, dashing in after it. Tyrus wasn't short of bravery, he had to admit - the sniper went right for the Brute's flank, driving an omni-blade in before ducking back out of arm's reach, successfully turning the thing away from his friend.

Andersen and Zel snapped into action right as the Brute swung for Tyrus with its clawed arm. Zel's biotics rippled out to her fingertips, and Andersen scrambled down through the crew hatch, pausing only to yell:

"Moreno, take the guns! Point and shoot!"

He hit the ground beside his squadmate a moment later, reaching for his Phaeston as he did. Zel was in the act of lobbing a biotic cannonball - it slammed into the Brute's exposed side, producing an angry roar and another shift, as the creature came for them in turn. Andersen took the chance to cut down a couple of Cannibals that were sneaking in behind it - judging by the firefight still raging on the other side of the Mako, the Reapers were still throwing infantry at them - but then he found himself diving to the ground _yet again_, as a huge claw dug into the spot where he had been standing.

Scrabbling to his feet, he raised his rifle and loosed a half-dozen rounds at the Brute, but they bounced ineffectually off its arm - so did a round from Zel's sniper rifle, as she scrambled to his side, barriers flaring. Behind the Brute's back, 'Braxi' was stumbling to his feet, and on the left, Tyrus was grappling hand-to-hand with a couple of Marauders that had just emerged from the adjacent alleyway, a turian talon flashing silver in his hand.

The Brute took a step back, grunted once… and before either Andersen or Zel could do a damn thing to get out of its way, it came hurtling at them with surprising speed, something akin to a speeding train.

Zel threw up a wall of biotics at the last second, and the creature slammed frustratedly into it, but the barrier shattered as quickly as it had risen, and the resulting shockwave knocked both human and turian onto their backs. Braxi was up now, and unloaded a couple of rounds into the Brute's rear, but the monster was enraged now - it came at them once again, claw hand denting the road surface as it did, then raised the arm high, readying to strike-

_Whump._ It was an innocuous sound, one Andersen had heard a hundred times before - the rather dull, unsatisfying noise of a biotic shot hitting home. In this case, however, it send a _thrill _through his blood, because the surge of biotics had come not from Zel, but from off to left, announcing the arrival of a biotic fireball that was larger than the two soldiers put together. There was a blinding flash of blue as it broke over the Brute's head…

And then, quite suddenly, the fireball was a krogan.


	479. Operation Tremor Part 8

_**Sarlik South, Oma Ker**_

_**Day 1, 1720**_

A flaming krogan was, all things considered, not something you expected to see when you woke up in the morning. But here one was, blazing blue and clinging to the Brute's collar. With a furious growl and another surge of biotics, he dragged the Reaper creature to the ground, dealt a bone-cracking punch to the turian skull upon its shoulders, then stumbled away, straightened up…

And reached for the hammer on his back. It unfolded in his hand like a common rifle would have done, and their saviour weighed it for just a moment, testing it in one hand, before raising it high and bringing it _crashing _down on the Brute's head.

The results were… grisly, to say the least. Zel yelped in surprise, and Andersen found himself looking away with no small amount of disgust. Even the krogan seemed to pause, before lifting the hammer away, hefting it lazily in one hand, and turning to face the horde.

A Marauder was rushing up, sending three husks ahead of it like baying attack dogs, as crossfire continued to fly in all directions. Before Andersen or the turians could intervene, the krogan was charging in with a bellowed war cry. He swung left, crushing the skull of the first husk, then swept right, taking out the legs of the second and sending it flailing to the ground. He paused, and quick stamp of his boot broke the thing's neck, but the third came rushing in at his flank-

Only to be hurled away by a wave of the vanguard's hand. A moment later, the Marauder opened fire, breaking a stream of golden shots over the krogan's armoured shoulder, but he shrugged them off and rushed in, ducking low to press his free hand to the head of his hammer. When his gauntlet came away, the weapon was _glowing _with biotics, and Andersen could only watch on, amazed and more than a little impressed, as the krogan took a hop-step, leant back, and threw all his weight behind a powerful two-handed swing…

_Whump. _With a dull ringing noise, the Marauder was catapulted across the street, slamming through the battered window of a shop front and failing to resurface.

"We've got noise on the west flank!" Grattus' voice shouted, filling the comms. "Reapers are being pushed back!"

"Keep to your assignments!" Kamur barked. "Yui, make sure our team's in one piece!"

The warrior gave a grunt of assent, but Andersen's attention was drawn away from the conversation as the Reapers made another push at them and their saviour. A pair of Ravagers had scuttled up onto a low rooftop overlooking their position, and:

_Bang bang! _One of them opened fire, hurling Braxi off his feet just as he attempted to stand.

_Bang bang! _The second sent a barrage right at Andersen and Zel - in that instant, the engineer found an unusual presence of mind, enough to bowl Zel out of the way with him, but not enough to take his rifle with him.

_Bang bang! _Another volley from the first, right at their now-prone backs-

But once again, their krogan ally seemed to have other ideas. Before Andersen could react, the vanguard's glowing form was between them and the shots. A biotic barrier blunted the first, but the second struck him in the head, and he toppled to the ground.

The engineer rolled over, flung out a hand, found his rifle. Braxi was still down, Tyrus was slashing at a husk with his combat knife, Zel was reaching for her own gun - only Andersen was properly armed, and he lashed out, spraying a dozen Phaeston rounds at a mob of Cannibals which had just come limping in.

He cut down two, and the third was blown away by a familiar red-crested figure - Yui came charging around the nose of the Mako with a frustrated roar, ducking under the torrent of fire from the tank's machine gun and diving right into the midst of a mob of Reaper creatures, shotgun roaring, bayonet flashing…

"Andersen!"

His attention snapped away from Yui as Zel yelled out, and promptly leant over him, bracing her rifle at a pair of husks that were rushing towards them from the far end of the road.

_Crack. _The first one fell, head shuddering to a single round.

_Crack_. She caught the other in the shoulder, but the thing just stumbled, before diving right onto Andersen, skeletal fingers flailing at his head, his neck, his chest…

His rifle went skidding away, out of reach. He lashed out with a wild fist, catching the husk under the jaw, and Zel smacked it hard in the ribs with the butt of her Viper-

But before either of them could strike the finishing blow, a massive hand came down out of nowhere, grabbing the husk by the scruff of its neck and yanking it into the air.

Andersen's first thought was that Yui had reached them, but their squadmate was still by the wheel of the Mako, fighting tooth and claw with the monsters that were swarming. The figure standing over them now was the vanguard, back on his feet and brimming with biotic fire. His helmet had been caved in on one side, smoke and ash scarring the neck and shoulders of his armour, but he hardly seemed deterred as he swung the husk around and _pitched _it across the street like a ragdoll.

Still wordless and faceless for the moment, the newcomer set off at a stooping run, shrugged off a burst of fire from the mob, grabbed his hammer from the ground and swung it high into the air, roaring:

"All you Surocs, _to me!_"

What followed next could only be described as divine intervention, because quite suddenly, the far side of the street was _alive _with bodies and gunfire. The two rachni that had been firing on them from the rooftop were quite suddenly _hovering_ - Andersen realised, much to his astonishment, that krogan had appeared behind and beneath them, and a moment later they hurled they the scuttling monsters over the edge, breaking them on the road below. Half a dozen more krogan were charging in from the alleys, blue-armoured and bearing shotguns, rifles, hammers.

"Spirits!" Tyrus swore, stumbling to his feet a little way apart from Zel and Andersen. "When they said allied infantry, I thought they meant humans, asari…"

"You should've known better," the krogan vanguard grunted, toting his hammer. "Keep yourselves down!"

_Grr…_ A low rumble rose from the next street, and then another, growing closer by the second-

_Boom!_

"_What the-?_"

With an earth-shattering sound not unlike a bomb going off, one of the abandoned buildings off to the left explodedoutwards, scattering stone and steel into the air. A thick cloud of dust rose with it… and then _something _came thundering through the breach. Something big, and rusted, and…

"Is that a _tomkah?_" Andersen frowned.

It was. _Two _tomkahs, in fact - no sooner had they burst onto the street than they opened fire, scattering mass accelerator fire through the Reapers' ranks even as krogan warriors jumped off the roofs, the wheel arches, the bumpers, each bristling with weapons like the ones who had stormed the street a moment prior. They went rushing into the fray, a couple of them clapping the vanguard on the back or shoulder as they did, and off to the right, Andersen saw Reaper forces falling in droves. The mob that had beset Yui was torn apart by three other krogan, much to their red friend's apparent amusement, and judging by the chatter of the radio, intervention had come just in time for the turians too:

"Squad, hold your fire!" Kamur was yelling. "Friendlies on the flank! _Lots _of friendlies!"

"_Big _friendlies," Grattus added, wryly. "Reapers are turning, sir. I think we're clear."

"For now. Cover my six, lieutenant."

"Affirmative."

There was a vague clatter of footsteps on the open comms, but Andersen didn't see the result - he and Zel were being pulled to their feet by the krogan vanguard, who hauled them up with worrying ease, an arm for each of them. His armour was still shimmering with biotics, his chest rising and falling heavily, and once they were up, he took a step back, reaching up to check his helmet. He grunted in annoyance as he found the spot where it had caved in, and ran a gauntleted hand across the dent, before reaching up to the nape of his neck and yanking the whole helmet free, tossing it to the ground.

The face beneath was… familiar, but Andersen couldn't put a finger on it, and in the meantime, Yui was lumbering towards them, shotgun in hand.

"Everybody alright?" he grunted, looking to Andersen and Zel.

"Fine, I think," the vanguard answered, before either of them could. He wheeled around-

And Yui broke into a broad, fanged grin as he saw the newcomer's face.

"Meer!" he laughed, slinging his gun onto his back and advancing with arms spread wide. "Ha!"

"Yui," the other krogan nodded, a slight smile crossing his features.

Andersen, for his part, was staring at Suroc Meer incredulously. It was no wonder he hadn't recognised him - the krogan leader was, as that suggested, _unrecognisable_. His crest had darkened to a deep bronze colour since last they saw him, and his face, previously clean and bare, was almost as scarred as Yui's now. Worst of all, one of his eyes was little more than a blackened orb, quite clearly blinded by a shot or a shell.

"They told me a squad needed saving," Meer rumbled. "They didn't tell me I'd get to settle a debt too… this is becoming a very good day indeed."

"You'll forgive me if I disagree there," Kamur sighed, coming around the nose of the Mako to join them, rifle slung up against his shoulder in his usual fashion.

"Turian," the krogan leader grunted. "I remember you."

"Likewise," the captain muttered. "Been a while since Tuchanka, Meer. How'd you end up here?"

"You needed soldiers. We provided," Meer shrugged. "That's the deal, isn't it?"

"I suppose so. How much did they tell you on the radio?"

"Just that you were in the fire, and needed pulling out of it. Why? What else _should _I know?"

"We've got a package needs delivering," the turian explained. "We got bogged down waiting for backup, and… well, you're it."

"Where's it need delivering?" the krogan frowned.

"City spaceport."

"Hmm…"

Meer glanced down at the road, contemplative for a moment. Then, he began to nod, slowly and surely, a deep rumble coming up from his chest as he did.

"You've got your tank there, we've got our trucks," he muttered. "We've been here for months, and we've been fighting up and down this highway for weeks now - it's intact all the way to the spaceport. We move fast, we can be there inside an hour."

"That's the plan," Kamur nodded. "You in, krogan?"

"One fight's as good as another on this planet," Meer shrugged. "You handle your mission, turian, we'll handle the body count."

"Good man," the turian replied, opening up the comms. "Grattus!"

"Sir?" the lieutenant answered.

"Get the Mako dug out and tell the squad to mount up. We move as soon as we're able. Moreno, Andersen, make sure the package is secure!"

"Heh…" Yui growled, looking around at the Mako, the turians emerging from the ruins, the krogan now _swarming _around them. "This is gonna be fun, isn't it?"


	480. Operation Tremor Part 9

_**Sarlik South Highway, Oma Ker**_

_**Day 1, 1740**_

"So… would someone care to explain how we've got _krogan _backup?" Corporal Moreno frowned.

The two Alliance techs were sat in the back of the Mako as it thundered down the road, accompanied by Yui, Zel, and two of Kamur's men - the rest of his squad were riding on the tail section with the EMP, while Kamur and Grattus manned the controls up front. Clan Suroc's two trucks were close on their tail, krogan warriors literally _hanging _off them as they headed for the next fight.

"Meer's an old friend," Andersen explained. "We met him during an op on Tuchanka. I guess-"

"You went to _Tuchanka?_" she gawped.

"Err… yeah. Long story. Involved a thresher maw. And after we got them on side, I'm guessing Clan Suroc came to fight on Oma Ker."

"They've been here ever longer than we have," one of Kamur's men nodded, speaking up for the first time in the journey. "Insane to a man, and they wouldn't know a stratagem if you beat them over the head with it, but they've got a hell of a kill count going."

"What else d'you expect?" Yui grunted. "They're krogan. It's what we do."

"Everybody's well aware of _what krogan do_," Moreno pointed out, nursing her pistol anxiously. "But I'll admit, I'm glad we've got some backup."

"You and me both," Zel nodded, absent-mindedly fiddling with the sights on her rifle.

_Boom._

Everybody in the crew compartment looked up.

"I know I'm going to regret asking this, but… what was that?" Moreno groaned.

"Nothing good," Andersen frowned. "Ravagers couldn't land a shot while we're moving at speed, that's got to be-"

"Yep!" Kamur shouted, from the fore. "Harvesters, on our six!"

"Oh, _brilliant_," Zel sighed. "What do we-"

_Boom!_ That one was louder, closer, and followed by a loud _crunch_, a screech of brakes…

"One of the tomkahs just bailed!" Grattus cried, frustratedly.

"_What?_"

_Boom! _

The whole world went into familiar slow motion for a moment, and Andersen rose a little way off his seat as the whole vehicle _bucked _up into the air. Then it slammed down again, with a loud groan of protest and a blare of alarms.

"Kamur!" the engineer yelled. "Are we alright?"

"That may be a matter of opinion!" the turian replied. "We- _damn it!_"

There was a loud screech, and the marine next to Andersen tumbled out of his seat as the Mako twisted ninety degrees skidded to a halt, almost unseating the human too.

"Why are we stopping?" he roared.

"To dodge a bullet!" Kamur retorted. "Grattus, take the gun, I'll get us moving again!"

"Affirmative… wait, incoming! Eight o'clock low!"

_Wham. _That one wasn't a blast, or a boom, or a bang. In hindsight, Andersen would discover it was the sound of claws digging into the Mako's side, hurling them across the road. At the time, however, all he saw was the spinning interior, the limp forms tumbling around him as the compartment became crimson, alarms and warning lights bursting forth once again...

He strongly suspected he'd blacked out for a moment, because the next thing he knew, he was lying on his back on the vehicle's _ceiling_. Smoke was drifting thick through the compartment, and the comm panel was sparking gently.

Movement, all of a sudden, as two figures came stumbling through the upside-down door to the cab, heads bowed low against the smoke.

"On your feet!" Kamur was yelling. "Tallin, Veritus, get up and secure the perimeter! We're sitting ducks!"

'Tallin' and 'Veritus' - the two turian marines who had been sitting with them - stirred, and stumbled over to the door as Kamur went for the control panel. His efforts were somewhat clumsy, given that said panel was upside down, but eventually he succeeded in getting it open, and stepped back, allowing his men to march through with rifles drawn. Kamur and Grattus followed close behind, and after sharing a glance, Andersen and Zel followed.

As he ducked through the buckled remnants of the crew hatch, Andersen found himself stepping out into a rather chaotic scene. Gunfire, gun smoke, battle cries and the dull _thunk, thunk, thunk _of a mass accelerator…

The convoy was in disarray, to put it lightly. Glancing back up the road, Andersen saw one of the krogan tomkahs hanging across the dividing wall at the side of the highway, two wheels dangling precariously over the edge. The cab was on fire, and krogan were stumbling dazedly out of the wreck. Their own vehicle was upside down, battered and broken with turian figures scattered about it, but the engineer didn't stop to make a full assessment - he was glancing around, half-expecting Reaper infantry to be falling about their heads.

Instead, he saw only two Harvesters, circling high and coming no closer - confusing, but quickly explained as he saw the second tomkah firing away, hurling heavy rounds into the evening sky. That vehicle hadn't escaped unscathed either - the front end had collapsed on a broken axle, even as the gun kept firing. A moment later, however, they drew a loud screech, and one of the Harvesters cartwheeled down into the city, a killing shot finally finding its mark. The other one circled back, growing smaller and smaller in the sky, and an eerie quiet fell over the highway, broken only by the crackle of flames and the grumble of stricken soldiers.

"Grattus, take a headcount," Kamur whispered. "That hit was nasty. Meer, you there?"

"Here!" the krogan grumbled, leaping down from the nearest tomkah. "What in the _Void _was that, turian?"

"Delaying action…" the captain sighed. "Check your men, krogan. I need to know what we've got left."

Meer just nodded, and made a beeline for the burning tomkah at the rear of the highway. At the same time, a loud clatter and a string of curses rang out from their own vehicle, as a hefty form came stumbling through the crew hatch.

"Where are they?" Yui grumbled, extricating himself from the wreck. "Where's the fight?"

"Gone…" Andersen replied. "_Fuck!_"

That drew more than a few surprised looks, not least from Kamur, who blinked and stared at his old friend.

"Problem?" he murmured, as if that needed asking.

"We're dead in the water," the engineer scowled. "It's a miracle we got out of that with anyone alive at all, but… hell, this isn't good."

"That package gets through, no matter what," Kamur muttered, with typical turian certainty. "We've still got time, so let's think this through. Can we tip the Mako back on its wheels?"

"If the auto-right can't, the krogan can," he nodded. "But looking at that axle, I think it'd be pointless to try."

The both of them glanced over at the toppled Mako, and Andersen knew he had a point. Even if he said so himself. The rear axle had been shorn away from its bearings, and the tank's armoured underbelly was mangled and torn from the first hit the Harvesters had scored. Given the state the electronics had been in, and the smoke that followed Corporal Moreno as she now came staggering out… the thing was a write-off. Again.

"If the Mako's out of it, we still need to get the package off the roof," the turian pointed out. "Speaking of which… do you think it's intact?"

"I had a look before we dropped," the engineer nodded. "I don't know about the EMP, but the box was made to last."

Kamur nodded, biting his plated lip, but before the captain could actually reply, Meer and Grattus came marching back, looking grim, yet resolute.

"What news?" Kamur asked, hesitantly.

"No casualties on our side," Grattus muttered, with no small amount of relief. "The boys are rattled, but they bailed before anyone took any real injury. Meer's krogan took a few losses, though."

"Lost two drivers when that tomkah went up," the krogan leader nodded, frustratedly. "But the rest of my clan's fit to fight."

Everybody's heads went down for a minute, deep in thought. Andersen, for his part, glanced at his feet, then over at the Mako… and then, finally, at Yui, of all people.

"Huh," Kamur frowned, glancing at Andersen. "I know that look… you've got a plan, haven't you?"

"Maybe…" the engineer admitted. "Yui, the package weighs about a quarter of a ton. Can you carry that and still hold your own?"

"What am I, a salarian?" his comrade growled. "'Course I can."

"I'm… not entirely sure that's a good idea," Corporal Moreno piped up.

"If _you_ want to carry it, Moreno, be my guest," Andersen scowled, before turning to the krogan leader: "Meer, has your truck got a tow cable?"

"Yeah," the krogan nodded. "Why?"

"Get your men to cut it loose, we're gonna need it."

"What are you thinking?" Kamur asked, curiously.

"Spaceport's only a klick away," Andersen noted. "We take the tow cable, lash the crate to Yui's back, and go in on foot."

"Infantry charge," the turian chuckled. "Nice plan."

"You got a better one?" he retorted.

"No… I'll get my squad together, you see to the EMP."

"Right. Meer, I'll need some of your guys to help tip the Mako over."

"I'll do it myself," the krogan grunted. "And I'll send some of my clansmen up ahead to clear a path. I hope you know what you're doing, human."

"So do I, krogan… everybody, get moving! That Harvester's going to come back before too long, and we can't afford to be here when it does…"


	481. Operation Tremor Part 10

_**Sarlik South Highway, Oma Ker**_

_**Day 1, 1800**_

"Got a visual on the spaceport," Kamur called, running at the head of the squad. "Meer, are your boys still kicking up that storm?"

"So long as they're still alive," the krogan nodded, jogging along at his side. "Tazz, are you still alive?"

"For now!" the radio replied. "Rett's gone, though! Brute took him over the side of the highway!"

"Damn it… hold your ground, we're almost there!"

"Will do, chief! There's a cluster up on our right, though, and it won't go down!"

"We'll deal with it!"

A grunt of assent from the other end, and the party just kept running, in silence for a moment or two. Then, once the comms were closed, Kamur shouted:

"Andersen, Moreno! Stay with Yui and the krogan! Zel, with me! We'll take my squad, circle round the outer wall, and take that high ground!"

"Affirmative!" Zel nodded. As the pace picked up around her, she kept running, checking her rifle one last time as she did. The firefight up ahead was growing louder with every passing second, and she could see the ruined spaceport at the far end of the highway - on this side, it was little more than a circular steel wall, with a large, square arch in the middle to admit the road. Up on the right, the outer wall had crumbled away, giving the Reaper troops a perfect vantage point to rain down on the heads of anyone attacking the centre.

"Maddah, get a rocket on them!" Meer bellowed. "The rest of you, charge! To the Void!"

_Whoosh. _Mid-stride, one of his krogan fired off a Cobra missile, sending it spiralling over the heads of the combined force. It slammed into the spaceport wall just a foot or so from the high breach, knocking two shooters aside and causing several more to duck for cover. A moment later, a great volley of fire went up from the krogan, and up ahead, the handful of men that formed the vanguard began to rake the battlements with machine gun fire, laying down a wall of suppressing fire as the rest went for whatever cover they could find - abandoned cargo crates, the burned-out husks of forgotten cars, chunks of rubble from the collapsed wall…

"Squad, on me!" Kamur shouted, and Zel found herself turning off to the side with the rest of the turians, sliding down behind the remnants of the barricade that had once barred entrance to the spaceport - Tyrus and Braxi came with her, as did Grattus and a couple of the others. The rest fell in behind the remnants of two skycars that been ditched at the barrier, and Kamur himself hunkered down by the security checkpoint, glancing up at the breach in the wall with a keen, appraising eye.

"Let me guess…" Grattus sighed. "That rubble's the only way up?"

"Looks that way," the captain groaned. "Zel, Tyrus, don't suppose your _sharp _eyes see a safer route?"

Zel snapped her attention away from the centre - where Meer's krogan were charging up, machine guns sending great arcs of fire into the spaceport's interior - and looked up at the hole in the wall. Two Marauders, at least four Cannibals, maybe a Ravager scuttling in the background… and no, no way up save for the heap of rubble that had fallen when the wall came apart.

"I'll take that as a no…" Kamur grumbled, noticing that neither Zel nor Tyrus had spoken up. "Meer!"

"What?" the krogan replied, amidst the rattle of crossfire.

"We need suppressing fire! Only way up to that breach is to climb, we'll be open targets if you don't keep them pinned!"

"Alright! You three, with me, lay fire on that position!"

_Crack crack crack crack crack… _A torrent of fire came up from several Revenants on the krogan's flank, supplemented by a flare of biotics from Meer which hurled two Cannibals back from the edge. Zel had to admit, they were pretty efficient for krogan. Meer's influence, if her fellows' judgement of him was anything to go by.

"Now!" Kamur roared. "Before they run dry! I'll take point!"

There was a rumble of assent from the squad, and as their captain lunged out around the corner, his squad went with him, Zel and Grattus right on his heels. They reached the base of the wall unscathed, and Kamur leapt up with surprising agility, finding a handhold on the broken stone and hauling himself up, hand over hand, foot over foot. Grattus was right behind him, and Zel behind Grattus, scrabbling up over the rubble and lending her biotics to the effort.

"Reloading!" Meer shouted, and a jolt of panic shot along Zel's spine, because the turians were only two thirds of the way up, at best…

_Crack crack crack! _Two Cannibals appeared on the ledge above, emboldened as the krogan stopped firing, and Zel swung up a biotic hand just in time to block a volley that came at Kamur and Grattus from above. The Cannibals recoiled in surprise as their bullets went bouncing away, and-

_Thunk. Bang! _A Krysae round - Tyrus or Braxi's - came flying up from the ground and took the one on the right, tearing it asunder. A moment later, Meer sent the other one sailing with a flurry of biotics.

The gap was clear, and with a roar of exertion, Kamur lunged up the final few feet of rubble, kicked off hard - sending a brick the size of Zel's fist skidding past Grattus' head as he did - and disappeared over the lip of the breach. She heard the subtle murmur of an omni-blade being drawn, and then another, and then a horrible synthetic cry as _something _was skewered by the furious captain.

Moments later, Zel and Grattus sprang up behind him, and found a brutal fight in full swing. Kamur had a Marauder pinned to the wall with one blade, and as Zel clambered to her feet, he spun around, throwing it down and going for the next one's throat. A step ahead of her, Grattus yanked a steel talon from his belt, set his sights on a husk lunging at Kamur's back, and threw the blade with remarkable accuracy, sticking it right between the husk's eyes before going for his rifle.

Zel, meanwhile, allowed her biotics to well up at her fingertips, and paused a beat, searching for the best target in the moments of safety her two fellows were buying her. Finally, her eyes settled on a rachni monster, scuttling up into the room from the adjoining corridor. She swept forward, grabbed it with a sturdy mass effect field, and hurled it back down the corridor. It gave a horrible screech, and a _squelch _as the bulbous sac on its belly burst, splashing caustic green acid over the unfortunate creatures coming up behind it.

As impressive as the biotic display was, however, Zel would admit it was… inefficient. In the time it had taken her to squish the bug, Kamur and Grattus had wiped out most of the breached room's occupants. The captain was in the act of beheading one last Cannibal, and that just left-

The husk charging at her flank. _Of course_.

Before Zel could even think about darting out of the way, however, a helping hand - quite a literal one, in fact - came to her aid. The next marine climbing the heap reached up, grabbed the husk's leg, and dragged it over the side, throwing it to the ground below with gruesome results and a _crunch _of bones.

"Clear!" Kamur barked, dropping in behind the doorpost that led to the next corridor. "Everybody up and we move, room by room! Meer, are your men still in one piece?"

"Don't insult us, turian! We're just getting started!"

"Alright, alright, enough of the bravado. Form a perimeter, and tell the rest of my team to move up into the loading bay. We'll meet them there!"

A grunt of assent on the other end of the line.

"Zel?" he called, next.

"Captain?"

Kamur blinked, as if it was _extremely _strange for her to call him that - it was after the last few months, she supposed - but quickly shook it off, and muttered:

"Loading bay should have lots of gantries, maybe some firing lanes too. That's your territory."

"Right," she nodded. "What's the plan?"

"We get the package and the techs to the cargo elevator, and send them up to the roof so Moreno can set that damn EMP off."

"That thing had better work," Grattus muttered, "or we're backing ourselves into a corner."

"No need to state the obvious, lieutenant. Everybody, move up!"


	482. Operation Tremor Part 11

_**Sarlik Spaceport, Oma Ker**_

_**Day 1, 1815**_

"You sure you can hold the perimeter?" Yui rumbled.

"I guess we're about to find out," Meer shrugged, rather casually considering they were in the midst of a firefight. "Go!"

The red krogan just nodded, and set off at a jog. Andersen fell in at his side, nervously checking his rifle and his squadmates - all _two _of them, if Moreno even counted - as he did.

"Moreno, stay behind Yui," he muttered, cautiously. "Your armour's too light for a protracted battle. Kamur! Where are we heading?"

"Straight on!" the turian replied, through a mess of gunfire on his end of the radio. "Loading bay's right up ahead, and the cargo elevator's on the far wall, you can't miss it!"

They ran for thirty seconds or so, but the loading bay was already obvious, looming at the end of the corridor - the highway ran right into the cavernous room, where discarded cargo crates and abandoned trucks were immediately obvious, even at this distance.

_Bang! _The first husk had barely appeared around the corner before Yui nailed it - at surprising range - with his Claymore. Andersen brought down a second and a third with his rifle, and then the trio were picking up speed, _racing _down the corridor.

"That crate!" the engineer called, pointing to a square red article, just inside the arched entrance. "Make for it!"

_Crack crack! _Red-rimmed shots came flying down the corridor at them, as a Cannibal appeared on the left and took its chance. They whistled well clear, however, and Andersen cut the thing down with a shot to the head before it could fire again.

He slid into the corner of the crate a moment later, as Yui and the package _thudded _loudly into it on the other side, and Moreno took her place between them, pistol at the ready but as yet unfired.

"Anyone on your side?" he asked the krogan.

"A few," Yui grunted, as bullets ricocheted off the side of the crate, inches from his face.

_Crack crack crack…_

"Yeah… same here. Kamur, where's your team?"

The comms opened, for just a second, and:

"Grattus! Get the Brute!"

_Crunch_. Well, that answered that. With a weary sigh, Andersen reached to his belt, found one of the little steel canisters there, and pulled it out, priming it with a tap of the button on top.

"What's that?" Moreno frowned, at his side.

"Seriously?" he scowled. "You're a tech, and you don't know what this is?"

"I work in a _lab!_" she retorted.

The engineer just rolled his eyes, glanced out around the corner - a couple of shots chased his head back into cover the instant he did - and then swung out an arm, tossing the little pod into the open. He heard it hit the floor with a little _thud_, bounce once, then roll a ways before finally coming to a rest. There followed a familiar _hiss_, the sound of his turret rising into place, and then:

_Crack crack crack crack crack crack crack…_ A rattle of automatic fire, and the sound of bodies hitting the floor.

_Bang! _On the other side, Yui brought a Cannibal crashing down with his shotgun, and bayoneted a second, letting out a _roar _of laughter as he did.

"We need to move up!" Moreno cried, still sheltering between the two of them.

"If you want to go first, be my guest!" the krogan rumbled.

"Your friends out there can only last so long!" the corporal pointed out. "The sooner we get that package to the roof and set it off, the less of them have to die!"

"She's got a point," Andersen admitted, begrudgingly. "Kamur, we need a lane! Where are y-_argh!_"

He yelled out, and collapsed against his cover as a rifle butt hit him square in the temple. A Marauder had gotten past his turret, it seemed - he made a mental note to fix the blind spots, if he ever got the chance - and that was a _painful _mistake. He slumped down, went for his rifle as the creature levelled its own, and-

_Crack!_ The Marauder's face exploded, which was novel in itself, because Andersen hadn't pulled the trigger. Rather, Corporal Moreno's hand was shuddering on the grip of her pistol, as her face blanched white with shock. The once-turian body slumped, and clattered to the floor between them.

"Nice save," he muttered, glancing at the re-dead corpse lying next to his feet.

"You're… welcome?" she murmured.

_Bang bang._

"Rachni!" Yui yelled, sending a shotgun round at the bug in question.

"I've got fire if you need it!" Andersen called, raising his omni-tool.

"S'fine!" the krogan replied, firing off another round. "I _think _it's dead. Ah, shit, more of 'em!"

Sure enough, he ducked away at a _crack crack crack _of fire, as a trio of Cannibals came around the corner. A shotgun round felled one, but the single-shot Claymore was at its worst right now, because the other two were upon their flank as Yui went to reload, and-

_Crack. Crack_. Quite suddenly, the Cannibals were dead, felled by a shot each to the back of the neck - and a red-armoured form had appeared on the gantry high above their heads.

"I've got you covered!" Zel cried. "Run for the elevator!"

With a loud _whump_, she sent a shockwave rippling across the loading bay, tossing husks into the air and in all directions. Gunfire and the distinctive sound of a grenade going off rang out from behind her, muffled by the walls, and Andersen saw a flicker of movement in the corridor beyond Zel's back, a knife or a visor flashing in the dim evening light.

"You heard her!" the engineer shouted. "Move!"

Yui slid a new round into his shotgun with an audible _click_, then swung out around the corner, roaring like a madman. A loud _bang _announced some creature's death, Andersen assumed, and as the krogan went to reload, Zel's rifle began to blare out over their heads, picking off more unseen targets. He tapped Moreno on the shoulder, nodded for her to follow the krogan, and then took the rear himself, sweeping the corners with his rifle.

Zel had done a good job clearing the floor, though. They had a clear shot at the elevator, hanging in the middle of the far wall, and even as Moreno and Andersen set off at a run after Yui, hopping over corpses, the turian sniper brought down another husk that was streaking across the bay towards them. She paused to reload-

And as she did, there was a roar from further along the gantry. Glancing up, Andersen saw Kamur and Braxi burst out onto it, each carrying a Cannibal by the throat - they promptly threw them over the railing to the floor, chasing them with rifle rounds even as Grattus led a charge through another door on the ground floor. In the space of seconds, their backup had gone from one turian to a dozen, and the loading bay became a mess of crossfire as the Reapers on one side exchanged shots with the turians on the other.

Up ahead, Yui had just slammed into the far wall of the elevator, using it none-too-subtly to stop his momentum, and the two techs dashed in after him, ducking low for fear of catching a bullet to the skull.

"We're in!" Andersen reported, pulling up the radio. "Get over here!"

"Negative!" Kamur replied, growling a little as he did. "Head for the roof!"

"_What?_"

"Reapers are dropping hard on the perimeter! We're gonna fall back and help the krogan!"

"You can't be serious…"

"This is our planet, Andersen! We won't retreat and let somebody else defend it for us! _Go!_"

"I-"

_Thud. _Before the engineer could object again, a big, gauntleted hand had swept down from his side, and prodded the elevator controls. As the VI chimed and the metal gates slid shut on the cargo lift, Andersen turned to see Yui grimacing down at him.

"They want to fight…" the krogan rumbled. "I won't deny 'em that. Let's get up there and be done with it."


	483. Operation Tremor Part 12

**A/N: Took a week out to work on some other projects. Mixed results. Hoping to get back to it now.**

* * *

><p><em><strong>Sarlik Spaceport, Oma Ker<strong>_

_**Day 1, 1825**_

"_Hold this position! Don't let them through!"_

"_Snipers, get the bugs, get the bugs-"_

"_Machine gun to the left flank, they're dropping on the bridge!"_

"Christ…" Andersen muttered. "They're getting hit hard. Can't this thing go any faster?"

"When have they _ever _gone faster?" Yui grumbled, smacking the elevator wall with the butt of his Claymore.

"Moreno-"

"Lily," the corporal murmured. "It's Lily."

"Alright. _Lily_. Cut the bullshit."

'Lily' looked rather taken aback at that. Yui just snorted, and perked his brow.

"What do you mean?" she frowned.

"That," he replied, nodding to the package on Yui's back. "Can it get us out of this mess?"

"You already know the EMP-"

"And stop calling it an EMP. I know damn well it isn't one."

"Hey, why would I-"

"Lie? That's what I want to know, and-"

"Stop interrupting me, damn it!"

Yui gave another grunt of amusement, as the two techs stared heatedly at each other.

"I know you're not an engineer, Moreno. You haven't used your omni-tool once since we started fighting, you didn't recognise a standard-issue turret, and you came right out and said you worked in a lab! You're a _scientist_, and since when did scientists work on EMPs?"

"Since those EMPs were designed to target Reaper infantry, thus requiring a full neurological study of a husk's neural map?"

"Nice bullshit, corporal."

"You're nota scientist," she retorted. "How would _you_ know if it's bullshit?"

"Because I _am _a tech," he growled, "and I know we already have neural shock programs. They work on husks. I also know they require proximity to work, because the energy released is wasted over distance. If what you're saying's true, that thing has a blast radius of about six feet. Hence, bullshit."

"Somebody care to tell me what in the _hell _you're both talking about?" Yui grumbled.

"She's lying to us," Andersen scowled. "She has been this whole time."

"If you're so smart, why did you wait until now to say anything?" Moreno smirked, victoriously.

"I was too busy saving your useless arse."

"Heh."

The corporal just glared from one to the other of them, before folding her arms, and sighing:

"I don't see why you're making an issue of it now, corporal. You don't have much of a choice, do you? Either you help me, or we scrub the op."

"Yeah… luckily for you, we _have _to help. But I'm not helping quietly!"

"God forbid… look, I'm going to need a few minutes to deploy the package. Can you two lock the roof down while I take care of it?"

"I reckon we'll cope," Yui grunted, sarcastically.

"AEC's been working on that thing for weeks, but you couldn't get the detonation sequence under a few minutes?" Andersen frowned.

"The _detonation sequence_ takes a couple of seconds. But it needs two idents to authenticate. And, seeing as I'm the only one left, that raises a few problems. I'll need to dupe my authentication."

"I'd ask why you're not letting me handle the hacking, but hey, I might break your precious 'EMP'. A bit of advice from a professional, though?"

"Sure…" she muttered, begrudgingly.

"Don't dupe _your _authentication, just add mine to the permissions. I'm AEC, so my ident's already in the database."

"That's… actually a good idea," Moreno admitted.

"Like I said. Professional. Now get behind us, I think we're almost-"

_Ding. _

"There… Yui!"

"Got it!"

Rather contrary to all accepted military doctrine, the man carrying the critical package went out on point as the elevator doors opened. Granted, that _man _was a krogan, so… it was probably alright. Yui went storming out onto the roof, shotgun in hand, casting around to left and right…

And finding nothing.

"Huh," he grunted. "That's… disappointing."

"Give it a minute," Andersen muttered, rolling his eyes. "I'm sure we'll be eyeball-deep in husks before too long."

"You reckon?" the krogan asked, rather too brightly for his liking.

"Just drop the bloody crate."

Yui grunted, and shrugged the steel cable off of his shoulders, dumping his burden to the floor. It landed with a _clang _that made Moreno wince, and she went to work almost at once, pulling up a hitherto-hidden holographic display on the crate's side.

"How long do you need?" the engineer asked, begrudgingly.

"Two minutes…" the scientist replied, although the frown on her face wasn't encouraging as she continued to tap away, "… _maybe_ three."

"Three it is," Andersen nodded. He glanced skywards, then sighed: "Yui?"

"Yeah?"

"Take point… we've got incoming."

"Heh. Glad to hear it…"


	484. Operation Tremor Part 13

_**Sarlik Spaceport, Oma Ker**_

_**Day 1, 1830**_

_Wham! _Another meteor came crashing down on the far side of the rooftop, and a trio of Cannibals came spilling out from the smoke that followed it.

_Crack crack crack. Crack crack crack. _Two bursts - short, and controlled. Two of the creatures dropped, and the third ducked away as Andersen tried to find his shot. In the end, he just hurled out an incineration program - the fireball tracked its target for a mere second before slamming home, and the husk went down wreathed in flames.

No sooner than the three had fallen, however, another swarm of the things was dropping out of the sky. This time, human husks came with the batarians, and two of them came barrelling at Andersen like rabid dogs.

_Bang. _Yui threw himself into their path, decapitating one with a shotgun shell before driving his bayonet through the other's throat, and tossing it away like a ragdoll. Even as he did, though, the Cannibals in the background - and the Marauders on the other side of the roof, _and _the Ravager beyond them - were filling the air with crossfire. One of them lurched back, swung out an arm, and pitched something high over their heads. It clattered down between Andersen and Yui a moment later, and a jolt of panic shot down the engineer's spine.

"Yui! Grenade!"

"Huh? Huh!"

With remarkable presence of mind, the krogan took a half-step forward… and _booted _the thing. It scudded off across the rooftop, and exploded a couple of seconds later, tearing a chunk out of the floor… roof… whatever.

"Get the rachni!" Andersen yelled, as he brought his own rifle around to face the horde.

"On it!" Yui replied, setting off at a run and loading a fresh shell into his shotgun.

_Crack crack. Crack crack crack. Crack crack_. One by one, the Cannibals fell dead in the distance, as Andersen poured out more rounds from his Phaeston. He turned to fire on the Marauders too, but had to dodge away as the Ravager sent a volley his way, almost taking his feet from beneath him.

Even as he hit the rooftop, however, launching into a neat tuck and roll, Yui was _charging _at the bug. He slid a hand down the side of his Claymore, raised his gun-

And let rip with a deafening _bang!_ A Carnage round flashed out into the open air, and the rachni… _burst_. Bright green acid went up like a fountain, and a couple of husks either side went staggering away, flailing and screeching as the stuff burned them. Andersen just set his eye to his sights, and found one of the surviving Marauders:

_Crack crack crack._ The creature's chest exploded, and it toppled to the floor.

_Crack! _He found the head of another, standing next to it, and that one fell to.

"Kamur!" he called, bringing up the radio as Yui dove on the last Marauder. "What's your status?"

"Under heavy fire!" the turian replied. "Got a few wounded!"

"Critical?"

"Negative! A couple of cuts and scrapes, and I took a round to the shoulder, but that's all…"

"Just keep your heads down! Moreno's working on our solution!"

"You'll forgive me if I don't feel too confident in- shit! Zel, shooter up high, knock the bastard down!"

"On it!"

_Wham! _Another drop, on the far corner of the rooftop. Half a dozen or more, and Andersen had to duck aside as rifle rounds came whistling his way. Yui, on the other hand, went rushing in, yelling to high heaven as he always did. The human went aim, but as he did:

"Andersen!"

"Moreno?"

"The patch is done… I think. Get back here!"

"Damn it… Yui, you alright here?"

"Yup!" the krogan replied, cheerfully. As he said it, he was throwing one Cannibal off the roof, and punching out a second. Two more were already dead at his feet, along with a human husk.

Slinging his rifle onto his shoulder and turning his back on the firefight, Andersen made for the elevator. Moreno was still hunched over the crate, omni-tool open… and side bleeding. Clearly, some of the crossfire had gotten through.

"Are you alright?" he asked, with a genuine flicker of concern.

"I… I think so," she nodded. "Shot to the arm. I tried to patch it up with medi-gel…"

"Alright… what do I need to do to set this thing off?"

"Transmit your ident. With any luck, it'll recognise you as project staff."

Nodding wordlessly, the engineer pulled out his omni-tool, and swiped it over the console on the crate's side. There was a flicker, a flash, and then a roundel spun up on the display… After a moment, it turned green, to a sigh of relief from Moreno. A pressured _hiss _followed, there was a whir of activity from within the 'EMP'…

And quite suddenly, the topside _popped_, allowing Moreno to throw it open. Resting within, barely taking up a tenth of the crate's length, was a single, pearly orb, surrounded by a flickering blue veil.

"The _fuck?_" Andersen murmured. "It's a box? All this time, you were getting us to carry a _box?_"

"Well on the bright side, you were right. It's not an EMP," she muttered, sarcastically.

"What _is _it?" he asked, nodding to the orb.

"Classified. Now give me some light, I need to-"

_Boom!_

"Rah! Damn it!"

He whirled around, just in time to see Yui hit the ground, a thick curtain of smoke rising beyond him. The krogan stumbled upright a moment later, Andersen brought his rifle round… and a pair of skeletal wings carved up through the smoke.

"Harvester!" Kamur bellowed, on the radio. "Take it down!"

"We're on it!" Andersen replied, scrambling away and putting as much distance between himself and Moreno as possible to keep her out of the firing line. Even as he did, however, the Harvester was swinging around to face him.

This was going to suck.


	485. Operation Tremor Part 14

**A/N: Sooo... I'm not dead. Nor am I hurt, or ill, or whatever else. Just very, _very _busy. I'd have updated sooner, but writing this story again after two months of it gathering dust is actually pretty hard. Think I'm back into the swing of it now, but I guess you guys will be the judge of that.**

**As for future updates, I'm afraid they're not going to be regular any time soon, because to be frank, I just don't have that much free time these days. I'll update when I can, and right now I have three in the can (updates for today, tomorrow, and Boxing Day), but if you want to catch new chapters as they come, you'll need to just keep checking back or put this thing on email alert, because there won't be a schedule.**

**That said, I've really enjoyed writing Galaxy at War again. I still have a plot framework written down from before I went away, and I intend to finish it, however slowly. In the meantime, enjoy, and hope you have a very happy Christmas...**

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><p><em><strong>Sarlik Spaceport, Oma Ker<strong>_

_**Day 1, 1840**_

_Bang._

"Raargh!"

_Thud._

Andersen dropped to one knee, a few tiny sparks skidding off his kneepad as he brought his rifle up to fire. Ahead, the Harvester had just shrugged off a Claymore round as if it were nothing, before knocking Yui back down to ground with a heavy, taloned foot.

"_Brute moving in," _one of the turians called, over the radio. _"Sir, watch that flank-"_

The engineer tapped his helmet, and the radio fell silent, leaving him alone with the gunshots, the Reapers' roaring, the sights on the end of his rifle…

_Boom! _Through those same sights, he saw a blaze of red, and a wave of force and pressure hurled him off his feet, head over heels across the rooftop. A baying scream filled his veins, and as he staggered upright again, he saw the monstrous thing launch up a few feet, flapping once before thudding down a little further along the rooftop, leering at its prey.

Muffled by his now-silent radio, Andersen saw a scarlet flash light up the air, as Yui sent a Carnage round barrelling into the side of the Harvester's head. Its neck whipped around with what he imagined was a baleful roar, before the thing came back at his krogan fellow, sending another shot his way.

As Yui dove off to the left, narrowly avoiding the fiery blast that followed, Andersen cut right, hefting his rifle again and scoring shots across the creature's belly.

"Moreno!" he yelled. "How long?"

"Thirty seconds!" the scientist replied, frantically.

"Yui, buy her the time!"

He didn't really need to ask - even as he said it, the krogan was _charging_, letting out a blood-curdling roar and leaping at the Harvester's head, lowered to fire. In a single mighty bound he reached it, lashing out with the full weight of weapon and bayonet and driving it deep under the creature's eye. The krogan bounced down on the other side, took two stumbling steps, and-

_Wham. _A leathery wing came down out of nowhere, catching him around the jaw and levelling him.

Andersen could do little more than try to draw it off. With one hand, he sent a fireball skidding at the Harvester from his omni-tool, catching a segment of the monster's wing in flame. With the other, he reached for a grenade, primed it, tossed it to his now-free main hand, and _pelted _it like a baseball.

_Bang! _The little frag grenade slammed into the Harvester's jaw, and it screeched once before taking off, sweeping over the edge of the roof with one great flap of its wings and coming to hover a little ways beyond, out of reach. Even as Andersen went for his rifle, he saw the nightmare's head rock back on its serpentine neck, then lurch forwards:

_Boom, boom, boom. _The ground beneath his feet _exploded_, to a series of deafening thunderclaps and a barrage of scarlet fire. Some impact knocked the air from his lungs, and he felt his legs go out from underneath him. A moment later, he was skidding back across the roof, half sliding, half rolling, and by the time he came to a halt his ears were ringing, his chestplate steaming from an impact that had obliterated his shields.

The Harvester itself took off, soaring away from the roof in a lazy circle as if searching for a better shot. As he tried to battle upright, Andersen saw it turn, cartwheel once, and aim a messy shot at Yui, who had just clambered to his feet himself. The krogan went bouncing away like a ragdoll, Claymore skidding off across the rooftop…

"Moreno!" the engineer coughed, thumping his chest as if to will breath back into his lungs.

He received no reply - instead, he heard the murmur of an omni-tool, and a low, resonant _hum _filled his ears. Moreno dove hastily away from the package, and a green-blue glow was peeking over the lid of the crate.

Andersen's attention tore back to the fight, as the Harvester gave a bellicose screech and dove at their backs. It barely got halfway, however, before a bright flash shot out from behind the engineer's shoulder. Moreno yelped and thudded down next to him, as a silver shimmer passed the Harvester's spine from head to tail. It screeched again, narrowed its wings into a diving swoop…

And ploughed straight into the wall of the spaceport below, head-first. There was a rumble like thunder, and an unearthly scream, joined by smaller shouts of surprise and dismay on the ground below.

Andersen's first instinct was to dive for his radio, flicking the battle chatter back on with a sense of panic.

"Kamur!" he barked. "Everyone alright down there?"

"Moreno, what the _fuck _did you just do?"

So… Kamur was okay, then.

"Harvester's dead!" Grattus chimed in, sounding similarly shell-shocked. "Reaper infantry are turning their guns on each other! What the hell is this?"

"It's… classified…" Moreno panted, eyes meeting Andersen's for just a moment before staring back at the ground.

"Like hell it is…" the engineer replied, similarly breathless. "What's the radius?"

"About… about four klicks."

"Enough for a clear LZ. Kamur, get an IR beacon down, and radio the Cambrai! We need to be out of here before whatever that was wears off…"


	486. Operation Tremor Debrief

**A/N: Even for a briefing, this one's... a little short. Proper Christmas present coming up this evening.**

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><p><em><strong>SSV Cambrai, Aethon Cluster<strong>_

_**Day 1, 1720**_

Within an hour of the… whatever that was on Oma Ker, the squad was back aboard the Cambrai. The survivors of Clan Suroc and the Taetrus Fifth were licking their wounds in the hangar, while the Cambrai's own team had been summoned up to the war room for a rather subdued debrief, after a quick trip to the med bay. Even as he watched the chatter circling around the table, Andersen was holding an ice pack to his shoulder - his armour had buckled around it when the Harvester hit him, producing a ring of bruises across the joint.

"… successful activation," Moreno was blabbering, to Admiral Hackett's hologram, "in a four-kilometre radius. From what we've seen, the effects are even better than we hoped from the commander's description… a total success."

At that, someone _snorted _loudly, and all eyes turned to Kamur, standing at Andersen's side.

"Captain Destra?" Hackett rumbled.

"Sorry…" the turian grunted. "I just couldn't hear the corporal over the sound of her own bullshit."

Andersen felt his brow rise, and in the corner, Murphy exchanged a surprised glance with Zel. Yui just chuckled, gruffly.

"_Excuse me?_" Moreno laughed, hollowly.

"If that was a total success, I'd hate to see one of your failures," he muttered. "My team's in shreds. Your team is _dead_. The Alliance division that was defending them? Also dead. If it wasn't for the krogan, _we'd _be dead, and all things considered, it might have been cheaper to drop an actual EMP…"

"As we speak, the Alliance is moving to drop more artifacts across Oma Ker," she hissed, "all because our test worked. We just saved your planet, and you are _quite _welcome."

"Oh, don't even get me started on _that_," Kamur growled, taking an angry step forward. "You dropped a mind control device, of uncertain origin, untested, on _our_ world, and you didn't even tell us what you were doing!"

"That artifact was a classified Alliance project-"

"Then test it on an Alliance world!" the captain bellowed, catching everyone a little off-guard. Under his breath, he added a turian word which Andersen could only assume was… foul, given the way he spat it. After a couple of deep breaths, he continued icily: "What if it had blown up? Or done nothing? Or controlled _our _minds? What would you be telling the Hierarchy then?"

"That we tried our best, with the intention of saving their world-"

"And failed, to the cost of their soldiers as well as yours…"

The room fell silent, harshly so, and for a few moments, everyone in the room was shuffling awkwardly as Kamur and Moreno continued to glare at each other. Finally, it was Admiral Hackett who broke the silence.

"I will discuss this matter with AEC, and with the Hierarchy… Captain Murphy, your men are dismissed back to Admiral Singh's purview. Well done down there."

"Aye aye, sir," the captain nodded, as the hologram flickered out. "Corporal Moreno, shuttle's waiting to take you back to the Perugia. Rest of you, you're dismissed to crew deck."

"Got it, captain," Zel smiled, more to break the awkwardness than anything else. It didn't work.

Moreno slipped around on her heel and made for the door, swiftly followed by the fuming Kamur. Somewhat reluctantly, Zel set off in their wake, sighing a little and rubbing her brow. As Andersen made to leave, however, a voice rose from across the table:

"Corporal!" the captain barked. "Has that shoulder been seen to?"

"Well enough," Andersen shrugged, stepping out of Yui's way as the krogan passed him on his way to the door.

"Good," Murphy nodded. "I need a word. Upstairs, my office."

"Aye aye, sir."


	487. Downtime 47

**A/N: So... last chapter didn't upload properly. Uploading it now, and I'll put this one up anyway. Merry Christmas, all.**

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><p><em><strong>SSV Cambrai, Aethon Cluster<strong>_

_**Day 1, 1730**_

"So…" Murphy began, slumping down to perch against his desk. "How was Oma Ker?"

"Like hell, sir," Andersen muttered. "But then, so are most of the places we go these days."

"And AEC? What was it like working with them again?"

"Eye-opening."

"How so?"

The engineer hesitated, biting his lip just a little.

"Permission to speak freely?" he sighed, after a moment.

"I'm not engineering corps," the captain shrugged. "And my hands were tied on the mission. Speak all you want, Andersen."

"Alright. AEC should not be deployed to active warzones. They build bridges, they don't fight wars."

"The deployment on Oma Ker was just a delivery team," Murphy pointed out, playing devil's advocate.

"Granted. But that girl who was with us? She barely knew how to fire a gun, sir. I don't know about the rest of her team, but judging by how easily the Reapers wiped them out, I'm guessing they weren't much better."

"Reapers cut through a whole armoured division too, corporal."

"Because that armoured division wasn't dug in properly. AEC sent scientists, not sappers, and they didn't know a god-damn thing about defensive tactics, yet their CO had charge of the whole operation, including the _turians_, if they'd arrived on time. Science staff ordering about marines is bad enough, but what if they'd put the turians in a killing field, too? The scientists should have been treated as HVTs, not officers, and there's no way a captain without combat experience should have been left in charge of an op that big."

"Engineering corps made it clear they were to run the show. Their prototype, their mission."

"Then marine corps should have told them no- their troops, _their _mission. As far as I'm concerned, that entire balls-up down there is on AEC's head…"

"Harsh words considering you're an engineer, corporal."

"Yeah, well… doesn't feel much like it after today, sir."

"Ah. 'Eye-opening'…"

Andersen just nodded as, to his surprise, an enigmatic smile crept over Murphy's features.

"I've got something for you," he muttered, turning to his desk and rooting around for a moment, before recovering a datapad and handing it to Andersen. "Here."

The engineer took it, bemused at the sudden tangent, and set about reading it. He had barely glanced across the first line, however, before his brow rose and his jaw dropped.

"Sir… this is an officer's commission."

"To the rank of second lieutenant," Murphy nodded, still smiling wryly.

"Is this for real?" Andersen asked.

"You think I could forge it?" he chuckled. "Admiral Hackett signed it two days ago. He's the commander in chief, now Shastri's dead."

"And… it's for _me?_" the engineer murmured, incredulously.

"Call it a late birthday present," Murphy grinned. "I passed off your combat metrics and your performance assessments to Hackett, and he agrees you've got all the qualities of a late-entry officer. Courage, fortitude… all that stuff they love in the mottos."

"How did he get it past AEC?"

"He… didn't."

Andersen looked up, a wordless query on his face.

"It's not a straight promotion, Andersen. It's a transfer."

"To…?"

"Marine corps. Permanent posting aboard the Cambrai, too. You said just now, you don't feel like an engineer any more? Well, that might be news to you, but the rest of us saw it a while ago. You fight well, you fight _smart_... and you've got a knack for leadership. That's wasted building bridges and fixing firewalls…"

The engineer didn't reply. He bit his lip, and looked down at the commission once again.

"I'm not convinced, sir…"

Murphy's brow rose.

"How so?"

"I got a fancy turian gun, and a good squad…" Andersen muttered. "That's… kinda like tilting the table."

"You don't think you're up to it…" the captain murmured.

Andersen stopped short of shaking his head, but he hesitated nonetheless, and looked down at his feet. Murphy's brow rose, and he looked to the ceiling, before an idea seemed to dawn on him.

"Alright…" he said, slowly. "I was gonna save this for afterwards, but if you don't think you're up for the job… this might help change your mind."

He pulled another, smaller datapad from the clutter on his desk, and tossed it to Andersen, who caught it deftly in his free hand and glanced down. As before, however, the engineer didn't get far - in fact, only as far as the silver 'N' emblazoned in the corner - before his eyes bulged and he gasped:

"Holy shit…"

"You don't think you're good enough?" Murphy nodded. "Rio Villa disagrees. Well… what's left of it, anyway."

"Captain, I'm… honoured, but this doesn't prove anything. You filed for my promotion, you filed an N commendation... the one doesn't give me any more reason to believe the other."

"Sure it does."

"_Why?_"

"Because I didn't file the god-damn commendation."

Andersen blinked, and looked up incredulously.

"You didn't?" he frowned.

"Nope. I passed it up the chain," Murphy said, grinning, "but I didn't write it."

"Who did, then?"

"Irving."

That _really _caught the engineer by surprise.

"Gunnery Chief Wolfe came to me after Eden Prime," the captain explained. "Asked me for the paperwork and my backing. Evidently, you impressed him, and if you don't trust my judgement, trust his. The man's N7 through and through. And if you're good enough for N7, you're sure as hell good enough for a commission."

Andersen flicked to the bottom of the commendation for good measure - there, sure enough, in a messy scrawl, was the signature: "G/Chief ". Well, that was… kinda nice, actually. He looked at the floor for a moment, ignoring the two datapads and trying to take in the sheer rush of information the last few minutes had poured into his tired, battle-weary brain…

"Well?" Murphy asked, eventually. "What's it to be, corporal?"

"_Lieutenant_," he corrected, simply.

"I'll take that as a 'hell yes sir, I'm in'," the captain grinned. "Congratulations, lieutenant."


	488. Downtime 48

_**SSV Cambrai, Aethon Cluster**_

_**Day 1, 1740**_

"Lieutenant?" Sam gawped. "You're kidding!"

"Unfortunately not," Andersen chuckled, with a lopsided smile.

"Ha! Attaboy!" his friend grinned, clapping him proudly on his good shoulder and almost knocking him off his stool. "Just don't go all snotty officer on me, huh?"

"Somehow, I think I can manage that," the engineer muttered.

"It's a good gig," Ethan nodded, from the far end of the mess hall bar. "I'd rather have a good technical officer than some berk who just got out of the academy."

"Well sure, you say that _now_…"

"Oh, shut up and enjoy it!" Sam scowled. Before Andersen could stop him, he spun around on his chair and yelled, to the rest of the mess hall: "Oi, you lot! Smarty-pants here just got a promotion, raise your glasses!"

"To Lieutenant Andersen!" Cash chimed in, flashing the man himself an apologetic grin. There was a rumbling in the hall at large, and a _clink_ing of glasses, accompanied by a loud bark of laughter from Hei Yui, sitting in one corner with a drink to ease his wounds.

A little burble of laughter drifted around the corner, and Andersen was surprised to see Sarah Jade emerge after it, grinning too.

"Welcome to the club," she smirked, reaching over the bar for a bottle of something as she did. "First or second lieutenant?"

"Second," he said, laughing before adding: "Captain wasn't getting _too _carried away."

"Ah, it's an easy jump," the biotic murmured, with a wave of her hand. "Half a year's posting, you'll get the bump up to first, no worries."

"Can people _please _stop plotting my career trajectory?" Andersen groaned.

"Sorry, comes with the job…" a gruff voice replied.

Irving stepped out in Sarah's wake, face grim and scarred as ever, but with the slightest of twinkles in his eye.

"Chief," the engineer nodded.

"LT. Just so we're clear, you still don't outrank me - got it?"

"Got it," Andersen grinned.

Sarah just rolled her eyes at that, and succeeded in fishing a slender wine bottle out from underneath the bar. She didn't see the slight nod of recognition that passed between the two of them, or the flicker of a smirk that passed over the big gunnery chief's features. After a moment, and with a nod from each, the two of them set off across the mess hall to join Alec, who had just emerged around the corner too.

"I reckon that's as close as you get to a seal of approval from the big guy," Sam smirked. "Take it as a compliment."

"I'll try," the engineer chuckled. "Hell, my self-esteem could do with the kick."

Vimes just grinned, and leant over the bar to the shelf beyond - the mess officer, sadly, had been lost in Cerberus' ambush - to recover a fat-bottomed green bottle. Andersen craned his head to read the label, but Ethan beat him to it:

"Tequila?" the sentinel frowned.

"Hey, we're celebrating!" the C-Sec man protested.

Before either of his friend could argue further, Sam had dosed them both, filling the glasses that had thus far remained empty beneath their noses. He topped up his own, slammed the bottle down, and sat back rather triumphantly.

"Drink!" he commanded.

Ethan and Andersen exchanged a _look_… then, they shrugged, and went for their glasses along with Vimes. A few moments later, the three had each thrown back the contents, and were reacting with various measures of composure - Andersen kept his face neutral, Sam gave a hoarse chuckle, and Ethan leant down against the bar, coughing and spluttering a little.

"You're starting early…" a dry voice observed, smirk almost audible even before its owner even came into sight.

Andersen twisted around just in time to see Zel step into the mess hall, grinning… and accompanied by the Arness sisters. _Shit_. Even as Zel led them over, pecking Ethan on the cheek as she reached him, the engineer was exchanging an awkward glance with Cat. After a moment, she shuffled her feet and stared at the floor. He turned his eyes rather nervously back to his glass…

"What's the occasion?" Zel asked, cheerful as ever despite the rough fight on Oma Ker, and of course, completely oblivious to whatever was going on between her two more awkward friends.

"Somebody just got a promotion," Ethan grinned, twisting around on his stool to face her.

"Ah. Congratulations, Andersen."

"Hey!" Sam scowled. "You just assume it's him?"

"Correctly," Cash noted.

"Not the point!"

Andersen just rolled his eyes and cut him off, turning to the turian himself, and murmuring:

"Thanks, Zel. Still can't quite believe it."

"The rest of us can," she retorted, bluntly. "What are you now? Sergeant?"

"LT."

"Hey, another lieutenant. Join the club," Wendy smiled, from her shoulder.

"I'm not sure flight lieutenants count," Sam teased.

"They do too! Cat, back me up!"

"Huh?"

All eyes turned to Cat, and she shuffled awkwardly for a moment as if she hadn't really been following the conversation. Andersen just tried very hard not to meet her gaze.

"What?"

"Flight lieutenants count as lieutenants!" her sister repeated. "Right?"

"Well, it's in the name, isn't it?"

"Yeah, but flight stripes? I hear they just give those away…" Ethan muttered, smiling slightly as he joined in on the teasing. Zel shot him a warning glare, but one charming grin later she relented, simply rolling her eyes and folding her arms.

"Oh, that is _such _a myth," Wendy grumbled. "We had to complete-"

"Arness?" Sam sighed.

"Yes?"

"Shut up, and drink."

With that, he pressed the tequila into her hands - with remarkably little protest from the pilot, Andersen noted - and she took a cautious swig from the neck of the bottle.

"Wow…" she coughed. "That's… strong…"

"Navy knows its liquor," Vimes shrugged. "Pass it round."

"Yes. Right. Zel?"

"Dextro," the turian muttered, shaking her head.

"Oh, of course. Cat?"

"Hell no," the other sister chuckled, the slightest of twinkles returning to her eyes. "After last shore leave? I'm never drinking tequila again…"


	489. Downtime 49

_**SSV Cambrai, Aethon Cluster**_

_**Day 1, 2120**_

"Drink, drink, drink, drink!"

Murphy chuckled a little to himself, and kept his head down as he skirted around the mess hall towards the intel room. Several of his crew were still in there celebrating _Lieutenant _Andersen's promotion, and by the sounds of it, they'd raided the bar.

The captain, however, had business in mind. Tugging at the collar of his dress uniform - the ship was still simmering warmly after their jump from Oma Ker - he hit the console next to Kass' door, and let himself into the office.

Kass barely looked up on his arrival. He was sat at his desk on the right side of the room beneath a massive, empty comm screen, and with a trailing cable connecting the laptop at his fingertips to the server bank which occupied the far wall. The salarian had used an alcove between two more banks on the left to set up a hammock - a novel arrangement in a ship with a bunk room, but if it kept him at work, Murphy could hardly complain.

"Hope that lot aren't disturbing you," he chuckled, nodding his head through the wall to the mess.

"No, your engineers did quite a good job of soundproofing this place," Kass murmured, not looking up from his keyboard. "Why they thought the servers would appreciate silence I don't know, but I certainly do. What do you need?"

"Intel," Murphy muttered, leaning against one of the server banks on the left. "Got anything for me?"

"One, don't lean on that."

The captain blinked once, then awkwardly straightened up, apologetically dusting off the server with one hand.

"Two," Kass continued, "you'll have to be more specific. You want intel on a person, a planet, what?"

"Just give me something we can act on."

"I'll give you two things. Hold on…"

The salarian tapped something on his keyboard, and ran a hand over the holographic display of his laptop, quickly shuffling several windows around. With one last tap, he leant back in his chair, waving his arms in a victorious gesture as those windows bloomed into life on the giant screen above his desk. Reams of information ticking down the screen, two planets rotating gently in a corner each…

"What am I looking at here?" the captain frowned.

"Opportunities," the salarian replied, simply. "These are the only two solid leads I've got right now."

"How solid is solid?"

Kass just snorted and shot him a look, as if to say: _"Please."_

"Alright…" Murphy muttered. "What are they?"

"One's a… logistical mission, the other's a recon opportunity. Which do you want to hear about first?"

"Let's go with logistics. Usually a safe place to start…"

"Hm. Fair enough," Kass nodded, rising out of his chair to stand next to Murphy. "In the interests of full disclosure, this one comes from my… other employer."

"This is my ship, buddy, you can speak freely - this mission's for the Shadow Broker?"

"Not directly, but it involves his assets."

"_Her_ assets."

Kass just glared at him, contemptuously.

"You recognise the planet on the left?" the salarian asked, shuffling right on past the impasse and pointing to a pale red orb in the upper left of the screen.

"Afraid not. Should I?"

The broker just shrugged, and continued:

"It's a crappy little world called Yasilium. Surface temperature's minus one hundred, but there's no water for snow. Just wind storms and freezing cold."

"So why are we interested in it?"

"Because over the last few centuries, that crappy little world has hosted a number of mining colonies. First wave came for iridium, second for titanium. Specialists moved in later to start mining bauxite."

"And we're talking about… the asari?"

"It's in the Silean Nebula, so yes. But the asari bailed off Yasilium a long time ago. Profit margin wasn't wide enough for big business, so the old mining colonies depopulated, and the planet was abandoned."

"Then why are we interested in it?"

"Because most of the mining infrastructure is still down there. Removing it would have cost more than abandoning it."

"Ah. I think I'm starting to see where this is going…"

"Indeed. There might not be profits in those mines, but we're not after credits. We're after resources, and there's still plenty left down there. Iridium, titanium, some alumina…"

"That's… arms manufacture and shipbuilding right there," Murphy nodded. "Valuable stuff."

"On that, we agree. As does the Shadow Broker - a month ago, we sent a requisition team in beneath the radar. They landed at an old mining plant on the equator, restarted the drills, and began tearing out the last of the mineral deposits."

"They've been there for a month without the Reapers catching on?"

"Reapers hit the Loropi system hard," Kass shrugged. "It was their first point of contact in asari space. They destroyed solar collectors around the system's central star, wrecked fuel infrastructure on Paphos, and swept Yasilium to confirm the planet was still abandoned. Then, they moved on to fight the asari fleets elsewhere."

"Why do I sense a 'but' coming on?"

"Because you're not a blind optimist," the salarian deadpanned. "According to what little sensor coverage we've got left, the Reapers are moving back into the Loropi system - why, I don't know. According to our initial plans, the mining operation was going to last for another month. Obviously, that timeframe will have to be accelerated, but it's too dangerous for the Broker's freighters to move in now the Reapers are doing the same. We need your stealth systems."

"So this is just a goods pickup?"

"No, it's a hot extract from right underneath the Reapers' noses. We go in, grab the materiel, and fight our way out if necessary."

"Team?"

"Same as the Broker's own brief: Heavy lifters, cold-weather operators, solid fighters in a pinch."

"Alright. What's our timeframe?"

"Reapers are already in-system. The miners have been briefed, but they're running hour by hour right now. They'll be discovered any day now."

"Shit… so, priority job."

"Perhaps," Kass nodded, although he was holding _something _back.

"What about the other… opportunity?"

"Recognise _that _one?" the salarian muttered, pointing to the other planet, this one in the bottom right of the screen.

"Ocean world…" Murphy noted. "Thick cloud cover inside the atmosphere… oh, you gotta be shittin' me. Kahje?"

"Kahje. You might be surprised to hear that the hanar homeworld was attacked, a little under a week ago."

"By the Reapers?"

"Who else? That said, the invasion force was far smaller than any the Reapers have employed thus far. Small enough, in fact, that I'd say they were performing recon for a larger assault. Testing the water, so to speak."

The salarian snorted a little at his own joke, before continuing:

"The hanar actually fared well. Their automated defence network brought down several Reaper hostiles in orbit, and the rest retreated - no further assault has been forthcoming. However, debris from several of the wrecked destroyers fell in-atmosphere. In particular, the hanar city of Last Bastion was on the receiving end of a rather sizeable shot from above - Reaper wreckage was confirmed falling on the city, and communications have been blacked out ever since."

"Surely the hanar should be investigating that?"

"You'd think. But disaster responses aren't always logical. Well… unless you're salarian. Whatever the reason, the hanar response has been slow, to say the least. Repair teams are focusing on the orbital network over the surface cities, and the hanar's terrestrial military is almost non-existent. If we put out an offer of aid, I doubt they'll refuse it."

"What's the upside for us?"

"We get to cut off a potential threat before it manifests. At the very least, that debris represents an indoctrination threat on a major homeworld. And if any Reaper troops survived the wreck…"

"Alright, I get it. Recommendation?"

"Respond quickly. The terrain down there's likely to be tricky, so send operators who can adapt. The drell, too - emotional attachment usually adds a level of motivation to proceedings."

Murphy shuffled, a little uneasy at the clinical mention of 'emotional attachment'. Nonetheless, he had something else on his mind, and quickly backtracked:

"Respond quickly?" he frowned. "How quickly?"

"Indoctrination is a serious threat," Kass noted, gravely. "Perhaps even more so than Reaper troops on the ground. And the hanar have neglected both possibilities for the best part of a week…"

"So… pretty damn quick?"

"Yes. Pretty damn quick. Which puts us in something of a bind… two time-sensitive operations, one ship. We can't respond to both, captain."

"Sure we can."

The salarian looked up, a quizzical expression crossing his brow.

"Tantalus core, stealth systems…" he murmured. "All high-tech, but I don't recall this ship having the ability to be in two places at once."

"Our shuttles are FTL-capable, smartass. We can send a Kodiak to one target, and take the Cambrai to the other."

"You think that'll work? The shuttle team will be going without support…"

"We've done it before," Murphy shrugged. "Illium and Logasiri. Question is, which target do we hit with the Cambrai?"

"Yasilium," Kass replied, confidently. "We need the ship for the cargo pickup."

"Then we head for the Silean Nebula, and dispatch a shuttle to Kahje," the captain nodded. "I'll run it past Admiral Singh and put the teams together. Good work, Kass."

"That's what you… _don't _pay me for, captain."


	490. Operation Core Briefing

_**Eradi Mines, Yasilium**_

_**Day 1, 0400**_

"Cambrai, this is Alpha, shuttle's clear. We'll make contact and mark your LZ."

"Copy that, Alpha. I'll keep one eye on the ladar. Akito out."

With a swipe of his hand, Murphy killed the comms screen, and stepped back into the middle of the compartment, glancing around at his team. Two snipers, one soldier, one sentinel… and two hulking krogan.

"Urgh…" Sam moaned, foggily. "Cap, why did you have to drag me along? At four in the morning?"

"I need cold-weather operators and solid point men," Murphy muttered. "That's you, even if you choose to get yourself a goddamn hangover."

"Not much choice involved," the C-Sec man groaned. "But point taken, sir."

The captain just rolled his eyes, and turned to the rest of the team. Between Sam at one end and the krogan at the other, Kan'Sura and Kass were a contrasting combination of small and sober, while opposite them and rounding out the team was Alec, checking his sights for the third time - a compulsive habit he seemed to have picked up from Irving.

"Kass, you've got the schedule," Murphy continued, slumping down into a seat himself. "Talk 'em through it."

"Alright…" the salarian nodded. "Miss Arness is dropping us right inside the mining complex - through the overland garage access, to be specific. We link up with the Broker's team, gather up the materiel they've gathered, and get it to the roof for pickup from the Cambrai. Temperatures on the ground are below minus ninety, so for goodness' sake keep checking your thermal shields."

"Yui, Dax, Alec, you're here to do the heavy lifting," the captain added, matter-of-factly. "Sam, Kan, you're on lookout. Me and Kass'll deal with the Broker's men. Cat!"

"Sir?" the pilot called, from the cockpit.

"Get us down there, ASAP. Time's a-ticking."

"Aye aye."

The shuttle lurched once and dove, nose pointing down towards what Murphy could only assume was the mining complex. They swayed a little under the fearsome winds that were tearing through the hills, but to her credit, Cat kept the little craft stable throughout, and a minute later, they were bumping gently down inside the garage.

"One last check on your thermal shields," Murphy muttered, glancing at his own omni-tool as he spoke. "Sam, Kan, cover the garage doors. Kass, with me. The rest of you, hang tight, we'll find a sitrep and get this thing moving."

He received a nod from each corner of the compartment, then straightened up and made for the door - Kass already had it open, and jumped out first, with Murphy swiftly following, and the two snipers bringing up the rear, rifles propped on their shoulders. As they cut around to left and right, however, making for the open garage door behind their backs, Kass and the captain set off for the access door on the other side of the garage, through which a trio of men in black and white armour were already emerging. The man in the middle was quite recognisably the leader, helmet clutched loosely in one hand despite the cold, and in contrast to the masked visages of his two colleagues.

"Friendlies?" the man barked, in a hoarse rumble.

"What do you think?" Kass retorted, shortly.

"Huh. Linron, I presume?"

"Pierce?"

"Aye."

The two parties drew up to each other, with Kass a pace ahead of Murphy and the Broker's man in front of his fellows. He was a dark-skinned human with a grizzled look to him, and a slight scowl on his face as he eyed up their shuttle.

"Think you might need a bigger bird," he grumbled, looking from the shuttle to Kass.

"She's incoming," the salarian scowled. "Alliance stealth frigate, SR2."

"Fancy. Who's your buddy?"

"The ship's captain," Murphy cut in, keeping his expression neutral and giving a slight nod of his head. "Zachary Murphy, Alliance Navy."

"Emmet Pierce, Shadow Broker's bitch," the agent chuckled, darkly. "How'd you get pulled into this, captain?"

"This git's got a way with words," the captain grinned, nodding at Kass.

"Heh, doesn't he just? Your ship good to go?"

"Soon as she's loaded, yeah. Is the roof clear for landing and loading?"

"Sure. Cargo elevator can get our shit up there."

"Right… Akito, you catch that?"

"Copy, captain!" the pilot replied, voice a little masked by static. "Got an update on our Reaper situation, too."

"Good news?"

"Could be worse."

Murphy sighed, and murmured:

"Go on then…"

"Incoming," Akito noted. "I give it… fourty minutes until they're right on top of you."

"Helpful as ever. Can you give me something more to work with?"

"Alrighty… twenty minutes until they start dropping troops. Thirty-two until they're in firing range."

"How many are we talking?"

"Two big contacts, probably capital-class. About half a dozen smaller ships, destroyers."

"Copy that. We'll aim to be gone in thirty" - he shot a meaningful glance at Emmet as he spoke - "now get your ass down to the roof. We're clear for pick up."

"Affirmative, sir. Dropping on the facility roof now."

The radio flickered into silence once more, and it was a moment or two before the conversation on the ground resumed, as Kass spoke up:

"Pierce, how much cargo are we talking?"

"Two dozen large cargo crates loaded and sealed, iridium and titanium. A half dozen more still on the drill lines."

"Get your men to work loading the sealed crates," the salarian ordered, matter-of-factly. "And push those drills to breaking point - they don't need to last. However much you've got in twenty minutes, that's what we're leaving with."

"Got it," Pierce nodded. "Dig up the dregs and bail. I'll send a couple men to get our ship's engines warmed up, and set the rest to work on the drills."

"Appreciate it," Murphy replied, his tone a good deal less bossy than Kass'. As the Shadow Broker's men set off through the door, he turned to his own crew, and continued: "Sam, Kan, stay on the doors, watch the overland approach. Yui, Dax, Alec, help the Broker's men load those crates. Cat, get your shuttle topside and back inside the Cambrai."

"Copy, sir," the pilot replied. "You three, get going so I can move this thing!"

The two krogan and the big corporal made to shuffle out, and Murphy turned to Kass, grabbing his rifle from his back as he did.

"Let's get inside," he murmured. "Keep an eye on those drills and-"

"See what goes wrong first?" the salarian deadpanned.

"Yeah. That."


	491. Operation Core Part 1

_**Eradi Mines, Yasilium**_

_**Day 1, 0410**_

"Alright, boys, spin up those drills, kill the safeties! I want every drop outta those veins!"

As Emmet bounded up onto the gantry in the middle of the room, yelling to his gathered men, Murphy and Kass were close on his heels, the former scanning the chamber intently. It was a large, industrial-looking hall, with a claustrophobically low ceiling and most of the floor covered by metal grille underfoot and railings at waist height. At the far end of the room, a large cargo elevator was already disappearing into the ceiling, with several humanoid figures atop it carrying large steel crates - a couple dozen more were stacked along the gantries. Off to left and right, half-functioning doors led off down ramshackle corridors towards the drilling stations - even as they entered, several of Emmet's men were disappearing down the foxholes to 'spin up the drills'.

"The rest of you, get those crates up and out!" Emmet continued. "Our bird's incoming on the roof, we got twenty minutes to move these fuckers!"

"This still don't feel right, Emmet," one of the Broker's men muttered, coming up to pass them on the gantry. "You know how much this stuff'd fetch in the Terminus?"

"Enough to tide you over for the length of an average crook's retirement," Kass interjected, sharply, "but I fail to see how a home in the sun and a string of prostitutes would help you survive the Reapers."

"Hey, you pickin' a fight, salarian?"

"No, he ain't," Emmet growled, stepping in between them. "Just get that goddamn cargo moving, deal's already done."

"Whatever you say, boss…" the grunt nodded, turning and striding off along the gantry.

"Retirement's overrated, anyway!" Kass called after him, receiving a reproachful look from the mercenary captain in return.

"Speaking from experience?"

"I never retired."

"Could've fooled me. Your trigger finger's lookin' dusty."

"Emmet… get to work," the salarian sighed.

"Aye aye," the merc replied, giving him a grin and a mocking salute as he backed off across the hall. "Captain, I'd appreciate your muscle men up here to help!"

"Yui, Dax, you heard the man," Murphy muttered, into the radio. "Alec, you too. Akito, you still on this channel?"

"Yessir."

"How long?"

"Ten minutes to infantry incoming."

"Twenty-two to getting the hell out of here," Kass added, dubiously.

"If you want to leave it to the last second, sure. Any chance we could… not, though?"

"Working on it," Murphy grunted.

"Oh, great…"

The captain just chuckled a little, and turned - verbally at least - to the rest of his squad.

"Cat, is your shuttle out of the way?"

"Just set her down inside the hangar," the pilot replied.

"Copy that. Sam, Kan?"

"In position," the quarian's voice answered. "Clear lines of sight to north, west and east. Better hope they don't come via south, I guess."

"I don't know about you, but I'm expecting them to come from all four sides," Murphy pointed out. "And above. And maybe below, if that's possible."

"I don't _think _it is…"

"That's optimism, right there. Keep the channel quiet until you get a visual."

"Understood."

The radio fell silent, and Murphy let out a little sigh, rubbing at the brow of his visor. Beside him, Kass was glancing around the hall, absent-mindedly and yet somehow purposefully at the same time.

"Poor defensive position," the salarian noted, drily. "Cover's limited to a couple of low railings, nothing substantial, and that elevator forms a choke point for the Reapers to mow us down."

"That's why we've got snipers in the garage," Murphy retorted.

"I get the plan," Kass muttered in reply. "First line of defence in the garage. Second in here. Third on the roof. My issue is when the first two collapse and we all get killed running for the third."

"Well… maybe we'll have the cargo loaded before they reach us."

Kass just _looked _at him.

"Yeah, yeah, I know… guy can dream, can't he?"

"Mhmm."

"Just… keep that gun handy."

"_Mhmm_."


	492. Operation Core Part 2

_**Eradi Mines, Yasilium**_

_**Day 1, 0420**_

"And you call _me _a lightweight."

"… fuck you."

Kan let out a rare chuckle, and hefted the scope of his Mantis up to his visor, peering out over the barren wasteland around them. Despite his earlier concerns, the south flank was occupied almost entirely by the cliff into which the mining facility was built, but off to the north stretched an expanse that was utterly devoid of life. Bloody freezing, too, although it was easy to forget that - there was no snow or ice, just a dry, dusty lack of heat.

On the opposite side of the large garage door, Vimes was nursing his Viper as if for support, rubbing his temple every few minutes and groaning on occasion. Big baby.

"Alpha, this is Cambrai," the radio murmured. "Ten minutes are up."

"Don't suppose we're gonna get off lucky today?" Murphy sighed.

"Negative, sir. Small contacts just broke off from the big guys. Incoming."

"Direction?"

"Up."

"Snipers, you heard him! Heads up!"

Kan did just that, stepping out from the shelter of the doorway and casting his gaze up high. As he did, a golden _dot _went whistling overhead, thudding down somewhere in the distance and skidding to a halt, kicking up dust and smoke as it did.

"Contact," the quarian muttered, into his radio.

_Wham_. Another dot came down, this one close enough that the cloud it kicked up filled Kan's visor, blinding him for a moment and showering red dust through the doorway behind him.

"Contact!" he yelled again, as lumbering forms appeared through the haze of his vision.

"Get back, _now!_" Sam bellowed, from the doorway.

It was all Kan could do to scramble back between the garage doors, hurling himself off to the left and into the safety of cover. Even as he twisted around, wiping the worst of the scarlet dust off of his visor, Vimes was leaning out and taking aim with his rifle, eye pressed to the scope.

_Crack, crack. Crack crack! _Kan scrambled to his feet as the C-Sec sniper opened fire, and he reached the corner of the door just in time to see him let off another burst of fire, punching through a husk's head from temple to temple.

Even as Kan brought up his own rifle, taking aim, another meteor came hurtling down on the left, slamming into the side of a low ridge and sending Reaper creatures tumbling down it. Leaving Sam to keep the centre clear, the quarian scoped down on the creatures as they slowed to a halt at the bottom of the slope, and flickered across the various forms now picking themselves up to their feet.

_Bang. _He picked the most dangerous, a turian Marauder, and landed a shot through its skull before it could rise. With a precision born of practice, he reached for his rifle's bolt without taking his eye off the scope - pulled it back, slid in a new round from his belt, and as he did so brought the scope to bear on the next target, a Cannibal that had just stumbled to all fours. _Bang_.

"Captain, what's the situation back there?" Sam called, as he dropped into shelter to reload.

"Loading up the last of the crates!" Murphy replied. "Can you hold up front?"

"As long as you need!" the detective nodded, speaking loudly over the sound of another drop hitting the plains ahead of them. With no reply, they set their guns to the outside, and opened fire:

_Bang! _No sooner had a rachni-creature come scuttling out of the mess than Kan had shot it between the eyes. It rolled grotesquely to one side, and Sam took the chance to shoot it once, popping the acid sac on its belly and showering the surrounding mob. As they hissed and bayed and staggered for a moment, he let rip, putting a _crack, crack, crack _of sniper fire through their ranks. By the time Kan had reloaded, they were little more than a huddle of re-dead corpses, all laid out in Yasilium's pale red dust.

"More coming down on the right flank," Kan noted, as three more of the 'meteors' came screaming down.

"One in the distance, centre," his partner noted. "Keep up the-"

_Wham!_ Both men ducked instinctively, as a deafening noise filled the air even through their helmets. A puff of smoke and dust came drifting down over their heads, and… wait, down? The _clang _of metal hitting the floor a moment later was the second clue, followed swiftly by the rush of cold at number three. The quarian wheeled around-

And found himself face-to-face with a screaming husk, just in time to lash out and kill it with his omni-blade. Judging by the chorus of screams and howls coming out from behind it, however, and the daylight drifting in from another angle…

"The _bloody _roof's gone!" Sam yelled, snatching Kan's thoughts before he could voice them.

"What?" Murphy snapped, over the radio.

Neither of the snipers got chance to reply, because something _huge_ had just shifted in the swirling mass of smoke and dust behind them. Then, with a baleful roar, the Brute came charging out at them.

"Shit!"

_Bang. _Kan barely looked at his scope, firing off his one round as he dove back and _somehow _putting it beneath the charging Brute's eye. Undeterred, the creature slammed through the space he had occupied a few moments prior, going head-first into the garage door and bending the damn thing like it was a flimsy sheet, not a foot-thick wall of steel. With a grunt and a roar, it lumbering around, searching for the quarian again, and:

_Crack, crack, crack. _Sam put a volley of fire at the creature's back, stinging it behind the neck and under the arm, and earning its ire in the process. It wheeled around, and went charging at him.

Kan stepped up to intervene, but a hail of fire coming through the door pushed him back, and as he dropped away, he noticed a greyish form bolting in from the left - a husk that had stumbled out of the drop, going ignored behind the much larger Brute.

_Bang. _He tore into the critter's gut with a high-calibre round, and it crumpled to the floor, leaving him to focus on the Brute - and the hail of crossfire - once again.

"Err, little help here?" Sam cried, as he hopped away from a wide swipe of the creature's claw hand, dropping his rifle and reaching for his sidearm as he did.

"Just keep it distracted!"

"What do you _think _I'm doing?"

Kan leant out of cover for a moment, and quickly ducked back as a burst of fire threatened to punch through his visor, the shooters outside persisting relentlessly. On the far side of the door, however, the Brute had narrowly missed Sam with an overhead strike, and he was scrambling backwards, letting off pistol shots between dekes and dodges…

With a sigh, the quarian went to his omni-tool for a remedy - a shield tech program, and a dose of bravery. _Fucking _bravery. Uttering a curse in Khelish, he triggered the program, reached for one of the sticky grenades on his belt, and darted out of cover.

Almost instantly, two rounds slammed into his flank, causing him to stumble slightly but doing no real harm, as his boosted shields took the brunt of the impact. There was a loud _hum _as they absorbed another round, and a screech of warning as they hit critical. Kan launched himself into a rough hurdle as another burst of fire skidded past his feet, and then he was passing into the shelter of the opposite door, running at the Brute's back.

He launched himself into the air with a graceless leap, kicked off the Brute's hip with his right foot, then planted his left behind one armoured shoulder and flung himself sideways. As he soared over its neck, he found just a moment to prime the grenade, slap it to the side of the creature's neck, and fall away to the right, rolling to a halt a few feet away, before:

_Bang!_ The Brute's head juddered on its neck, now barely more than a thread of muscle and sinew, and it swayed once, before toppling unceremoniously to the floor.

The Reapers, however, weren't letting up. No sooner had the big one died than a couple of little ones - screeching Cannibals - came rushing through the now defenceless garage door.

_Crack crack crack crack. _Sam dealt with them with a burst of pistol fire, bolting for cover as he did.

"You alright?" he called, over his shoulder.

"Think so!" Kan replied, patting his side where the Reapers' shots had found him - no blood, just a warm glow from his thermal shield.

"Captain!" the detective continued, pulling his omni-tool up with his free hand. "Reapers just breached the garage - came right through the god-damn roof!"

"Son of a… one of the drills is still running, guess we know what happened to the operators. Are the bases thermal shields holding?"

"Unlikely," Kass noted, sourly. Quite suddenly, Kan was aware of the cold biting at his arms and neck, even as his own thermal shield tried to stave it off.

"Can _you _hold?" the captain muttered, keeping his attention on the snipers.

"Long as you need," Sam repeated, with a nod.

"Aye aye. Hold them off, we'll get this lot moving. How long until the Reapers are in firing range, Cambrai?"

"Six minutes," Akito reported, drily.

"Then give us five."

"A whole sixty-second window? That'd be Christmas come early, captain."

"If you're extra good this year, I'll get you ninety," Murphy replied, sarcastically. "Keep those engines hot."


	493. Operation Core Part 3

_**Eradi Mines, Yasilium**_

_**Day 1, 0424**_

"Six minutes and counting," Murphy muttered, setting a timer to that effect on his HUD.

"We shouldn't _need _six," Kass noted, as the two of them made for the door to Drilling Station Four. Behind them, the main room was a hive of activity, as Emmet's men, assisted by Alec and the krogan, hauled as much of the cargo as they could up the cargo elevator, with only two or three, led by Emmet himself, remaining behind to hold the room in case Sam and Kan failed.

The captain almost opened his mouth to dissent as they came up on the drill door - a livid red 'locked' symbol occupied the centre of it - but Kass had no such concerns. He simply raised his omni-tool, swiped it over the locked door, and whatever safety system was barring it shut gave up, springing the thing aside to let them into the short corridor beyond. Ahead from there was another door, also locked, which sealed the way into the drilling station proper, while holographic screens on the walls to left and right were displaying all kinds of data about the operation - now, they were blinking madly with safety alerts, warnings, or garbled static…

"Drill team four, come in," Kass sighed, more for the sake of formality than anything else. The team had missed their last status update, and three hurried comm checks prior to that.

Rather cautious given the news Sam and Kan had just reported, the sniper and the salarian fell in either side of the door, checking their weapons and their shields. Murphy was clutching his Avenger, while Kass bore a Locust and his omni-tool, one in each hand.

"Ready?" the captain asked, after a moment.

The salarian just nodded, and ran his glowing omni-tool across the door lock. It gave a hiss, then fell away.

They were met with a puff of smoke and dust and steam, which billowed through the door in a thick cloud and obscured their vision for just a second or two. Then, they spun through the door, Murphy first, Kass on his heel, both casting around with their weapons.

The drilling station had been decimated by some great impact, and it certainly _looked _like the Reapers had come crashing through the roof. The whole room had caved in on one side, roof sagging, debris littering the floor. Bright light and intense cold were pouring in through a hole in the ceiling, roughly the size of a small skycar.

"Bodies," Kass observed, stoically. Indeed, two men in the armour of the Shadow Broker - black with white insignia - were laid out on the far side of the room, both… pretty monstrously wounded. One had fallen over the controls, arms splayed out, rifle dropped behind the drill console. The other was in the middle of the room, neck torn raggedly, midriff bloody, a dead Cannibal just a foot away. There was another beneath the impact site, a third on the far side of the room, cut down by rifle fire, and-

_Wham_. Before Murphy could turn to check the rest of the room, something caught him in the back of the head. It took a moment to register the weightlessness, the floor zipping by in a slight haze of blue, and it took his brain still longer to realise the hit was biotic.

"Wha-?"

_Skree…_

Murphy hit the deck and bounced once, before sliding into the far wall with a loud crunch. As he rolled over, too late, he saw the monstrous, lithe form emerging from the back corner of the room, shadowed under the lip of the torn roof. The Banshee's arms were still glittering from the biotic effort that had thrown him…

Kass wheeled around, bring up his SMG and managing two shots to the creature's waist before a slender, clawed hand came swiping down at him. Even as Murphy cast around for his rifle - it had clattered down a few feet away, by the control console - the hand closed around the salarian's neck, and he gave a small grunt of pain.

Quite suddenly, he was _pulled _off his feet. The Banshee dragged him up along the wall, leaning to scream in his face as Murphy went scrambling for his gun. He found it with a free hand, but it had wedged behind the console, stuck fast and unmoving. He cast his eye back to the doorway, and the unfortunate salarian was four feet off the ground, legs dangling as the Banshee continued to scream, filling Murphy's ears with a mournful wail…

And quite suddenly, he found his omni-tool. With a metallic whistle, it unfolded, two short prongs curving out from either side of his wrist. Still slightly dazed, it took Murphy a moment to realise what it was.

Then, Kass brought the omni-bow up, quite casually, and put a bolt through the monster's hand.

It screamed, more noisily than ever, and the skeletal fingers jerked apart, releasing their prey to the floor. Kass hit it running, putting as much space between himself and the Banshee as he could, diving towards Murphy. As he skidded to a halt a foot or so away, the captain gave up on retrieving his wedged rifle, and went instead for the Mantis on his back. The Banshee turned towards them, bolt still lodged through one hand, hissing monstrously. Beautiful as Kass' escape had been, the fact remained they were a few feet from the creature, with it between them and the door. It leant in, eyes soulless and searching…

_Bang._ It shook once, a shiver passing down its spine as Murphy put a round between those eyes. Then, with another hideous scream, it began to melt away before their eyes, crumpling to the floor in a mess of blue fire and ash.

A moment of silence followed, as both men stared and caught their breath. The room was still thick with cold, and thicker with smoke, Murphy's gun smoke mingling with the plume from the sparking console.

"That… was a somewhat better rescue," Kass nodded, from the floor.

"Yeah…" Murphy panted, still bracing the rifle. "Performance under pressure, you know?"

The salarian snorted a little, and rose to his feet, making immediately for the console.

"Emmet!" he barked, opening up the radio. "We've got the drill."

"What's it look like?"

"Big, grey, vaguely mechanical…"

"The situation," Emmet growled, "not the fucking drill!"

In the reflection of the console screen, Murphy saw Kass roll his eyes, swiping his omni-tool over the controls as if to try and salvage something from the smoking remains.

"Your men are dead," the salarian muttered, matter-of-factly. "Several dead Reaper creatures. Controls are shot, but I think there's enough left under the surface to-"

"Shut off the drill? Great," the mercenary snapped, cutting off what Murphy suspected was a long, rambling explanation of the tech behind the action.

"Philistine," Kass murmured, under his breath.

"We're bringing the cargo elevator down now," Emmet continued. "Final run - let's grab the last of the crates, and get the fuck outta here!"

"Fine by me," Murphy nodded. "Sam, Kan, fall back to the loading bay, we've got what we came for!"

"Affirmative," the quarian replied, over a mess of gunfire in the background. "On our way, captain."


	494. Operation Core Part 4

_**Eradi Mines, Yasilium**_

_**Day 1, 0428**_

"Grab the cargo, come on, move, move, move!"

Emmet's men were already leaping down from the elevator as Murphy burst into the loading bay once again, Kass ever so slightly behind his heel. Head and shoulders above the mercenaries, Yui and Dax went lumbering off for two of the crates stacked nearby - a quick scan of the room gave a count of four, and even as the krogan grabbed theirs, the Shadow Broker men were making for the other two, two men at least to each. The rest advanced across the room with Emmet, clutching at rifles, shotguns, handguns…

_Crack crack. Crack crack. _The sound of gunfire tore Murphy's attention away, just in time to see the last members of his team come sprinting at the open door. Sam was a couple of paces behind, running backwards and blasting off shots from his Viper to cover Kan through the door.

_Bang. _On a cocktail of instinct and adrenaline, the captain snapped his rifle up to his eye and picked off a husk bolting at the C-Sec officer's side. Behind the two fleeing snipers, a mess of crossfire was coming at them, baying creatures rushing at the narrow bottleneck of the doorway.

"Move!" Murphy roared, hand sliding up to the bolt of his rifle and yanking it back. Sam glanced back over his shoulder, gave the slightest of nods, and then slung his own gun up over his shoulder, setting off at a full sprint through the door after Kan, who had now fallen in to one side.

"Time to go!" Emmet barked, drawing up next to the captain with a Carnifex outstretched towards the door. "We need to-"

_Thud. _One of the black-armoured mercenaries dropped, a stray round of crossfire catching him under the jaw as it whistled through the door.

"Jesus!" the mercenary leader swore, almost _leaping _backwards. "We gotta now, somebody drag him!"

"No point," Kass snapped, coldly. "He's dead, leave him."

Emmet growled at that, but one glance down seemed to prove the salarian right - the unfortunate merc was splayed out motionless, a rather copious amount of blood now spilling out of the exit wound behind his ear. For a moment, the motley gathering around the door seemed to pause in indecision, before the captain took charge of proceedings:

"Sam, Kan! Ammo?"

"Low."

"Get moving," he nodded. "We've got rearguard."

The two snipers knew better than to hesitate or argue - they set off at a run towards the elevator, overtaking several of Emmet's men on their way. Murphy just propped his rifle in one hand and backed away from the doorway, as more fire came whistling through it. Through that odd gravity of squad movement, Emmet and Kass backed off with him, as did half a dozen or so of the Broker's men, still with them in a messy firing line.

_Bang! _A grenade ricocheted off the doorframe, buckling it in the middle and throwing metal debris their way. A stumbling husk came after it, but before any of them could pull the trigger on it, Kass had beaten them to the punch, landing a biotic blast that turned to creature to shimmering dust in a heartbeat. Another came after it, however, and then another - Emmet took the first with his pistol, a couple of his men mowed down the second... with a dull rattle, another grenade came flying through, this one skittering harmlessly off across the room, and-

_Boom!_

It took Murphy a moment to gather his senses. When they returned, he was bowed down on one knee, rifle clutched tight to his chest, a sense of light and cold on his back…

"Captain!" someone hollered - maybe Alec? "Drop, through the roof! Watch your backs!"

_Crack crack crack… _the warning came a moment too late, as a torrent of fire opened up on their firing line from behind. Two of the mercenaries went down, shot to ribbons, and Emmet stumbled forward, shields flaring as a round slammed into his back. A moment later, however, he wheeled around, as did Murphy, and they brought their weapons to bear. The big merc sent heavy rounds skidding through the squad of Cannibals that had just arrived, while Murphy picked off the Marauder leading them with a well-placed shot to the head.

Only a crackle of SMG fire behind his head reminded Murphy that the enemy were on both flanks. Even as Kass laid into the creatures on their rear, one of the Broker's men took a shot through the leg and fell. His fellow leant down, making to grab him under the arm, and-

_Bang! _A grenade wiped the both of them away, in grisly fashion. Murphy, Kass and Emmet exchanged a glance for just a moment, and all of their minds seemed to be made up.

They set off at a sprint, rounds cracking around their heads, screeches and howls coming from the now-abandoned doorway. Ahead across the room, the five crates had been stacked on the cargo elevator, and the remainder of Emmet's men were taking cover behind them, letting off covering fire whenever they could. Sam and Kan were with them, and the krogan - finally freed to enter the fight - had taken one side of the elevator each, pouring machine gun fire across the bay.

Murphy gave up on taking any shots himself - he just ducked his head low beneath the covering fire, and slid a new round into his rifle. Emmet and Kass were running either side of him, along with two mercenaries-

_One _mercenary. The other had just fallen away, blood spraying from his chest as he took a shot to the back.

"Get it moving!" Murphy yelled, as they got within a few feet. Sam seemed to get the message first - he dove back from his cover, and slammed one fist into the control panel at the back of the elevator. There was a shudder, and the sound of mechanics grinding into life…

The captain hopped up just as the elevator began to rise, vaulting one of the cargo crates to land between Kan and one of the Broker's men. A moment later, Emmet joined them, immediately going to reload, and off on the far side of the lift, Murphy saw Dax haulKass up by one arm, even as the Reapers' fire nipped at his heels.

"Where's Alec?" he shouted over the firefight, finally noticing the marine's absence.

"Up top!" Yui replied, reloading his Claymore as he did. "They're on the roof, too!"

"Shit… fresh mags, everyone, cover all angles!"

There was a general air of panic as the surviving mercs and Alpha team made use of the moment's respite. Even as they went for fresh rounds and shifted to better positions, the sounds of battle were drifting down from above, rifle fire crying out loud…

"Sixty seconds," Kass noted, examining his omni-tool - apparently, _someone _was running a timer of their own.

"Emmet, you and your boys make a run for yours ship," Murphy muttered, a little breathlessly. "We've got enough men to secure the cargo."

"You sure?" the mercenary frowned.

"Sure," he nodded. "We've got the legs, you need a head start."

Emmet just grunted in assent, and made for the front side of the elevator with his pistol in one hand, and what looked suspiciously like a grenade in the other.

"Kass, you and me grab one," the captain continued, as they rattled ever-closer to daylight. "Kan, Sam, get the other!"

"Copy that," Sam replied. "Heads up!"

_Crack, crack, crack… _as the elevator emerged into daylight proper, the firefight around it became deafening, guns blaring out from all directions. Alpha and the Broker's men quickly added their contribution, shots pouring out to every side as Murphy cast around for a target…

He found one in the shape of a Ravager, scuttling towards a certain human marine. Inhaling once, the captain brought up his scope-

And started in surprise as the human summoned up a burst of biotics, hurling the rachni-creature off across the rooftop. A moment later, he had a hand-axe out, burying it in the nearest Cannibal as it came charging towards him.

After a second's confusion, he spotted Alec off to the right, gunning away at a squad of Marauders near the mercenaries' little freighter. The two figures fighting at the base of the Cambrai's cargo ramp, meanwhile, were… well, _not him_. Thorne and Cross were lashing out to left and right, both decked out in full armour and helms. Behind them, at the top of the ramp, Lisk was bare-faced and bare-armed as ever, pouring his own rifle fire into the mix.

"Move!" he barked, confusion giving way to panic. Slinging his rifle onto his back, he ducked down towards the nearest cargo crate - Yui was already hauling one onto his back as he did - and grabbed a hold of one end. Kass appeared on the other end a moment later, and the salarian's slim arms nonetheless made a valiant effort, as the two of them dragged the crate up between them.

A stray round skimming off the top of it lent a certain urgency to proceedings, and they made for the cargo ramp at a jog. Kan, Sam and the krogan were doing the same, as the Broker's men made a beeline towards their ship, and the four remaining men of the Cambrai forged a rearguard - Alec came backing up towards them, clapping Murphy on the shoulder and giving him a brief nod before dropping to one knee, pouring shots into the midst of a newly-arrived Cannibal squad…

The last few feet were a blur, as the cold whipped around them and the crossfire intensified on their fading rear. Murphy felt himself stumble up over the top of the cargo ramp, and the crate tumbled down as his arms failed, his body slumping down behind it a moment later. As he went for his rifle, he saw Dax throw the final crate down to the left, saw Alec sprinting back as his magazine finally ran dry, saw Thorne dispatch a husk with his axe before summoning up all the biotics he could to shield them…

Murphy didn't see the ramp lift skywards - he blinked once, and it was already shut, the sounds of crossfire rattling off the hull outside as the engines flared, and the ship lurched into the air.

"Whew…" Thorne sighed, collapsing down next to Murphy and Kass. "You weren't... kidding about the cold, boss."

"Idiot," Murphy snapped, the both of them panting slightly. "There's a reason we brought thermal shields."

"Yeah…" the biotic nodded, weakly. "I'm… starting to see… what the rea… what the reason was… shit, I can't… I' can't breathe…"

"Jesus… somebody get him to med bay, now! Cross, you too!"

The big trooper didn't protest - he was doubled over not too far away, and even nodding seemed to be a laboured effort. As Murphy tried to labour upright, however, nobody seemed to be moving towards them.

"Come on!" he barked, blood surging. "Get 'em out of here!"

Kass just looked at him, a little blankly.

"Err… captain?"

"What?"

The salarian just nodded downwards. Murphy's eyes shifted to follow his, and for the first time, he noticed the swathe of crimson painted across his chest, the ragged hole punched in his chestplate. The numbing cold seemed to fade away, replaced by a searing pain and a jolt of panic.

"Ah… shit…" he murmured.


	495. Operation Core Part 5

_**SSV Cambrai, Silean Nebula**_

_**Day 1, 0430**_

"All hands, buckle up, this is gonna be close!"

Ria looked up from her desk, exchanging a worried glance with Alicia at the panicked yell coming over the intercom. The two medics had spent the mission pacing up and down as usual, in wait of a casualty, except this time, their nervous wait had been narrated by Akito, counting down the minutes to oblivion. They were currently at zero, if his estimate was to be believed.

Even as she braced herself, however, a commotion was echoing through the med bay's shut door, coming from the elevator and quickly spreading like wildfire to the mess hall, where most of the crew had been sheltering - the hangar, exposed to the cold, wasn't safe for them.

_Rat-a-tat-tat._

"Doc!" a muffled voice a yelled. "Doc!"

Looking up, she saw Ethan Cash hammering on the med bay window, gesticulating wildly to the door with a rare look of panic on his face. The doctor froze for a moment, confused, but luckily for _someone_, Alicia was on the ball - she sprinted for the door, throwing it open just as a ragged collection of survivors came stumbling up to it.

Wheeling around in her chair, Ria's eyes shot over the group, taking them in in a matter of moments. Thorne was at the front, stumbling, and held up by a breathless Sam Vimes. Victor was in the background, moving on his own feet but swaying, and between them… shit. The captain, bloody and thrown over Alec Carter's shoulder.

"Get them in!" she cried, even as the ship lurched and shuddered, roaring upwards. In a snap decision, she picked out Vimes for a sensible reply, and asked: "What have we got?"

"Two exposed to the cold," the C-Sec man grunted, even as he slid Thorne down in a seat by the door. "No thermal shields. And the captain took a hit during evac. Torso - maybe chest, maybe shoulder, can't tell through the blood."

"Two with hypothermia, probably moderate," the doctor rattled off, "one ballistic trauma… Alec, get him on the bed, I'll treat him. Alicia, look after those two!"

The young biotic gave a nod, and immediately made for the chairs by the door - Victor had staggered down next to Thorne, head bowed and nodding slightly, eyes unfocused. Sam was stood nervously to one side, while Alec fought his way through the jumble to the nearest bed, setting Murphy down as Ria clambered out of her chair to join him.

"Sam, Alec, I'd like you to step outside…" she murmured, as calmly as she could. "I need sterile hands only."

"Gotcha," Sam nodded, giving Alec a quick nudge on the shoulder and making for the open door of the med bay. The marine shook his head slightly, and made to follow, shutting it behind him.

With the medics left to their own devices, the med bay became a whirl of activity. Ria found herself flitting between her station and the captain's bed, washing one hand while wrapping a blood pressure cuff around Murphy's arm with the other. Behind her back, she could hear the store cupboards rattling and tearing open noisily, as Alicia searched for blankets and heat packs.

Finally, she pulled on a pair of gloves from the dispenser next to her desk, and set to work, quite conscious that in her haste she had no ECG, no scans…

She shook her head, and grabbed a little torch from her belt, pulling open the captain's eyes to shine a light in them. Pupillary response. Still conscious, breathing… blood pressure falling - she hastily pressed one hand to the general area of the wound, stemming the bleeding as best she could as she continued her diagnosis.

_Whoosh. _The med bay shuddered from one end to the other, and the next bed almost came rolling into Murphy's, unsecured - Ria caught it with her boot at the last moment, and kicked it away roughly, bracing herself against Murphy's bed to keep her balance.

"What the hell was that?" Alicia swore, picking herself up from the floor.

"Evasives," Thorne mumbled, mutedly.

Ria just grimaced, and turned her gaze back to the captain. Lifting his shoulder slightly, she leant down to look at his back, searching for the exit wound… nothing doing. The shot was lodged, then. Stemming some of the bleeding, but complicating the injury too… bloody thing.

"Alicia, I need a blood pack," she called over one shoulder, slipping off her coat as she did. "Human, universal donor type."

"Catch!" a muffled voice replied.

She spun around just in time to see her assistant toss the little red bag with one hand - she had a heat pack in the other, and a second gripped between her teeth, in the process of activating them. The asari just caught the pack into her chest and went back to work, hanging it up on the drip stand beside the bed.

Swallowing hard to keep her calm, she set about removing the captain's armour, piece by piece - first gauntlets, then pauldrons, then chest and back plate. Sure enough, the back plate had nary so much as a dent, while the chest had a ragged hole punched clean through - high calibre, and jagged in impact.

Ria tossed the armour down on the next bed, ignoring the bloody stains it left, and reached for a sheet of gauze from the cart, quickly wiping away the worst of the blood even as more came trickling from the captain's chest, second by second. It was a slow stream, sure enough, but it just kept coming…

She abandoned the gauze, mind still doing about a million things at once - with one hand, she set the scanner above the bed going, reaching down for a canula from the crash cart. As the scanner started up, whirring away, she flitted round towards the headboard and grabbed the oxygen mask set into the wall, quickly applying it to the captain's jaw and setting it running.

"Doctor?" Alicia murmured, question unspoken.

"I've got it," Ria replied, shortly. "Just keep an eye on them."

The younger medic nodded and went back to her charges, as the asari leant down, turning Murphy's arm over to locate the radial… yeah, there it was. She slid the canula in as gently as she could - no anaesthetic yet, although the captain didn't stir - and brought up her omni-tool as the scanner's results finally came through. Shot lodged under the shoulder blade. Tricky to retrieve, and it would have messed up a fair amount of tissue on the way through, but at least it wasn't migrating to the heart or lungs.

Wait. Shit. Subclavian - the artery running through the captain's left shoulder had been torn, hence the bleeding. And she'd gone and put the canula in his left arm. Stupid, _stupid _Ria… she backed up, pulling the needle out none too gently and dragging the drip stand with her as she crossed to his _right _side, found the radial artery there, slid it in once more. A couple of deep breaths to slow the manic pace her mind was taking, and then she hooked up the IV, watching with some small satisfaction as a trickle of crimson descended into the captain's arm.

No chance to rest just yet, though. The wound in his chest was still bleeding, even as she pressed a hand to it, and he was still-

_Wham_. The ship bucked, and the beds rattled, for a moment threatening to rise off the ground…

"For _fuck's _sake!" Ria screamed, drawing a little gasp of surprise from Alicia. "Med bay to helm, if you don't stop _pissing _about up there, I'm sticking a scalpel in you two next!"

"Hey, at least I left the gravity on!" Akito snapped in reply, over the intercom. "We've got Reapers on our six, steady isn't exactly an option!"

"I don't want to hear it, Yurai!"

"Just hold on, damn it! Going to FTL in ten."

With a frustrated growl that surprised even herself, Ria leant over and unhooked the captain's bed from the wall, taking the drip stand with it and making for the door to the theatre.

"I need to get him into surgery!" she barked, not even bothering with the calm façade now. "Keep an eye on those two, don't let them pass out!"

"Got it," Alicia nodded, weakly.

_Wham. _Deep in the ship's bowels, something rumbled, and the hull shuddered once again…

"Jump! Now!" Erika Solov's voice cried, in panic - Akito had left the intercom open in his hurry.

"On it! Three, two, one…"

_Whoosh_.


	496. Operation Core Debrief

_**SSV Cambrai, Silean Nebula**_

_**Day 1, 0455**_

The mood around the war room table was… subdued, to say the least. The remaining members of Alpha team were clustered around, heads bowed, nobody really saying much. Eventually, it was Yui who broke the silence:

"Captain almost died. We almost got blown up. Real nice job you found for us, salarian."

He growled, and glared at Kass. The information broker scowled back, and opened his mouth to retort, but Sam cut him off.

"It's not his fault," the C-Sec man sighed. "The job was easy on paper. Airlift supplies, get out by a deadline…"

"It just got a little… messy," Kan nodded, in agreement. "Didn't expect that kind of reprisal for such a small asset."

"Shock and awe," Kass muttered, bitterly. "Maximum response, even for a 'small asset'. Should have seen that coming."

"Yeah, maybe you should," Yui grumbled, although he seemed more grumpy than outright angry. "What now?"

"There's a convoy waiting on the edge of the Kypladon system," the salarian explained, quietly. "Emmet's crew should have given them the signal when they jumped clear. They'll meet us en route to the relay, take the cargo, and get it where it needs to go."

"I damn well hope that ain't some black market," Alec grunted.

"Please. I don't break contracts idly, human. It'll go where it needs to go - fleets and manufacturing centres."

The marine nodded, gruffly.

Pregnant silence followed for a minute or so, as the war room table continued to flicker, the holographic display idling. Eventually, however, it was broken by the _hiss _of a door opening, off to the left, and the room seemed to turn as one to face it. To Vimes' mild surprise, it was Alicia Carter who stepped through the door, not the captain or the doctor. She looked… a little tired, to be honest, and as she drew up to the table, she leant against it with a weary sigh, arms folded.

"Everything alright?" the detective muttered, cautiously.

"Yeah," she replied, quietly. "Everyone's alright."

Vimes decided not to point out the switch from every_thing_ to every_one_. It was probably subconscious, and no bad thing, to be honest.

"Captain Murphy's out of surgery," the medic continued, reaching up with one hand to brush an errant strand of hair out of her eye. "He's sedated, but stable. Shot's removed, no major organ damage. It wouldn't be the first time he's taken a bullet."

"Guess not," Sam nodded, with a single, mirthless chuckle. "What about the two idiots?"

"Way I hear it, the two idiots saved your asses," she smiled, wryly. "They're fine, anyway. The hypothermia was moderate at best, no lasting effects."

Acting as one once again, the room breathed a sigh of relief. Eventually, with concern giving way to curiosity, Sam spoke up again, to ask:

"Where's Dr O'Leiph? I kinda expected her to be telling us all this…"

"I put her in the crew quarters," Alicia laughed, weakly. "Bed rest. She almost burst a blood vessel back there."

"_Not my fault._"

Sam just smirked a little, eyes drifting up to the ceiling as Akito's voice came down through the intercom.

"Whaddya mean it wasn't your fault?" Alec frowned. "You're the one who pissed her off."

"Well, maybe if we'd all been a little quicker on the 'getting the fuck out of there' thing, we wouldn't have had to dodge past Reapers," the co-pilot retorted.

"Our apologies," Kan muttered, sarcastically. "Clearly, being in the line of fire was just _too _much fun."

"Clearly. Think I'll stick to orbit, myself. Much safer."

"When you're… _not _being chased by Reapers," Sam pointed out.

"Yeah. That."

A dull murmur passed around the table, vague chuckles and weak smiles passing from one person to the next. As usual, there was a morbid sense of relief now they were out of the fire…

"I wonder if they're having more fun than us on Kahje?" Alicia laughed, weakly.

"They'd better not be," her brother grumbled. "If the old man's sunning himself on a beach, I'm gonna kill him."


	497. Operation Guardian Briefing

_**Bastion Descent, Kahje**_

_**Day 1, 1720**_

"Alright…" Wendy murmured, from the cockpit. "We're clear through orbit. Where am I putting this thing down?"

"Small village outside Last Bastion," Sarah replied. "Orbit control said that's where the last communique came from. We touch down there, and find whoever's calling."

"So we don't _know_ who they are?" Mac'Tir muttered.

"Negative. The hanar said 'she', so it's a woman, but besides that, we don't know. Could be hanar, drell…"

The assassin just made a little '_hm' _noise, as if musing, and went silent. Between the sombre drell, the meditative justicar and the stoic Irving, it wasn't the most _talkative_ squad. Reliable though, all good, solid operators, and that had to be worth something.

"I've got visual on the village," Wendy called, as the shuttle lurched and swung again. "I'm not too sure about the beach, though - I'll bring her down hovering, and you lot can jump."

"Copy that," Sarah nodded, rising from her feet and grabbing hold of the ceiling rail.

The Kodiak gave a little shudder, and she could feel it swing down through the air, tipping her slightly as it did. Irving grabbed his rifle from beneath his seat, Ekris pulled his gauntlets on, and a moment later, the craft growled to a halt, engines flaring.

"Alright," the helmswoman reported, "everybody out. There's a bluff on the north side of the village - I'll circle round to there for a solid landing and pickup."

Sarah just flashed her a thumbs up through the open door to the cockpit, and made for the door, sliding it open with her spare hand as she checked her weapons with the other. Almost immediately, a rush of wind whipped through the open door, accompanied by a flurry of sand, sent spiralling up from the beach below by the thrusters.

Tapping the doorframe once for luck, the lieutenant hopped off from the edge, thudding down in the sand a moment later. She reached for her Shuriken, just in case, and scrambled up the beach a few feet to clear space - sure enough, Irving landed behind her with a loud _thud _just a few seconds later. One by one, the squad jumped down behind her, with Mac'Tir finally bringing up the rear - he gave a quick rap on the cockpit wall, and as he hopped down, Wendy sent the ship soaring back up into the air.

"It's warm," Mac noted. "Very… humid."

"You sound surprised," Irving grunted. "Isn't this your homeworld?"

"Most drell reside in the cities," the assassin explained. "Domed. Conditioned. _Less_ humid."

"Then what's this place?"

"An outlier," the drell shrugged. "A fishing village, if I were to guess."

Sarah just glanced around, wordlessly, as her two colleagues chattered. The village was tiny - a dozen or so abandoned, domed silver huts, all dotted across the beach, with a rough trail winding between them and up towards the bluff which, incidentally, Wendy's shuttle was now gliding down onto.

"Hello?" the lieutenant called, cutting off whatever chatter had been going on - she'd tuned it out, anyway. "Anybody there?"

A moment's silence, broken only by the water lapping up across the beach. Then, with the slight scuffling noise of boots in sand, a slim figure appeared from one of the nearby huts, a green face appearing around the door frame. No, a… bronze face. Or… huh. Kinda iridescent, switching between the two depending on the light.

"Alliance?" the drell called, stepping cautiously out onto the sand.

Sarah just pointed to the insignia on her shoulder in lieu of a response.

"You'll forgive me…" the stranger continued. "Asari and drell aren't usual Alliance fare."

"The drell speak for themselves," Sarah frowned. "And the asari's a justicar. You can trust her."

"_Her_, undoubtedly. Ekris here, not so much."

As one, the rest of the squad turned to stare at their colleague.

"Ah… Solara," he muttered, awkwardly.

"Why is it…" Irving whispered, leaning into Sarah's ear, "that we _always _run into someone we know?"

The lieutenant silenced him with a glare, and stepped in before either Ekris or 'Solara' could speak:

"We're on a timeframe here. The hanar told us you'd have a sitrep?"

"Indeed," she nodded. "As you might have gathered, my name's Solara. Until recently, I was assistant to Administrator Kanis, the governor of Last Bastion."

"Until recently?" Sarah echoed.

"The administrator is missing, or dead. So are a lot of people. How much do you know already?"

"You got attacked, you killed some Reapers, the debris hit the city," Irving rattled off, before Sarah could answer. "How's that for a summary?"

"Pretty good," Solara noted. "A troop transport broke up in the atmosphere, but the wreckage hit us hard. City spaceport, wiped out. Central residential complex, sunk. Administrative complex, flooded."

"Casualties?" Sarah murmured.

"Extensive. Many of the hanar escaped through the ocean, but many more were killed by impact, crushed in falling buildings… and the surfacers didn't have the luxury of swimming away."

"Surfacers?"

"Drell and other aliens," Mac'Tir interjected. "They can't live beneath the water like the hanar can. Not without a far greater degree of risk, anyway."

Solara just nodded.

"Most of the surfacers were trapped or drowned, best I can tell," she explained.

"Then how did you get out?" the lieutenant frowned.

"I wasn't there. I was attending to business on one of the orbital stations. I returned as quickly as I could after the Reaper assault, and found… devastation. Outlying settlements like this" - she gestured at the huts - "abandoned."

"So you sent out the distress call…" Sarah nodded. "Why didn't anyone else?"

"If I were to guess, I'd say the city's power and communication networks were disabled - one or the other, or both. It's been silent for days. That's partly why the response has been so minimal - the hanar don't seem to believe there are survivors after this long in the dark."

"You disagree?"

"I think we should at least _check_. And I have a duty to look for the administrator, with or without your assistance."

"_You're_ goin' in with the Reapers?" Irving grunted, looking her up and down.

"I can handle myself," Solara scowled.

"She can," another voice admitted, sourly - Ekris, taking a step up towards them. "I'll vouch for her."

"How kind of you," the female drell muttered, sarcastically. He just rolled his eyes, and looked at Sarah for a lead.

"Alright…" the lieutenant concluded. "Plan?"

"Aerial entry. Your shuttle takes us up, and we go down into the administrator's complex via the roof. Find the administrator or his body, and go from there."

"Fair enough. We're parked on the ridge up there. When you're ready."

Solara just gave a curt nod, turned on her heel, and made immediately for the shuttle, parked high on the bluff. Irving shot Sarah a _look_, snorted once in amusement, and then set off after her, trailed by the rest of the squad. Sarah, however, lingered for a moment, allowing Saffiya and Mac to pass her by. Ekris too was hesitating, and as he finally made to leave, she caught him by the arm, pulling him back.

"Lieutenant?" he frowned, confused.

"You and her," Sarah whispered, nodding at the departing Solara. "What's the deal?"

"Old acquaintance," the drell grunted.

"And?"

"And what?"

"_And_, do I need to worry about her?"

"I don't… _think _so?"

"Well, that's encouraging…"

Ekris just looked at her, then sighed, and rolled his eyes. Breaking free of her grip, he scratched the back of his head awkwardly, and explained:

"We grew up in the same village. And, when we were children, we were taken to be trained together. Same school. Same one Raziel attended too, but he was a bit before our time."

"She's an assassin?" Sarah frowned, a little incredulously.

"Different skill set," he muttered, shaking his head. "More of a… spy? Saboteur?"

"You're really filling me with confidence here, Ekris…"

"Look, you can trust her. Just don't think 'assistant' means 'secretary', okay?"

"Mkay…"

Ekris nodded, and made to leave, but once again, Sarah caught him by the arm.

"_And?_" she murmured, raising an eyebrow.

The assassin grumbled a little, but he knew damn well what she meant.

"Her brother trained with us too…" he admitted, finally. "And he _was _an assassin. He was part of my team, on Illium."

"So he's…?"

"Dead? Yup."

"Does she know?"

"Why do you think she's so pissed at me?"

"Hey!"

The both of them looked up at that, as a new voice cut into proceedings. Irving was halfway up the path through the village, waving his arms at them.

"Are you two done yammering yet?" the big marine yelled.

"Moving!" Sarah replied, flashing a quick nod at Ekris. "Let's just get this over with…"


	498. Operation Guardian Part 1

_**Last Bastion, Kahje**_

_**Day 1, 1740**_

"Whoa. That's, ah… that's not pretty. Come take a look, ma'am."

Sarah glanced over, eyebrow rising as Irving waved her over. The marine was dangling out of the open door of the shuttle, one hand clutching the doorframe to the left. Slowly, and somewhat reluctantly, Sarah unbuckled her harness and stood up, grabbing the ceiling rail as she shuffled over to join him.

The sight that presented itself through the open door really _wasn't_ pretty. Tall, silver towers were looming up out of the ocean, and would probably have been majestic, but for the debris floating around them, the gentle plumes of smoke still drifting up from several gutted buildings, the shattered scar-marks in several of the towers' sides. The spaceport, a great circular construction on the edge of the city, had been holed by debris, and one side had slipped away into the sea. Just beneath the surface, Sarah could see roadways sinking into the water, debris floating like islands…

"Whole damn thing looks like it's sunk," Irving grunted.

"It's… actually meant to be like that," Solara murmured, stepping up between them in the doorway. "Partially, anyway. The hanar are ocean-dwellers, after all - the towers extend for several miles below the surface, the upper sections are just there for surfacers."

"They ain't meant to have that many holes in 'em, though," the big marine noted.

"No…" the drell admitted.

"Which one's the administrator's complex?" Sarah asked, nervously fidgeting with her pistol.

"Circular tower on the north side," the drell replied, pointing at the building in question as she did. "The administrator's office is three or four floors down from the roof."

"Wendy!" the lieutenant called, through the open cockpit door. "Can you get us over there?"

"Should be easy enough," the pilot confirmed. "I'm not seeing any automated defences…"

"They're all in orbit," Solara nodded. "If an enemy gets through the fleet and the defence stations, we've lost already. No sense in defending the cities, the hanar would just flee into the oceans in a situation like that…"

"Then we shouldn't have a problem. Taking her around."

_Skree!_

"Oh, you gotta be kidding me," Irving growled, reaching for his rifle with his spare hand. "Arness, you get that on scope?"

"Negative. I don't know where it's… where the _bloody _hell is it?"

"_What _is it?" Sarah snapped, fingers digging into the doorframe anxiously.

"You really have to ask?" her colleague rumbled. "Harvest-"

_Wham_. The shuttle bucked and rolled as _something _hit it. Sarah caught a flash of leathery wings, and a deathly screaming filled her ears as she tumbled. By the time she regained her senses, she was flat on her back, one arm hooked through the open door to the cockpit to stop herself from slipping out - because somehow, the door was now below them, blue ocean visible beneath. Irving was clinging to the outer door, roaring angrily at the situation in general, and Solara had made a saving throw off to the left, wedging herself beneath the seats. Ekris, Saffiya and Mac'Tir were still safe on the opposite row, dangling from flight harnesses.

With a lurch and a whine, the shuttle rolled two-seventy, spinning around and levelling out just long enough for Sarah to pull herself up on the doorframe, bringing Wendy into view - the pilot was almost hanging out of her seat, working frantically at the controls.

"Wendy!" she screamed, over the roar of the wind now whipping through the open door. "Can you take evasive?"

"I'm trying!" the pilot replied, desperately. "But we're over open ocean, and that thing's got us beaten for speed!"

_Wham. _Some impact caught the back corner of the shuttle, and it bucked, a worrying view of the ocean filling the cockpit window as they went nose-down. Wendy managed to level them out, fighting with the controls, but another unearthly screech and a flash of movement drifted through the shuttle door as the Harvester circled again…

"Altitude?" Sarah asked, as loudly as she could.

"Fifty feet, and I'm taking her lower," Wendy murmured, with a calm belied by her panicked actions. "You lot need to jump."

"_Jump?_"Irving roared. "The hell d'you mean _jump?_"

"Bail out, and I'll try to set her down somewhere in the city. I can't stay airborne while that thing's around."

"Seriously, _jump?_"

"Chief!" Sarah snapped. Off to the side, Solara was picking herself up from the floor, as the rest of the squad extricated themselves from their harnesses.

"Alright…" he grumbled. "Say when!"

"Twenty feet, taking her down to ten!" came the reply from the helm. "Harvester's circling-"

_Wham_. Through her narrow view of the helm, Sarah saw a flash of obsidian talons, closing tight around the cockpit window. The whole shuttle twisted, swinging wildly as the Harvester tore it off course…

And Sarah's grip on the cockpit door slipped. In the corner of her eye, she saw Irving _torn _out of the precipice, helmet and rifle and other peripherals _pinging _off in separate directions from his body as he bounced once off the doorframe and disappeared. A moment later, the lieutenant went sliding too, down through the doorway, flailing madly-

Her hand caught the frame, only to bounce off painfully, and then she was gone, falling into open air. She dropped for all of a second, then hit the water feet first, and the ocean rushed up from her boots to her hips, her shoulders… and over her bare head. Without the aid of a breather, warm water flooded into her nose and mouth, salty needles stabbed at her eyes, and she still found herself descending, momentum carrying her down...

The dull roar of the shuttle passed into the distance, followed by the muffled scream of the Harvester. The jet wash kicked and churned the water, currents twisting and turning around her, and it was all she could do to keep her bearings, some vague sense of _up_.

And then it faded, to silence, and the sound of her own heartbeat. The light above… narrowing. She kicked out, lungs burning, and made towards the light. Because, you know, that was _always _a good plan…


	499. Operation Guardian Part 2

_**Last Bastion, Kahje**_

_**Day 1, 1745**_

_Gasp_. Light. Air…

Sarah broke the surface with a panicked flare of biotics, arms burning for a second as she took a deep gulp of sea air… and dropped back under the water again, barely finding a moment to pinch her nose and clamp her eyes shut.

When she finally bobbed up again, she swung out her arms, flailing wildly to stop herself going under again. Her eyes were searing, salt water clinging and stinging, and her lungs felt fit to burst. For a moment, the world was silent, muffled as if still beneath the water, and then:

"Mayday, mayday, going down. Ditching her on the nearest rooftop, I repeat-"

_Whoosh_. Somewhere in the distance, a blue blur went drifting down between the ragged spires, chased by a dark-winged form in the sky behind. It dipped below one in particular, and failed to emerge on the other side…

"Wendy!" the lieutenant called, reaching one arm for her radio and _praying _it still worked. "Wendy, do you copy-"

_Sploosh. _With one arm paralysed on the radio, she dipped beneath the waves again, taking a deep gasp of seawater as she did. By the time she came up again, kicking out and treading water, she was coughing and spluttering, the radio was silent, and her armour was weighing heavy.

"Wendy! Chief! Anyone?"

_Splash_. Something moved, close at hand. Sarah tried to twist around, only for the current to tumble her the other way, denying her anything more than a fleeting glance of a dark shape. Whatever it was, she heard it dip below the water, heard a low rumbling break the air a moment later…

An unseen force tightened around her waist, and she did the only thing she could - yell, lash out, flail her arms and try to run through everything she knew about Kahje's wildlife, which was… not much. There was a growl as she swung, carving a wide arc through the water's surface, and a moment later her gauntlet connected with something hard, struck one blow, then another, then another…

"Easy, ma'am! Easy…"

Finally, the words got through to her groggy senses, and her fist relented, for just a beat. She twisted in the water, but the 'unseen force' spun with her, denying her a view once again. Finally, her eyes shot down, to the pressure around her waist.

An arm, black-armoured and thick as her leg - streaked with blood, too.

"Easy…" the voice in her ear repeated. Finally, as her ears drained, some sense of familiarity returned…

"Chief?" she murmured, quietly.

A nod, which just barely grazed against her shoulder.

"I got ya," the voice muttered, after a moment or two. "Can you keep yourself up?"

"I… just. My arm's… kinda numb," she replied, realising the latter for the first time as the adrenaline of the crash wore off.

"Probably took a knock. Same here…"

"How are you staying up? That armour weighs a bloody ton…"

"Lost most of my gear in the drop," Irving chuckled mirthlessly, taking a deep gulp of air as he did. "Figure that sheds a few pounds. Doesn't matter - you good to move, ma'am?"

"Where?"

"Four o'clock. There's a road back there. Think the others landed on terra firma a little ways down."

"On three, then?"

Another nod, causing his stubbly chin to bump against her shoulder pad.

"If the arm's bad, put it around me," he instructed. "It ain't far to shore. One. Two. Three."

They kicked off, twisting slightly to the right, and Sarah slipped her arm - now heavy and vaguely leaden - over Irving's back, as the both of them pushed hard through the water. True to the gunnery chief's word, a half-sunken roadway lay ahead of them now, dipping down into the water and surrounded by floating debris, chunks of alloy and stone…

It took no more than a few minutes to fight their way over to it, and as they got close, they simply laid back and allowed the waves to carry them in, until they bumped into the sunken edge of the highway, arms now tearing at steel rather than sea.

Sarah wasn't quite sure how long they lay there for, face down and side by side, occasionally looking up to splutter and cough, or shift a little further out of the water.

"Jesus…" she murmured, eventually. "Next time someone suggests jumping, remind me to say _no_."

"Deal."

Another few minutes passed, to a soundtrack of breaking waves and creaking buildings. A steady trickle of water was working its way out of the corner of Sarah's mouth, and her arm, numb just a short while ago, was beginning to gain feeling again - rather painfully.

Eventually, it was the crackle of a radio that broke the silence - not Sarah's, which she had long since given up on, but Irving's, attached to his collar.

"Chief?" said a blurry voice. Male, had to be one of the drell. "Chief, are you there?"

"Here…" the marine grumbled, propping himself up on his arms with no small amount of effort.

"Any luck?"

"Got her," he nodded.

A deep sigh of relief from the speaker on the other end.

"Status?" the voice asked, eventually.

"Banged up, same as me. Turns out, jumpin' out of a shuttle ain't the safest thing to do. She'll be fine, though…" - he flashed her half a grin - "she's a tough girl."

"Understood. Where are you?"

"Err… highway. Just back from where you dropped, I think. Want me to ping it?"

"No need. We see you - wait there."

Sarah picked herself up at that, glancing to left and right, up and down the road… for a moment, it seemed as bleak and barren as it had before, but then she saw a little cluster of figures emerge, from amidst the wreckage of a building on the left. Three drell, one asari… good, that was everyone. Almost.

She rolled over onto her back, and as she did, a wash of water swept back from her nose, filling her throat and causing her to cough and splutter anew. Her throat was red raw and burning, but unsealed, there was every chance her suit's water supply had flooded with salt water, so that was out…

By the time she straightened up again, pushing herself into a sitting position, the rest of the squad was upon them, bearing various expressions of relief and concern. Mac'Tir was at the front - judging by the omni-tool open on his wrist, he'd been the one speaking on the radio - and Saffiya was close behind, already reaching for her belt.

"Thank the Goddess you're in one piece…" the asari murmured, "any injuries?"

"Nothing you can fix with medi-gel," Sarah muttered, flexing her arm. It was hot, and stinging slightly, but there were no wounds, no blood or bullet holes… "Chief?"

"My pride's pretty wounded," Irving grumbled. "The ocean just kicked my ass."

"That armour isn't exactly built for _buoyancy_," Mac'Tir observed, with a wry smile. "I'd say you did just fine, Irving."

The marine just cast a half-glance at Sarah, before turning back to the drell and nodding, ever so slightly. Saffiya, however, seemed to be more concerned with his arm. Crouching down and nodding at it, she frowned:

"Chief? Your arm…"

"Huh?" he grunted, rolling onto his back and holding it up. "Ah, s'not bad. Probably hit the door as I fell out."

Whatever he'd hit, the logical part of Sarah's brain had to disagree with the _'not bad' _analysis. There was a lengthy gash along the side of his forearm, still bleeding, and a pale wash of crimson was going out with each wave that broke around him.

"Uh-huh," Saffiya scowled, seemingly sharing her scepticism. "Come here, let's get some medi-gel on it…"

"Gimme a minute," Irving muttered, dragging himself up out of the shallows with a grunt and an effort. "Suit's flooded, might as well shed the weight."

Staggering to his feet, he reached up to his shoulder plate, finding the catch under the pauldron and yanking the whole sleeve of his armour off in one. He dropped it to the floor with a clatter, and a steady stream of water began to spill out from the top of it. Red water, she noted, with a little lurch. Even as he reached for the other, pulling that sleeve off too, Saffiya was going to work on his bad arm, applying a liberal coating of medi-gel to the jagged wound.

Sarah dragged herself upright, glancing around as she did. The roadway disappeared into urban sprawl - _flooded _urban sprawl - on either side, and open water stretched off to front and back, with the ocean to one side and a bizarre kind of lake on the other, formed in a sunken section of the city. There was some small mercy, though - at least they weren't under attack. As the lieutenant reached for her own armour, pulling off her gloves to let some of the water out, Mac'Tir was crossing over to her, as Ekris and Solara hovered anxiously in the background, watching the horizon. The sun had dipped well below its peak, but it was a fair way off setting yet...

"Lieutenant…" the assassin murmured, with surprising calm given the circumstances. "Are you alright?"

"Fine," she nodded, a little breathlessly.

"Good. We're ready to move when you are."

"Any idea where we go?"

"Absolutely none. I imagine we should make for the administrator's office at some point, but…"

"…Wendy."

"Wendy," he nodded.

"Is she alright?"

"Unknown. We lost radio contact with her, as with you."

"Ah, yeah… damn thing flooded. I'll patch my omni-tool in once we're on the move."

"Very well. And Miss Arness?"

Sarah bit her lip, glancing around at the battered cityscape.

"We need to find her," the lieutenant nodded, after a while. "I mean, even if I weren't the sentimental type, she's our ride out. We need to know if we can still count on that."

"And at any rate, you _are _the sentimental type," Mac noted, smirking slightly.

"Aren't we all?"

"Some of us more than others," he shrugged. "Irrelevant, anyway - as you say, we need to know the status of our exfil."

"Any idea where she went down?" Sarah frowned, business-like for a moment.

"After we lost the two of you, she dropped us on the highway, then lured the Harvester north," the drell muttered. "We watched her shuttle crash on one of the rooftops."

"Hard landing?"

"Could have been worse."

"But could have been… better. Alright. You and Saffiya can cover ground quickly, right?"

"Correct."

"Then chase down that crash site. Kodiaks don't exactly go down _subtly_, you'll probably have a smoke trail to follow."

"Indeed. And the rest of you will proceed to the administrator's office?"

"Right. We'll get Solara in, do what we need to, and then fall back to a safe location for evac."

"Provided we can arrange it."

"Well, yeah… if not, I guess we try and make contact with the hanar, or, I dunno… find a boat?"

Mac'Tir just smirked a little, at that.

"What?" Sarah shrugged. "It's always good to have a backup plan."

"And where exactly do you believe the boats are kept?"

"Hey, I never said it was a _good _plan…"

The drell just rolled his eyes, and turned on his heel, checking his weapons as he did. Saffiya was straightening up, having seen to Irving's arm, and he caught her by the arm as she did.

"Siha, we need to move," he muttered.

"Just us?" she frowned.

"Just you," Sarah confirmed, stepping up to the pair. "I need you to find our bird, justicar."

Saffiya nodded in understanding, and reached for the pistol in her belt, checking it cautiously.

"The rest of you," the lieutenant continued, "we're heading for the administrator's office. Do what you have to, we move in five."

"That's way off west. How the hell are we gettin' there?" Irving asked, before coughing, and adding: "Err… ma'am."

"We'll swim for it," Sarah shrugged, nodding to the water as she did. Sure enough, the spire Solara had pointed out earlier was visible on the far side of the 'lake' that now occupied the middle of the city.

"Great…" the marine muttered. "Before I go drown myself again, one thing - anyone got a gun?"

"I thought most marines carried their own…" Solara noted, speaking up - rather sarcastically - for the first time.

"Laugh it up, princess, you didn't get flung out a shuttle. So unless you fancy divin' in that ocean to get my rifle back, helpful suggestions only."

"Take mine," Ekris sighed, unhooking the assault rifle from his back and proffering it with one hand. "I can make do with a sidearm."

"Appreciate it," Irving nodded. As he took the rifle, a deep grin broke over his jaw, and he muttered: "Avenger. Nice and old school…"

"Yeah, well… just try not to lose this one, mkay?"

"…smartass."


	500. Operation Guardian Part 3

_**Last Bastion, Kahje**_

_**Day 1, 1805**_

"See anything?"

"Nngh… give me a minute."

Sarah continued to tread water, lending a little of her biotics to the effort as she peered up at Ekris. The drell was half way out of the water, looking vaguely like a gymnast on a bar as he balanced on the lower sill of a window above their heads.

The group had endured a gruelling swim across the 'lake', with the drell doing their damnedest not to expose themselves to the water too much, and all four of them doing their damnedest to avoid the steel debris, floating like icebergs in the middle of the expanse. They had finally made it after fifteen or twenty minutes' effort, mostly propped up by biotics - Irving, the only non-biotic, had nonetheless fared well now his arms were free of his bulky armour.

"Stairwell," Ekris reported, wiping the condensation off the window with one forearm and balancing precariously on the other. "Looks like it goes up for a fair way."

"It should run from top to bottom," Solara nodded. "This is where we need to be. Can you break the window?"

"It's thick…" the other drell muttered. "Don't think I could get through with biotics."

"Breaching charge?" the 'administrative assistant' suggested, causing Sarah's eyebrow to pop skywards.

"Only got the one. If we need to make an exit…"

"An exit's pointless if we never make an entrance," she pointed out. "Lieutenant?"

Silence for a moment, before Sarah snapped back to attention, and mumbled:

"Err… yeah. Do it, Ekris. If we're really desperate for an exit, we can work our way back down here."

The assassin nodded, and with another gymnastic effort, he hauled his whole body up out of the water, swinging his legs up so that he was lying on the window sill on his back, and reaching for one of the many compartments on his belt. Eventually, he found a small, circular disc, and held it up to his eye, scrutinising it.

"No water damage," he concluded. "That's nice."

"We don't need a narration," Irving growled, "just get on with it!"

"Alright, alright…"

The drell shifted slightly, and for a moment Sarah feared he was about to plunge back down into the water, but his balance remained steady, and with his arms now free, he was able to lean up, apply his omni-tool to the back of the device, and then fix it firmly to the centre of the large glass pane.

"Timer?" Solara guessed.

"Contact," he muttered, shaking his head. Then, without warning, he swung his free hand up and tagged the charge with his omni-tool. The omni-tool flashed, the device gave a high-pitched whistle for half a second, and…

_Bang. _The blast was… quite understated, actually. A little, muffled impact, and the sound of cracking glass, as the pane shattered outwards from the centre without actually giving. The device itself was gone, reduced to a few smoking scraps and some bouncing sparks, which quickly disappeared into the water - where it had been, a large circular hole in the glass was all that remained.

"Is that it?" Irving frowned, examining the tiny blast mark.

"It's designed to take out a lock," Ekris sighed, explaining absent-mindedly as he reached for his sidearm. "Plant it, set it off, and give the door…"

_Whack_.

"…a quick push."

The whole pane seemed to _ripple _inwards on itself, collapsing into the stairwell beyond with a series of delicate crunches. A few jagged shards remained on the lower lip, but Ekris quickly bashed them out with the muzzle of his Shuriken, before rolling through the edifice and disappearing from sight.

"Clear!" he called, after a moment. "But… whew, you guys should probably come see this…"

"Ladies first," Irving grunted, gesturing sarcastically to the broken window.

Rolling her eyes, Sarah kicked off towards it, and she and Solara reached it side by side, both using a draft of biotics to haul themselves up, over the sill. The drell jumped down nimbly, landing next to Ekris, while the lieutenant paused a moment longer, surveying the ground before sliding down, to the _crunch _of glass under her boots. As she straightened up and glanced around, Irving was clambering up behind her, grunting and grumbling. Finally, he thudded down behind her, clapping his hands together and shaking off the worst of the water, still clinging to his arms in beads.

"Down there," Ekris muttered, nodding to the downward stairs.

Reaching for her pistol with one hand, Sarah glanced down, biting her lip as she did. The entire stairwell below them was flooded, dark water welling up from beneath, and floating on the surface was a greyish form…

"Son of a bitch…" Irving rumbled. "Husk?"

"Mhmm," Ekris nodded. "Dead, too. Didn't think those things could drown, to be honest…"

"It was… probably crushed, rather than drowned," Solara noted, business-like as ever. "The water pressure in the deep is… more than sufficient to break a human body."

Sarah, however, wasn't looking at the husk. She was looking at the water, watching it closely as it shimmered and hovered below a certain step… and then spilled over it, cresting it like a tiny wave.

"It's rising…" she murmured, absent-mindedly.

"Huh?"

"The water. It's… rising. This thing didn't fill from the top, there's a breach down there."

"Good thing we just smashed a drain, then," Irving grunted, nodding to the broken window. "It shouldn't get any higher."

Sarah nodded, in vague assent, before casting her eyes around once more.

"Solara, how do we get to the administrator's office from here?" she asked.

"Up," the drell replied, pointing to the ceiling as she did. "It's three floors above us, on the north side of the tower."

"Lead the way. And … weapons ready, everyone. If there are husks down there" - she pointed at the flooded stairwell - "I'm willing to bet they're above us, too."


	501. Operation Guardian Part 4

_**Last Bastion, Kahje**_

_**Day 1, 1815**_

"Lieutenant, are you there?"

"Affirmative," Sarah nodded, pulling up her omni-tool. "Signal's patchy, but I hear you, Mac."

"Good. I believe we have located the crash site. We just need a way up."

"Is there one?"

"We're… working on it."

"Alright. Any movement at the crash site?"

"I'm not sure. But there's definitely movement below it. You should be aware - we've sighted husks in the building."

"Copy that, we've seen them over here too. None alive yet, just corpses."

"If only we were we so fortunate," the assassin sighed. "They're moving on the crash site."

"Then you need to get up there, ASAP."

"As I said… working on it."

"Okay, okay… stay on the line, Mac."

"Affirmative."

The radio fell silent, and Sarah dropped her omni-tool to her side, setting both hands on her pistol once more. The squad had climbed up through the stairwell before turning off it - currently, they were pacing along a narrow corridor, en route to the administrator's office. Solara was charting the course, with Sarah and Ekris a pace or two behind. Irving was off ahead, checking a door that had lain ajar-

_Crack crack crack_. Everyone snapped to attention at the sound of gunfire, and three bright flashes from further down the corridor.

"Live one!" Irving hollered, rifled still wedged through the gap in the door. After a moment, he glanced in, and muttered: "Well, it _was_…"

"We had to find the first one sooner or later…" Sarah murmured, shifting her grip cautiously. "Eyes open, everyone. Stay together."

Irving nodded, and trotted back over to the rest of the squad, rifle still clutched in his arms. Carefully, and yet picking up the pace all the same, they continued along the corridor, past dead and sparking doors, under busted lights and ceilings.

"Right from here," Solara nodded, as they reached a crossroads. "Up the stairs at the end of this one."

They shifted right on command, and were presented with another stark corridor, lights burnt out and air stale. The only exits were a door at the end - the one Solara had noted - and another half way down, on the right. A water pipe had burst over the latter, flooding the middle stretch of the corridor up to an inch or so.

"Irving, Ekris, check the right," the lieutenant murmured.

The two men gave a nod in reply, and paced up to the door, weapons at the ready. Sarah hung back, gesturing for Solara to do the same and training her sights on the space between her two colleagues. With characteristic efficiency, they stacked either side of the door, checked their weapons once, and then moved in - Ekris hit the door release, Irving stepped through-

_Crack crack, crack crack_.

"Shit!" the marine yelled, his shots followed by the sound of a rifle casing bouncing off the floor.

"Chief! You alright?" Sarah called.

"I'm fine, two down, but… shit, you gotta see this, ma'am."

"That's the second time I've heard that today," she grumbled, making for the doorway. "This had better not be more bad… news."

She trailed off as she reached the door. Looking through, she saw Irving a few steps inside the door. Beyond him, two dead husks. And beyond them, a chunk of obsidian steel, twice the size of a man and unmistakeable…

"What is it?" Solara asked, from the end of the corridor.

"Reaper," Irving grunted. "Or, wreckage from one, anyway."

"So?"

"_So_, it's an indoctrination risk," Sarah snapped. "_Goddamnit_. We need to finish up quick, whatever we-"

_Hmmm…_

As one, the squad stopped, falling deathly silent. And yet, the humming continued, filling their ears, drowning out whatever background noise had been present before - the trickle of water, the creak of battered steel…

"Fuck."

Ekris and Irving both shot the lieutenant a _look_, a little amused despite the gravity of the situation.

"What?" she scowled. "I think that was a pretty good summary of the situation, personally!"

"Fair enough," the assassin muttered. "What do we do?"

"Chuck it," Irving grunted, immediately. When Sarah shot him a quizzical look, he just nodded to the far wall - the wreckage had smashed clean through when it came down, forging a nice entry wound on the way to its current location. Elaborating, the big marine sighed, exasperatedly: "We need it as far away from us as possible while we finish up. Ocean floor's good enough for me."

"And me," Ekris nodded. "Do you want to boot it, or shall I?"

"You?" Irving frowned, looking down at the much smaller drell.

The _much smaller drell _just flexed a biotic arm, and shot him a sardonic smile.

"Oh. Yeah, do that."

"Do that," Sarah nodded, in agreement. "And do it quick. Solara! Are we still clear out there?"

"Err… that may depend on your definition!" the other drell replied, appearing in the doorway with an expression of mild panic.

Sarah and Irving glanced once at each other, then made for the door, bracing their weapons. Sarah reached it first, stepped through, and-

_Crack crack crack crack crack crack!_

Rifle fire lit up the corridor around her, and she felt a sharp _tug _around her neck. A moment later, her brain began to process it, as Irving grabbed both her and Solara by the scruffs of their necks and pulled them back into the room, away from the stream of fire now billowing past. After a good half hour of relative quiet, it was almost _disconcerting _to be shot at again.

Irving, of course, was in his element, lumbering into cover with rifle in hand before Sarah had even picked herself up off the floor. He took one look down the scope of Ekris' rifle-

And ducked back quickly, as another burst of fire skidded through the spot his head had occupied a moment prior. _Crack crack crack._

"Turian," he grimaced, as Solara and Sarah rose to their feet beside him. "Couple of runners, too."

"How far out?"

_Hiss…_ at just that moment, a grey-blue form appeared in the doorway, spitting viciously and glaring at them, as if deciding which fresh face to go for first.

"Oh, you know…" Irving muttered, waving his hand sarcastically.

"Shut up and kill it!"

_Crack crack crack, crack crack- bang! _The two marines riddled the thing with bullets, before Solara dealt it a loud, crushing shot to the skull from her Carnifex. It tumbled, but as per the proverb, two more rose up in its place, bolting around the corner as if to answer the call now emanating from the Reaper wreckage behind them. There was no time to take a shot, as they rushed in close, and:

_Thud. _Irving caught one with his boot, smashing a knee and buying himself enough time to jump back, level his rifle, and blow the buggar away. The other one had gone straight for Solara, but to Sarah's mild surprise, the drell was ready for it - with her free hand, she grabbed a shock baton from her waist, dealt the husk a swift one-two to temple and chest, then brought her pistol back around and put a shot between its eyes.

That, she supposed, just left the turian. Sure enough, the Marauder rounded the corner a moment later, screeching bird-like and raising its rifle. Solara and Irving both went for their weapons, but Sarah beat them to it, flinging out her free hand. Quite suddenly, she found a vein of frustration and anger that had been welling up ever since she was _knocked out of a shuttle, _and had built through every second in this dark, dank shithole of a-

_Wham_. A shockwave burst from her arm, catapulting the Marauder back through the door and into the far wall. With a loud _crunch_, it bounced off and slumped to the floor, dead. Almost concurrently, another loud_ thrum _of biotics sounded out in the background, followed by the scrape of metal, a groaning noise, and then, muffled as if leagues below them:

_Sploosh_.

"Problem solved," Ekris muttered, clapping his hands together. "Sort of."

"You alright, ma'am?"

Sarah looked across to see Irving staring back, a flicker of concern on his damp features. With a start, she realised her arm was still outstretched and… shaking, with each angry rise and fall of her chest.

"I… yeah," she nodded, shaking her head to try and regain some awareness. "Fine. Just a shit day, huh?"

She cracked the most winsome grin she could, and that seemed to satisfy him - he grinned back, and then promptly looked away, setting about reloading his rifle.

"That would appear to be all of them," Solara murmured, letting out a sigh of relief. "Shall we proceed?"

"Yeah," Sarah muttered. "One more room, and we're done…"


	502. Operation Guardian Part 5

_**Last Bastion, Kahje**_

_**Day 1, 1820**_

"Come on… stupid thing…"

Solara gave the office door a quick _whack_ in frustration, prompting the rest of the squad's eyebrows to rise in unison.

"I thought they taught you how to hack doors?" Ekris murmured, thoughtfully.

"Not. Helping."

"Alright, what's up?" Sarah muttered, somewhat more constructively.

"Power's out to this section," Solara sighed. "I've got the access codes, but they're useless if the mechanism doesn't have the power to open."

"Then knock it down," Irving grunted.

"Sure, because security didn't think of _that_. This is the governor's office, it's not supposed to be easy to get into…"

"Did security think of biotics?" the marine ventured.

"_Yes_."

"Omni-gel," Sarah suggested. "Can you do anything with omni-gel?"

"I… maybe," the drell nodded. "Big guy, can you get that panel off?"

She gestured to the door console, and stepped back slightly, taking the cartridge of omni-gel that Sarah passed to her. Irving, meanwhile, stepped up and cracked his knuckles, before frowning, over his shoulder:

"You want the console intact?"

"Please."

The marine just nodded, shifted his rifle in his hands, and:

_Clang. _He brought the butt of the rifle down on the top of the panel, with the resounding noise of metal on metal. _Clang, clang, clang… _on the fourth blow, it shifted fully, sliding an inch or two down the wall and dangling free. Irving slung his rifle onto his back, crouched down, and slipped a hand under either side of the panel, carefully pulling it free. It was left dangling by a wire, and with a sarcastic flourish, he stepped away to let Solara work.

"My hero…" she murmured, sardonically. With the three commandoes watching on, she crouched down by the console once more, sliding one slender arm through the hole in the wall and working her omni-tool with the other.

"Question," Ekris grunted. "How exactly is omni-gel meant to put power into that thing?"

"It's not," Solara muttered, voice reverberating in the wall cavity. "But the building has an emergency generator, to make sure doors and security systems still function in the event of a city-wide blackout. I doubt it's been destroyed. More likely the safety systems kicked in when the lower levels flooded. With a bit of omni-gel and some _creative _use of software…"

"Geez, she sounds like Andersen," Irving whispered, causing Sarah to crack the slightest of grins.

"… we can override them, get the power flowing again. Like… so."

A deep rumble sounded out from somewhere in the depths of the building, and a vague, whirring hum filled the air. The door console, still dangling by a thread, lit up vividly, and Solara was able to extract her arm from the wall before swiping her credentials over the panel.

With a satisfactory _hiss_, the office came open.

"Okay," Ekris admitted. "That's impressive."

"Thank you."

"But you still can't shoot straight."

"Oh, piss off…"

Sarah decided against getting involved - with a cough, she just stepped between the two drell and entered the administrator's office, the others following in her wake after an awkward moment or two.

The office itself was barren, like the rest of the building. A steel desk, with all of its clutter scattered in an inch of floodwater. A couple of chairs, overturned on either side of it. A large window occupying the entirety of the far wall, which might have been beautiful before the vista outside was battered and turned to ruins. The wall on the left had cracked in two, just next to the filing cabinet - from within the wall, a burst water pipe was spraying out into the middle of the room, producing the water underfoot. As they opened the door, in fact, it had washed out into the corridor outside, carrying detritus from the desk with it.

"No body…" the lieutenant noted, ducking under the pipe spray and moving up towards the desk. "Your administrator's not here."

"That may be a good thing, in the circumstances…" Solara sighed. "Maybe he got out through the sub-level."

"So what now?" Irving grunted. "We done?"

"Almost… give me a minute with the administrator's computer, I'll see what I can recover."

The drell ducked around to the far side of the desk, and neither Sarah nor Irving saw any reason to complain. As she opened up the console and began to tap away, however, Ekris was _staring _at her. And then, quite suddenly, he was laughing.

"_How _did I not see that?" he muttered, grinning a little to himself.

"Not see what?" Solara murmured, absent-mindedly.

"This isn't a rescue op, it's data recovery! Grab the files, wipe the database…"

Sarah and Irving just looked at each other, eyes widening slightly, as Solara looked up from the computer to meet Ekris' gaze.

"And?" she shrugged.

"_And_, you sold them on that 'survivor' bullshit…" Ekris continued, folding his arms. He didn't look angry, more… wait, was he _impressed?_

"It's not _entirely_ bullshit. The best way to locate survivors is through the maintenance systems - heat mapping, survivable areas, etcetera. And the only access to the maintenance systems is through the administrator's office, or through the terminals in the maintenance tunnels. Down there."

She pointed through the floor, presumably to the deeps beneath.

"Wait," Irving scowled. "Let me get this straight. She was bullshitting us? Made us think she was after one thing, when she was really after another?"

"Mhmm," Ekris nodded.

"You two are bloody perfect for each other…" the marine grumbled. "Now assuming none of this shit matters unless we get out of here, how long do you need?"

"Only a minute or so."

"I'll get on the radio," Sarah sighed. "Mac! Do you copy?"

"We copy," the drell's voice replied, slightly hazy through the static.

"Sitrep?"

"We've found a route to the roof, proceeding now."

"Any signs of life up there?"

"Oh yes. We can hear gunshots. Miss Arness appears to be fighting back."

"Good girl…" Irving grinned.

"Keep us informed," Sarah muttered, ignoring him. "We're almost done here."

"Understood."

The radio faded once more, and Sarah was back in the room. Ekris and Irving were still milling around, weapons in hand, as Solara tapped away at the administrator's console. She flicked through half a dozen different screens, pulled up a holographic display, slid her credentials across it, and cracked the slightest of grins as a ream of data rolled up onto the screen.

"Got it," she nodded. "Saving to my omni-tool, and-"

_Thud._ Sarah wheeled around, just in time to see the office door slam shut, a glowing red roundel appearing in the centre to seal it.

"The hell?" Sarah frowned, glancing back at the drell. "Did you do that?"

"_Why _would I do that?" Solara scowled.

"Power ran out?" Ekris ventured.

"No, the console's still working… oh."

"Oh?"

"Oh."

"Let me guess…" Irving rumbled, his features growing thunderous. "Security thought of that one too?"

With a loud _whir_, a circular hatch in the corner of the ceiling slid aside, allowing a dark metal shape to drop down, fold out, and spin around to aim their way…

"Err… yeah, they did."


	503. Operation Guardian Part 6

_**Last Bastion, Kahje**_

_**Day 1, 1825**_

"Nobody. _Move_."

There was an awkward shuffling, as the squad stared up at the turret, and the turret's beady eye stared back.

"It's motion-sensitive," Solara continued. "So don't. Move."

"Motion-sensitive?" Irving growled. "Who the fuck thought of that?"

"It hasn't killed you yet," Ekris chuckled, darkly. "So maybe don't knock it, chief."

"Alright, alright…" the big marine grumbled. "What do we do?"

"Well, I'd recommend destroying that thing…"

"Frickin' genius…"

"You two, shut up a minute!" Sarah snapped, breathing heavily. "_How _do we take it out? What do we have?"

"Gun won't kill it before it gets us," Irving muttered. "It's a piss-poor security system otherwise."

"Grenades?" the lieutenant ventured.

"Lost mine," he grumbled. "Ekris?"

The drell just shook his head.

"Alright then… biotics?" she murmured, calmly.

"Best bet," Solara nodded. "Which of us does it?"

"You're an unknown, I'm a mid-level, Ekris is… stronger," Sarah rambled, more to herself than to Solara. "Ekris?"

"That filing cabinet," the assassin began, nodding to the steel article on the left side of the room. "Is it bolted down?"

"Doubt it," the other drell replied.

"Okay… and it'll start firing the moment I try to move, right?"

"Right."

"Then you three might want to go for cover. On three?"

"On three," Sarah nodded.

"One… two… three!"

Quite suddenly, there was a biotic _thrum _in the air, and a rush of movement that was almost too fast for Sarah to process. As she bolted for the desk, Irving was moving with her, Solara was going to vault over the desk, Ekris was flinging out a biotic arm… as if in slow motion, she saw the turret's first two rounds bounce off the steel desk, trying to catch Solara, but the drell was a fraction too quick. She dropped behind the desk, Sarah and Irving slid down either side of her, and-

_Wham! _The sight of a steel cabinet flying across the room, in a blaze of biotic blue, was… kind of a disconnect, really. Satisfying, though - it impacted with a resounding crunch, snapped the turret head clean off its base, ricocheted into the window, bounced off the desk, and fell still.

The room went… _very _quiet. The only noise in the room came from the water pipe spraying above their heads, and the faintest of biotic murmurs as the blue fire fell away from Ekris' arms.

"I… I honestly can't believe that worked," Sarah panted.

"Thanks for the vote on confidence," Ekris scowled. "Are we good?"

"Err… no," Solara murmured. "No, I don't think we are…"

Sarah looked down, confused. Solara was lying on the floor between herself and Irving, laid out on her side… and with a jolt, the lieutenant realised one of her arms was completely submerged. So too were Sarah's own legs, in her kneeling position, and looking back, she realised the water was half way up Ekris' boots. Worse, it was still pouring out of the pipe, and…

"The door's sealed," the drell continued, quietly. "So…"

"So, we need to sort _that _out," Irving grunted, rising to his feet and marching over to the pipe. He clamped a hand around it, cutting off the water as best he could, but it was still spraying out through the cracks, and when he applied a second hand:

_Pssh! _The pipe _exploded _further up, throwing a second jet of water over Irving's head - as he coughed and spluttered, he shifted a hand up to block that one, and…

_Pssh! _A third, and then, with a terrible groaning sound…

The pipe twisted, buckled, and tore clean in two in Irving's hands.

"Goddamnit!" the marine swore, ducking away as a new fountain of water billowed out, showering him and spraying the centre of the room. Sarah and Solara both scrambled to their feet, and Ekris was already pacing across the room, eyes scanning every nook and cranny as only an assassin's eyes could - in search of an escape.

"Force the door?" he muttered, business-like.

"Didn't work before, won't work now," Irving grumbled.

"Window?" the drell suggested. True enough, there was a shallow crack where the cabinet had hit it, but:

"Less likely than the door," Solara murmured, shaking her head. "It's thick enough to withstand small arms fire, biotics, a personal mortar…"

"Yeah, yeah, you did a good job with the security," the chief scowled. "No need to rub it in when it's about to kill us."

"Oh, don't be so negative," Ekris deadpanned. "Solara, can you try and hack-"

"What do you _think _I'm doing?" she sighed, omni-tool open on her wrist. "It's no good, my credentials are locked out…"

"Wow. _Somebody _doesn't trust you."

"Really? You're going to be petty _now? Really?_"

"Alright…" Irving interrupted, clearly quite keen to break up the argument and… y'know, _live_. "Movie clichés. Let's go."

"Blow the bloody doors off?" Sarah ventured, with a weak chuckle.

"Like it, but no."

"Gunship rescue?" Ekris sighed, with a humorous smirk.

"Gunship's crashed…"

"Bring in the cavalry?"

"Cavalry's _drowned_."

"Wonderful… miraculous hacking skills?"

"Still no," Solara frowned, jabbing her omni-tool in annoyance.

"Air vent?" Ekris muttered.

"Heh."

"No, seriously… _air vent_."

As one, they turned to follow the assassin's outstretched finger… all the way to the metal grille in the back corner of the room, high on the wall.

"You gotta be fuckin' kidding me…" Irving gawped. "Since when does that actually… you know what, I'll take it."

The marine went wading into the corner - _wading_, Sarah noted, because the water had crept up to their knees in the meantime - and grabbed a hold of the panel from either side, examining it cautiously for a moment.

"Please tell me there ain't a gun in here too," he laughed mirthlessly, looking back over one shoulder.

"Not… to my knowledge," Solara frowned, checking the water level as she did - thigh-height and rising, cold.

With an audible grunt, Irving twisted the panel from two corners, and it tore away in his hands, to reveal a rectangular air vent beyond. A cool breeze came whipping in as he did, which was… encouraging. At least they wouldn't cook in there.

"Jesus, are we really considering this?" Sarah murmured, speaking aloud the thought that had been rattling around her head for the last minute or two.

"I don't see any other way out, ma'am. Can't smash in a window, can't break down a door… that's all my go-to options out."

"Uh-huh. And you don't see any… flaws, in this plan?"

"Not really."

"No? Nothing like, how the hell are _you_ going to fit in _there?_"

She gestured angrily from the very _big _marine to the very _small _vent - big enough for the drell, maybe even for her, but certainly not big enough for Irving.

"Yeah, well… I was kinda planning to go last and hope you didn't notice, ma'am."

"Great. _Great _plan, chief! Fucking magnificent!"

The drell both shuffled awkwardly at that, and Irving's brow rose in amusement at the last outburst. Sarah, however, was oblivious to all that - she was staring very hard at the marine, glaring with all her might.

"So… I take it you don't approve?"

"No, I do not _approve_."

"Uh-huh. No medal, then? For noble self-sacrifice?"

"_No._"

Irving sighed, and looked at the floor - or at least, as much of it as you could see through the water, now making its way steadily to hip-height. After a moment more, he looked up, to address Ekris and Solara:

"You two," he murmured, quietly. "Get moving. The lieutenant and I need to have a word."

Another long pause, as Ekris shot the marine a meaningful look. And then, with the slightest of nods, he began to move towards the corner, waving mutely for Solara to follow.

"Don't move," Sarah snapped-

"Belay that order. Get going."

The lieutenant just turned to glare at Irving, as the two drell watched them nervously. Then, finally, Ekris nudged his fellow in her side, nodding to the vent and crouching down to give her a hand up - as he did, Sarah noticed the water lapping up towards his chin, and relented slightly. No sense in them drowning while the two marines bickered. A moment later, Solara sprang up, using Ekris' hands as a foothold, and disappeared out of sight into the tunnel…

The assassin himself followed quickly, casting one look back at his squadmates as he did. Then, finally, he shook his head and clambered through the precipice, boots clanging loudly off into the wall and out of sight.

Stony silence filled the air, as the two drell's footsteps receded into the distance, echoing more and more faintly into the office amidst the din of gushing water.

"You're going," Irving grunted, as the water crossed his hips.

"The hell I am," Sarah retorted, lifting herself onto the tips of her toes to disguise the fact that the flood was already at her waist, a good deal lower than Irving's.

"What? You got some master plan, ma'am?"

He folded his arms, features grim, and the lieutenant just stared back at him for a moment, teeth digging hard into her lip. Her blood was thrumming angrily once more, building with each pulse, until:

_Wham!_ She whirled around, pouring all her frustrations into the door with a blaze of biotic blue. It rang, and clanged, and echoed, but when the bluebell flames subsided, the only mark was a shallow dent in one corner, barely half an inch deep. The lieutenant swayed, doubling over slightly with the effort, and her face dipped dangerously close to the water…

"Easy there," a calm voice murmured. A dull _splashing_ sounded out as the chief waded over to her, grabbing her by the shoulder and pulling her upright. "Save your strength, ma'am…"

"How else can we break it down?" she growled.

"I… don't think we can. You barely scratched the damn thing."

"Alright, alright… then we radio in with Ekris and Solara. Those vents have to come out somewhere, they can drop down, and circle round, and open it up."

"How?" he grunted, simply.

"I don't know, they'll think of something!"

"Uh-huh. Before the water gets up to here?"

With a sad, lop-sided smile, he held his hand level to her mouth by way of demonstration. The floodwater was already welling up around the lieutenant's midriff, and a gentle pressure was trying to nudge her off her feet, towards the door…

"Alright, what's your plan, then?" Sarah frowned.

"Get you into that vent and outta here, ma'am."

"Negative. Next plan?"

"Sit here and drown."

"That attitude's not helping," she snapped.

"Neither's yours," he retorted, calmly. "You. Have got. To go."

"No way. No-one left behind, chief."

"Oh, grow up…" the big marine growled, good-naturedly. "That was never part of the deal, ma'am."

"And you can cut that _ma'am_ bullshit while you're at it," Sarah replied, face reddening even as the water crept up her torso. "You know my name. Use it."

"No can do, ma'am."

"Why the hell not, _chief?_"

Irving looked down for a second, and chuckled to himself. Clearly, there was something _fucking _amusing about their present situation that had somehow managed to elude the lieutenant.

"Because, _ma'am_, I have a job to do."

He took a step forward, forging a current in the water as he did and causing a rippling wave to bob up almost to Sarah's neck. She shot out an arm to the door to steady herself, even as her legs threatened to give way, and the marine, rumbling, continued:

"That job is not, was not, has never been, to get everybody out alive, or to get out alive myself. My _job _is to serve. My job is to make sure my superior can do _their_ job. And you can't do yours if you're dead, ma'am."

"Bullshit. Bullshit, bullshit… _bullshit_."

The chief's eyebrow quirked upwards, and his gaze hardened.

"Just because you don't like it doesn't mean it ain't true," he muttered.

"Why now?"

"What?"

"Why. Now?"

"Because we're in a frickin' locked room that's about to fill," Irving growled, bluntly.

"Not what I mean, and you know it," Sarah snapped. "You only pull this 'superior' shit when you're about to get yourself killed."

"Usually because it means saving you," he scowled.

"And that's worth it?"

"My life, here" - he held a hand low, just above the water - "your life, _here_" - he lifted the other high above his head.

"What, just because I've got some fucking commission?" she gawped, angrily.

"Sure," the chief growled.

"No better reason than that?"

"Mm."

The two continued their standoff a moment longer, Sarah glaring, Irving… not quite meeting her eye, but standing resolute nonetheless. The water was just sneaking under the lieutenant's arms, buoyancy tugging up from the waist…

"No," she snapped, finally. "No, we do this properly. We'll radio in, find a way around…"

"Ma'am."

"… maybe they can find something outside to batter the door down with…"

"Ma'am."

"… or, or explosives, or Solara can try hacking it again, or…"

"_Sarah!_"

The lieutenant's head snapped upwards as a loud _bellow _filled her ears. Looking up, she found the chief red in the face, shoulders heaving angrily with each subsequent breath.

"For _fuck's _sake…" he whispered. "Don't fight me on this."

Irving took a step forward with no small amount of effort, and Sarah shrank back a little as he did. The tide was up around her shoulders now, and his movement sent a ripple cascading up over her collar, splashing cold water over her throat and-

_Whoosh. _Without so much as a yelp, her legs gave out to the pressure and she dropped below the surface, cold water welling up inside her armour, in her nose and throat and eyes…

Before she could even think about fighting upwards, a strong _tug _around her waist pulled her up, onto the shoulder of the hefty black form above her. Hacking and coughing and spitting stale water, she could do little to protest as the big marine carved his own path through the tide.

"You gotta go," he muttered, yet again.

The words _'I don't want to' _were dancing on the tip of the lieutenant's tongue, but all she managed was a wracking cough, another trickle of water from her lungs, and finally, a muted nod of submission.

"I'll shut the grille behind you," Irving continued matter-of-factly, grunting as he hefted her up into the vent. "Should stop it flooding."

The arm supporting her back fell away, and Sarah found herself lying flat in the cramped confines of a metal tunnel, walls pressing in on all sides, a shallow puddle of water running off her armour…

_Clang. _Lifting her head, she saw Irving's head bob back into view through the vent, by her feet. He had the cover panel in one hand, having fished it out of the water, and as the lieutenant watched on, he wedged it firmly into place once more. A weak salute followed, obscured through the lattice of the vent, and then… _clunk_. He slid it shut, and was lost from view.

Sarah was left alone for a moment. Her only companions were the gentle breeze swirling around the vent, and the dull patter of the rising floodwater outside.

Slowly, numbly, she turned over onto her belly, and started off along the tunnel.


	504. Operation Guardian Part 7

_**Last Bastion, Kahje**_

_**Day 1, 1835**_

"Mac. You there?"

"I'm here."

"It's Ekris. Got what we came for, heading for the roof."

"Everything alright?"

"Fine. Contact when you've sorted our evac."

"Will do…"

The radio faded to silence, and Mac'Tir dropped his omni-tool, reaching for his pistol once more. With his free hand, he rubbed his brow, letting out a low sigh.

"Everything alright?" Saffiya asked, emerging from the next hallway with a frown on her features.

"I shouldn't imagine so…" the drell sighed. "We'll find out when we're done here. The door?"

"Welded shut," the asari shrugged. "I could force it, but I imagine that would defeat the point."

"Husks?"

"A couple of stragglers. Dealt with, but I imagine there are-"

_Clang_.

"…more."

"Miss Arness is tenacious, I'll give her that…" Mac'Tir murmured, as the both of them looked up through the ceiling to follow the din echoing down from the rooftop. "How do you imagine the husks are getting up there?"

"Not by the stairs… external?"

"Balcony."

The asari blinked for a moment, before following the assassin's outstretched finger to the sudden object of his attention. There was a balcony jutting out from the side of the top-floor apartment they were currently standing in, the glass doors leading to it shattered from the outside.

Wordlessly, the pair of them hurried to the edge of the room, ducking through the broken doorframes and spinning around to look up at the roof. It was a storey above them, little more than ten or twelve feet. And echoing down from above…

_Thud. _The sound of a hefty strike on flesh, followed by a body tumbling to the floor.

"Boost," the drell muttered, simply.

His partner nodded and knelt down, putting her hands together as her arms brimmed with biotic fire. Raziel just paused, glanced up at the ledge above, and then took a run-up, planting one boot in Saffiya's hands and springing up, legs kicking out wildly. A swell of biotics hurled him upwards, and he soared clear of the ledge by a foot or two, landing neatly on the edge.

Working on instinct, he blotted out the situation at hand, dropping onto his back and slinging his free arm over the edge. With the other hand, he brought up his pistol, finally allowing his gaze to flicker across the rest of the rooftop…

It was a curious sight, to put it mildly. The Kodiak was nose-down, having come to rest in the middle of the roof with a trail of scorch marks behind it, all the way to the edge. Four… no, _five_ husks were milling around the shuttle, hands clawing at the hull, dead eyes leering upwards. As for the object of their affections, Wendy Arness was standing on the shuttle's roof, no gun in hand, eyes scanning cautiously for whichever husk was getting nearest. As one on the left lunged up, making a bid to climb the mountain:

_Smack! _The pilot planted her boot between its eyes, knocking it back down to the rooftop below. The others bayed and hissed, and continued to swarm, but seemed to be keeping their distance…

With a slight tug, Saffiya grabbed the assassin's hand, and it was little effort to haul her up with her biotics assisting the effort. She landed on the rooftop next to him, crouching low, and curiously, sliding her pistol _back _into her belt. The husks didn't seem to have spotted them yet, focused as they were on their unarmed prey atop the shuttle.

"Take them by surprise?" the asari murmured, quietly.

The drell just nodded, and his thumb strayed to the side of his pistol, engaging the laser sight with the slightest of _click_s. A little blue dot appeared across the rooftop, hovering on the back of one husk's head.

"Ready?" he muttered.

"Ready."

_Bang. _The unfortunate husk pitched forwards, blood showering against the side of the shuttle as it bounced once off the hull and slumped, dead before it hit the ground. The reaction across the rooftop was more or the less the same - Arness looked up in surprise even as the husks whirled around to face the two newcomers.

_Whump. _Saffiya was off and running before Mac'Tir could fire a second shot, and as the first husk broke at her, she sent it flying away with a burst of biotics. It bounced once off the nose of the shuttle, rose flailing into the air, and then disappeared over the edge of the building.

Three more. Raziel attempted to sight in for another shot, but his asari partner was already in amidst the remaining husks. She crushed the skull of one with a biotic punch, lashed out behind herself with a kick that sent a second staggering…

_Bang. _Clambering to his feet, Mac'Tir picked that one off as it stumbled out of the melee, and it dropped instantly. One left, and Saffiya was toe-to-toe with it. She dodged a first, flailing lunge, lashed out with a kick, took a few steps back as the hound came circling, and-

"Sword!"

The drell blinked in surprise. Luckily, his arms were quicker than his brain - on instinct, his hand was already to his sword hilt, yanking it free of his belt and slinging it through the air. Saffiya caught it with surprising skill, ducked through the husk's outstretched arms-

_Shing_. There was a splatter of silver blood as she lashed out, cutting into the husk's side. A moment later it whirled around, hissing angrily. The justicar responded with a kick to the gut, doubled it over, and-

_Squelch_. She up-ended the blade and plunged it through the husk's back, piercing its heart from behind if the assassin had to guess. There was a moment's silence before, with a grisly echo, the corpse succumbed to gravity, sliding off the sword and thudding to the floor. Saffiya just held her pose a moment, taking one deep breath before straightening up, shaking the blood off her… off _his _blade. Raziel couldn't help but stare a moment, more than a little surprised. That was… _hm_.

He snapped back to attention as she leant over, setting the blade down and sliding it back towards him with a tap of her heel. The drell stooped and caught it in one hand, as his partner advanced calmly on the fallen shuttle.

"Are you alright?" she called, dusting off her hands.

"Better now," Wendy nodded, pacing over to the edge of the Kodiak and hopping down as neatly as she could. "Although I wish you'd arrived _before _I ran out of ammunition."

"Looks like you did a good enough job yourself," Saffiya noted, glancing around at the corpses littered across the rooftop - far more than the five they'd just killed.

Arness simply shrugged, and set about tending to her craft, checking the door release for starters. It swung open with a mechanical - if somewhat rusty - _hiss_, and Raziel couldn't help but notice that the interior was still bathed by crimson warning lights.

"Is she flightworthy?" the drell muttered, pacing up to join the two women.

"That's… relative," Wendy replied, awkwardly. "She was hit pretty badly, and there's only so much I can do with a welder and omni-gel."

"Specifics?" Saffiya frowned.

"She's nowhere near airtight, so we're not rated for ex-atmosphere flight. We're… also missing the front-right thruster, it was mangled in the landing. The rest of the systems are working, though. Mostly."

"Can you take off and land, preferably without a horrible explosion inbetween?" the justicar asked, sardonically.

"I… think I could manage that, yes. I trust the aerial threat's down?"

There was a moment's silence, as the drell and the justicar exchanged a _look_.

"…seriously?" Wendy sighed. "If I couldn't dodge that Harvester with four engines, what makes you think I could dodge it with three?"

"We'll take care of it," Raziel interjected, quickly. "Take these, and be ready to take off as soon as we're done."

As he spoke, he detached his comlink from the collar of his jacket, and pulled two pistol clips out of his belt, before handing the lot over to Arness. The pilot took it with a nod, and set about reaching for her pistol, still looped through her belt next to what looked like a welding torch.

"And I take it we're hiking back across the city?" Saffiya muttered, dryly.

"As quickly as possible," the drell nodded, cheerfully. "Get on the radio to Ekris. We'll need a few more hands for this."


	505. Operation Guardian Part 8

**A/N: So. This whole "disappearing off the face of the earth" thing has happened enough times now that I'm not going to bother with giving excuses, or laying out a plan for going forward. One more chapter coming tonight.**

* * *

><p><em><strong>Last Bastion, Kahje<strong>_

_**Day 1, 1845**_

"Ekris, we're on our way to you. We need to take care of that Harvester - are you on the rooftops yet?"

"On our way up. We'll be a couple of-"

_Click_. Irving switched off his comlink with a grunt of disdain, the chatter fading until it was lost amidst the rush of pouring water. The big marine was stood atop the administrator's desk, staring out at the sunken cityscape as the water peaked above his waist.

All things considered, he was in a remarkable state of calm. Nothing more to be done now. The mission was complete. The team was out safe. _She _was out safe… job done.

_Fuck that_.

"Goddamnit!" he roared, swiping one arm through the rising water and spattering it across the administrator's bay window.

Quite suddenly, a tide of anger carried him off the desk, landing two good blows against the window with his fists before he plunged beneath the water. He bobbed down, then rose up again, yelling and flailing, bare hands pounding off the glass…

It was to no avail. The glass was meant to withstand a personal mortar, never mind a marine's pummelling. With a growl of anger, he kicked off against the window and splashed back over to the desk. By the time he found his feet upon it, the water was up to his elbows, and he had to press his hands against the ceiling to keep his footing. A sluice of cold, murky water ran down his arms as he did, pouring down his neck and into his collar, sending a shiver along his spine. Cold, or fear?

He growled at the very thought of admitting the latter, and dug his fingers into the battered ceiling, angrily. The slight _scrape _of his nails on steel was inaudible against the din of water still rushing in through the broken pipe, now beneath the water level and belching out great bubbles to fill the room…

Far across the city, silhouetted in the light of a low sun, a dark shape flitted across the horizon. Watching on, resignedly now, Irving could almost imagine the beating of leathery wings, the unearthly howl echoing between the city spires… the Harvester swept low over the water, circled around a smoking tower, then rose again, head snapping back to release a scream left muffled by the glass window. It swung lazily between the rows of battered buildings, rose up, flew by, and quite suddenly, it was hovering level with the rooftop opposite the administrator's office. With a _crunch _of stone that might have been a figment of the marine's imagination, it clambered over the top of the building, onto a low stone ledge, and nestled there like a bird at roost.

As the water gradually crept towards his shoulders, Irving found himself staring at the creature, his own eyes boring into its passive, monstrous face. A set of glowing blue eyes, half a dozen or thereabouts, were roving idly over the side of the building, watching for any sign of movement. Oh-so gradually, they crept upwards, floor by floor, towards the roof.

"No, no, no…" Irving growled, quietly. "Eyes down, you bastard. Down here…"

The Harvester remained unmoved, deaf to the marine's muffled utterings. It shuffled slightly on its perch, eyes roving up to search the rooftops across which he could only assume three other figures were running.

"DOWN HERE!"

Even the marine himself was caught off-guard, as a cry loud enough to tear his breath from his lungs spilled out of his lips, and one arm raked the water, swiping angrily at the surface. He lost his balance with the arm removed, stumbling on the desk, but his gaze was still locked on the Harvester.

"COME ON!" he bellowed, with whatever air remained. The tide slipped above his shoulders, a new pressure forcing him down, but he was acting on instinct more than sense. Even as his footing faltered, a free hand went for his shoulder, yanked his rifle up out of the water-

_Crack crack crack crack!_ He pulled the trigger without the slightest hint of 'proper form', and the rifle's backside smacked him in the jaw like a rookie on the range. He swallowed it down with a growl, though, as bullets ricocheted off the window, plunged beneath the surface of the water…

Irving fired until his clip was empty, and pulled the trigger for a few more _click_s besides. The greyish tide lapped up over his collar a moment later, cold water poured down his neck and into his armour, causing a sharp intake of breath at it hit his chest. He faltered, digging his one free hand into the ceiling, but his knees were buckling, his lungs bursting as the cold clawed at them.

_Skree_. A rush of movement from beyond the window, a muffled cry and a flash of dark, leathery wings. His attention was torn away, though, as the water hit his chin. He tipped his head back, gulping at the air, taking in a few final breaths before the cold tide rose up to his jaw-

_Wham_. There was a shudder of movement, walls and floor and desk beneath his feet all shaking, for just a moment. The room lit up crimson, fire dancing in the corner of his vision and lighting up the room- only for it to be darkened once more as a shadow blotted out the sun, growing close…

_Wham! _Another _shudder_ from the room, the sound of breaking glass… and for a brief moment, Irving felt weightless, his mind spinning as it tried to process what was happening. It failed, for the most part. The desk beneath his feet rocked over and then tipped, taking his legs from beneath him. He plunged under the water, swallowed a lungful of ice, felt his rifle tear away into the maelstrom… and then, quite suddenly, the whole room was moving, the whole _mass _of water rushing through a broken window.

He spun to the side, leadenly, still choking on icy water and trying to reach for any semblance of security, but to no avail. The room slipped away, a set of savage claws passing either side of him, and then suddenly, he was _truly _weightless. Wind and noise met freezing cold, and he somersaulted, saw a flash of sky and then a flash of cold water below. He went tumbling downwards with the torrent, vision spinning. Sky, sea, sky, sea…

_Wham._


	506. Operation Guardian Part 9

_**Last Bastion, Kahje**_

_**Day 1, 1855**_

As the world blurred back into vision, with a sense of icy cold and grim foreboding, Irving Wolfe couldn't help but expect the ferryman to appear with a welcoming hand and a cold embrace.

Charon was nowhere to be found, however. With every passing moment, the general feeling of _explosion _in his head grew worse, the cold in his nerves more fervent, the noise around him more deafening. There was solid ground beneath him, he noted, bare, battered arms scraping across it. The warm tides of Kahje were lapping over his legs, not so warm as sunset approached, and his eyes were burning, still bleary and waterlogged.

He propped himself up on one elbow, with a pained grunt, and took in what he could of his surroundings. The solid ground was a broken road, he noted, sloping away into the water, and he had washed up upon it by luck alone. Rifle gone. Sidearm on his hip, one mag. Conditions… falling temperature and fading light as the sun dipped low, the towers around him casting shadows over the surrounding area.

With a growl of pain - his ribs were numb and aching, maybe broken - he tipped himself onto his side, glancing around at the rooftops. Not a jot of movement, until his eyes flickered back towards the administrator's office:

_Skree!_

He groaned, as a dark, leather-winged figure tore its way clumsily out of the hole in the third storey - a large chasm which hindsight would tell him he had fallen from. Dead eyes cut through the evening, scouring the streets below as the hulking creature perched on the edge once more, talons gripping the window frame tightly and scattering shards of debris into the sea below…

With a horrible _howl_, the eyes settled on the battered figure on the road below. Without waiting to see the result, Irving levered himself to his feet - ignoring the jolt of pain in his ribs that resulted - and set off at a loping run. It was a difficult effort, and the first few steps sent him stumbling as the water inside his suit sloshed sideways. His legs were numb from the cold, but he kept them moving, one in front of the other, heading for the crossroads a little way up the road. To go left, or right, then?

_Boom! _The right side of the road exploded crimson, and a dark shadow soared overhead as he limped off to the left, head still spinning. He could barely hear the echo of the shot, or the rippling of the floodwaters, or the sound of masonry crumbling away from the towers on either side.

Irving almost tumbled as he rounded the corner to the left, the tide in his armour swinging to one side. He staggered, kept his footing, and stumbled onwards…

Oh, shit.

Up ahead, the bombed-out road came to a hard stop, a murky tide lapping up over the shattered edge of the road. He glanced back, checking the other side of the crossroads-

And however beautiful and intact that stretch of road may have been, there was a dark figure hovering between him and it. Damn.

As the Harvester thudded down, in the middle of the road, the marine swung around, off-balance, one hand shooting to his hip. He yanked his pistol free of his belt, flicked off the safety, raised it to fire, _crack crack-_

_Boom! _The air flashed scarlet, a wave of heat and pressure slamming into his chest and taking him off his feet. He hung weightless for a moment, tumbled legs over head… and then plunged into the water for what felt like the hundredth time that day. More ice-cold water spilled in through his collar, replacing that which had warmed so slightly with a fresh wave of chills, and his lungs filled in a single, explosive rush. He hacked and coughed, bucked his shoulders, opened his eyes despite the burning to cast around…

There was scarlet light over his shoulder. He twisted, kicked out, struggled upwards despite the weight of his armour, the burning in his lungs, the vague darkness creeping into the corners of his vision. He choked on another flood, descended a foot or so in the meantime, then kicked out again, aiming for the road above. Half a dozen feet. Five. Four. Three. Two.

He swung up one arm - the other still clutching his pistol, whatever _fucking _good that did - and his fingers clawed at the wet steel of the road. He slipped, dropped again, kicked and rose, threw his arm out of the water until he managed to plant his forearm on the roadway, haul himself up…

"Ngggh…"

He tossed his pistol onto the road with a clatter, threw both arms over the edge of the road, and kept his body weight up as he choked and spluttered. It was a disconcerting sight to see water spilling out of his own lungs - not rising with each cough and choke, but literally _spilling _out like a tap. With another growl of pain and weariness, the marine hauled his upper half up onto the road, legs dangling, and let it fall in a torrent, pouring out between his jaws.

_Skree!_

Irving's head rose, leadenly, to see the Harvester leering back victoriously. It flapped once, kicked off the ground, and rose into the air, still screeching. The long neck swung down, half a dozen eyes glaring at him. A cold wind whistled down the road, either from the sky or the Harvester's wings, and it chilled the sodden marine to his bones.

The Harvester, it seemed, was in no hurry. It hovered lazily before him, watching on as Irving pulled one knee out of the water, got it up to the road on the third attempt, and levered himself out of the water, flat on his belly on the highway. With another splutter and another belch of water, he reached out one leaden hand and found his pistol. It hovered up in a shaky hand, aim centred over the creature's head as he rolled onto his side.

_Skree…_

He coughed, tumbled onto his front, then pushed himself back up, one arm propping him up as the other clenched tightly on the pistol grip. The cold wind had settled now, his very bones freezing as finally, he tightened his finger on the trigger, _crack-_

_Whump!_

The Harvester screamed at the shot and whipped around, head snapping to the side with a grisly _crunch_. Irving froze, finger pausing on the trigger, nonplussed by the result. Had he…?

Nope. Far too slow in his groggy state, he noticed the blue fire burning behind the creature's jaw.

_Whump, whump, whump… _three more shots came arcing, two from the left and one from the right, all up high. The monster's body lurched with the first two, then bucked right as the third found it's wing, burning a livid, azure blue. Lithe figures appeared on the rooftops, in the corners of his vision, and his heart jumped slightly.

"The wings!" a deep voice barked. It was the nearest figure on the roof, a long black coat whipping behind him. "Go for the wings!"

_Wham! _A large singularity smashed in from the left, launched by a pale-skinned figure, and the Harvester wheeled right, slamming into the buildings there and screeching. It reared up, and quite suddenly the air was thick with blue light, a biotic barrage swirling through the air, half a dozen shots or more tearing at those leathery wings…

Irving fired a quick _crack crack_, two shots bouncing off the Harvester's hide, but a moment later his pistol dropped out of his hands as he rolled onto all fours, another bout of coughing taking a vice-like grip of his chest. He wretched and spluttered more ice-water, eyes tearing up. By the time he looked up again, wiping his eyes with sodden hands, the Harvester was crashing to the ground, wings burning with blue fire.

"Siha!" the commanding voice yelled, again. The man it belonged to was already making for the edge of the rooftop, in search of a way down. The figure at his side stepped forwards, wreathed in fire, and paused right on the edge, balanced precariously.

Then, Saffiya struck downwards, a great bloom of biotic energy rippling around the Harvester's head and neck and chest. Off to the left, Ekris stepped forward, one arm glowing as he joined the effort. One figure at his side was watching on meekly, the other descending. Irving's eyes just flickered back to the Harvester. It staggered upright with a baleful moan, hide _burning _blue.

And quite suddenly, with a tug of the asari's arm, it _exploded_. A cobalt-blue flash lit up the world, and Irving tumbled onto his side, shielding his eyes. The Harvester gave a screech, a torrent of cinders and sparks rose into the sky, and when the dancing light faded, it was simply… gone, just a few lingering ashes left to mourn it as they fell.

The world went very quiet, and Irving could hear his own shallow breathing in his skull as he rolled back onto all fours, abandoning his gun. Footsteps and far-off cries were echoing down the road, and as he rose shakily to his feet, glancing right, he saw a slim figure dropping. With a grunt and a bowed head, Mac'Tir hit the ground, crouching low for a moment and holding his pose there, before straightening up. He cracked his neck and pulled his collar taut, coat rippling slightly behind him as he set off towards the chief-

But someone beat him to it. Out of the corner of his eye, Irving saw a flash of movement, not strolling but _running _in from the left, and a moment later she reached him.

"You _stupid _bastard!" Sarah panted, before flinging her arms around his neck and pulling him into the tightest hug she could manage.

"Ma'am…" was about all he could manage to mumble, putting one leaden arm around her back. She wasn't listening, anyway, just murmuring:

"You stupid, stupid son of a… Christ, don't you ever… don't you ever do that again, okay?"

The rest of the squad was descending from the rooftops now, and somewhere off to the left, a small blue shape was hovering in, engines stirring the water and kicking up dust. Shivering, head bowed into Sarah's shoulder, Irving noticed none of it. To him, the world had gone very quiet indeed…


	507. Operation Guardian Debrief

_**Abandoned Drell Village, Kahje**_

_**Day 1, 2200**_

"Engine's patched up as well as I can manage," Wendy sighed, shutting down her omni-tool. "I'm a pilot, not a mechanic. Orbit control says they'll have a ship with us by sunrise."

"Alright…" Ekris nodded, massaging his brow ridge with a tired hand. "Try to get some sleep, okay? We'll be up a while on watch."

The pilot nodded, quietly, although he doubted she'd actually listen. With another sigh and stretching his shoulders, the drell wound his way out of the cockpit, through the crew compartment, and hopped down onto the beach once more. A fire was burning quietly some distance away, one figure beside it. The rest were gone.

"What's the news?" Solara murmured, firelight flickering on her bronze face.

"Rescue team's coming in the morning," he muttered. He had done away with the chestpiece and gauntlets of his armour, discarding them in the sand, and now he slumped down next to them, examining the slight scarring on his gauntlets where his biotics had torn their way out in the barrage. "Where are the others?"

"Mac'Tir and the justicar went for a walk," she replied, reaching out to warm her hands against the fire. "Your human friends retired to one of the huts. Asleep in each other's arms… all lovely and poetic, but mortifying to walk in on. Hence my self-imposed exile out here."

"Been a long time coming," the assassin grunted, with half a smirk and a glance towards the huts.

There was silence, for quite a while. No talk, just the crackle of the fire and the sound of the tide lapping at the beach, occasionally broken by a _clank _or a _clatter _as Arness continued working on the shuttle. Eventually, however, even the fretful pilot seemed to give up on her efforts, and settled down to sleep, leaving them with a more perfect silence. It was Ekris who eventually broke it:

"Level with me…" he muttered, a half-smile crossing his jaw. "Is there anything else you weren't telling us today? Besides the whole… data mining… thing."

Solara looked up, soberly, but smirking a little nonetheless. She didn't reply immediately, just glanced back at the fire…

"The administrator's dead," she admitted, finally. "He's been dead a while."

"You know that?"

"I'm his assistant, you think I don't monitor his bioscan? He died when the wreckage hit."

"Uh-huh. So grabbing the data is to… what? Carry on his work? Cover it up?"

"Whatever his successor wants to do with it," she shrugged.

Another pregnant pause, as the two of them stared into the base of the fire. Ekris reached out, wordlessly, prodding the embers with his gauntlets and causing it to rise higher, flaring.

"It wasn't all bullshit," Solara interjected, quite suddenly. "That data… really will help with the search for survivors, once the hanar's ships arrive. It was just…"

"Secondary."

"Yeah."

She tipped her head back, rubbing the bridge of her nose and staring skywards for a moment. Ekris watched her, unnoticed, and quickly glanced back to the fire as her eyes fell earthwards again.

"You've changed," he murmured, gently.

"What?" Solara frowned, head snapping around accusingly.

"Survivors are secondary… that's not you. You used to be the bloody cheerful one."

"My brother is dead" - Ekris looked at the floor, guiltily - "and my people are at war. Not much to be cheerful about these days…"

"You could pretend you're happy to see me?"

"…you are such a prick."

"Yeah, you told me that last time we saw each other, too."

"Some things don't change-"

"Do you want to know what happened to your brother?"

Solara frowned at the sudden change of direction, and her eyes flickered over to meet his for a moment, warily.

"I… don't know how much they told you," he murmured, staring down at his boots.

"Yeah you do. They didn't tell me anything. _They _never tell us anything."

Ekris nodded quietly, and knitted his hands together, wringing them slightly. The fire was still flickering, but his skin - no, his _blood_ - felt cold all of a sudden. There was a slight shimmer of blue around his hands, but he discarded it with a flex of his fingers, and cleared his throat.

"There was a… contract, on Illium," he muttered. "Assassination. It went wrong."

"No shit," Solara scowled. Ekris just sighed.

"We crossed paths with the Alliance team I'm working with now. And it turns out our target was ready for us. He killed Denar. Quick shot to the head, if that means anything."

"Less than you'd think."

"Right… he got Tomik and Vari, too. I was the only one who made it out."

"How?"

"How what?" Ekris retorted, though he could guess already.

"How did you make it out-"

"-when they didn't?" he guessed. Judging by the look on her face, he'd guessed right. "Are you asking whether it was my fault, Sol?"

"I didn't say that," she snapped. "But you did."

"It wasn't," he growled, more harshly than he'd intended. "Tomik left me behind as a lookout, and took the others inside. By the time I knew we were compromised, the three of them were dead."

"And the man who killed them?"

"Captured by the Alliance. Dead now."

"Good riddance…" she spat.

Ekris nodded, grimly, and let his attention wander back to the fire, the matter seemingly at rest. Another, indeterminate stretch of time seemed to pass, before he finally became aware of a pair of eyes boring into the side of his head, a keen-eyed gaze fixed on him.

"What?" he grunted, not looking up from the fire.

"If I've changed…" Solara murmured, "then what the heck happened to you?"

The assassin looked up, eyes flickering a little in the glow of the fire, but he said nothing. He just stared at her for a moment or two, then turned his gaze back to the fire, hands clasped in front of him.

"You've gone cold…" she continued, quietly. "Quiet."

"Dark days," Ekris shrugged vaguely. "It's hard."

"Would you care to pray? I know it always used to-"

"I'll… pass. Thanks."

Solara frowned, and shuffled a little closer in the sand, wary gazed fixed on him.

"Okay… that _is _new," she observed, gently. "What's wrong?"

The assassin sighed.

"Call it a mild… only mild, mind, but a _mild _crisis of faith…"

"You… no longer believe?" Solara blinked, curiously.

"I no longer find… strength," he replied, choosing his words carefully.

"How so?"

He let his head tip forward, bowing it and letting out another low sigh. The questions, always with the questions… typical Solara.

"I believed," Ekris muttered, finally. "We all believed, your _brother _Denar believed. Look what good it did him. And yet I find myself in the company of men and women who follow other gods, or no gods at all, and their fortunes are just as fair as mine."

Solara made a small _hmm_ noise, but nodded in understanding nonetheless. She shuffled a little closer once more, tilting her head to one side and watching on, as she asked:

"You say you believe, strength or no… do you not wish to avenge your gods?" - she smirked a bit before continuing, wryly - "I remember you used to use that line a lot."

"I did," the assassin chuckled, weakly. "I do. But I have friends to avenge, now."

"Mhmm. And where do you find your strength these days? Do you believe in siari, or pray to the old gods?"

"I believe in whatever gets me through the day," Ekris murmured, soberly. "And I pray it will be enough."


	508. Downtime 50

_**SSV Cambrai, Silean Nebula**_

_**Day 2, 1020**_

"Captain Murphy."

"Admiral Singh."

"Just checking in on your favourite rag-tags, or is this business?"

"It's always business, captain. But I won't deny a certain curiosity - how did your… freelance operations pan out?"

"Reasonable success. Material gains, no casualties."

"Good, good. One question?"

"Shoot."

"If there were no casualties, why do you appear to be sitting in a hospital bed?"

"Err… no _fatalities_, sir."

Murphy glanced down guiltily, not meeting the hologram's eyes. On the far side of the med bay, Alicia turned around from her work - the doctor was enjoying an _enforced _lie-in - to smirk at him, with a 'told you so' expression.

"Carter, give us a little privacy?"

"Aye aye, sir. Knock when you're done."

The medic shuffled slightly, sliding out of her seat and setting her papers down, before marching off through the med bay doors. They shut behind her with a small _thud_, leaving Murphy alone in the room.

"Took a bullet on the way off Yasilium," Murphy muttered. "Clipped an artery. I've had worse."

"I'll bet…" Singh murmured, wryly. "The operation was a success, though?"

"Yessir. Several tonnes of iridium airlifted, and passed on to friendlies. Should be filtering down to the fleets and various manufacturing plants over the next few days."

"I'll take your word for it," the admiral frowned, as if he didn't, in fact, take his word for it. "And Kahje?"

"Team got in and out with a little trouble. One man wounded, one shuttle damaged. They confirmed the damage from the strike, though, and the Reaper presence. Hanar ships are moving in to check for survivors and mop up remaining hostiles."

"How soon will your team be back with you?"

"They're… catching a ride out with a hanar vessel," Murphy replied, warily. "Yet to set a rendezvous. Why?"

"Business," Singh shrugged. "Make your rendezvous on the Citadel. There's a bay clear on Kithoi Ward, I'll pass the details along."

"Understood, sir. And what's our business, once the team's back?"

"There's a Third Fleet task force docking on Kithoi Ward to take on supplies. Cruisers Nairobi and Pretoria, plus a frigate wolf pack."

"Decent chunk of the fleet… target?"

"The Silean Nebula."

Murphy blinked. The Cambrai was on her way _out _of the Silean Nebula as they spoke.

"Your own operation on Yasilium, I suspect, confirms what we've been thinking for a while," Singh continued. "The Reapers are closing on the asari home sector. Thessia, Cyone, Nevos. The elcor homeworld of Dekuuna, too. This is a valuable cluster, captain."

"Indeed… so why are we only sending half a dozen ships?" Murphy frowned.

"Can't commit the whole fleet. We're still tied up in the Exodus Cluster, ground war's getting hot on Terra Nova and Eden Prime. But, we're also one of the only fleets still mobile, so they need our ships down there."

"What's the MO?"

"Prop up the asari before the storm hits them. They've been supremely successful at waging guerrilla conflicts in their outer colonies-"

"Whole race of biotics, go figure."

"Quite. Now, nobody's supposing that even the asari can hold off a Reaper siege. They don't have the fleet resources humanity does, let alone what the turians had, and it didn't do either of us much good. Our job, rather, is to make sure they're well equipped on the ground and able to prosecute a drawn-out conflict."

"Shipping in supplies, then?"

"Arms and armour go in," Singh nodded. "Anything useless to them but useful for us, on the other hands, comes out."

"Such as?" Murphy frowned.

"Well, your operation on Yasilium was a start. Asari manufacturing plants won't survive a Reaper assault, but we can make use of that iridium. The captain of the Nairobi has a plan in formation, too, focusing on abandoned fuel rigs in the sector. The asari fleet's all gone, and what remains won't last long, but we could use whatever supply of H-fuel we can get our hands on."

"Sounds like a hatchet job," the captain muttered, uneasily. "Stripping the corpse before it's dead."

"Not quite so vulgar…" the other man retorted, with a slightly reproachful expression. "There are resources in that system that the asari won't be able to use, but which we need. Likewise, we have supplies _they _need, and a means to deliver them. Two birds, one stone."

"…understood, sir. What's our timeframe?"

"Twenty-four hours on the Citadel," Singh concluded. "Take on whatever supplies you need, and pick up your team from Kahje. Check in with the quartermaster on the Pretoria, too. They're carrying a shipment of arms for your crew, in addition to the supplies for the asari. Some parts and pieces, as well as some more specialist items your men might be able to make use of."

"Appreciated, admiral. Anything else?"

"Negative. Get yourselves in fighting condition, then set out with the rest of the vanguard. I'll try to maintain communications, but failing that, Captain Fofana of the Nairobi has overall command of the task force. He's a good man. Reliable."

"Understood. Cambrai out, sir."

The hologram nodded, and flickered out with a bow, leaving Murphy truly alone. Slowly, and grumbling slightly at the discomfort in his shoulder, he reached up behind his head and rapped his knuckles on the med bay window. A pair of boots _clack_ed across the crew deck, rounding the corner, and a few moments later Carter stepped back into the room, shuffling quietly back over to her desk.

Murphy just reached for his omni-tool, lying at the side of his bed rather than on his arm. He tapped a handful of addresses in, pulled it into his lap as the comms screen opened, and sat back waiting for the faces to appear on the other end. Two humans and a krogan popped into view after a few seconds, with various mutters of 'sir' or 'captain'.

"Alright…" he began, wearily. "Akito, we got our destination. Kithoi Ward on the Citadel. Specifics incoming, but tell Lieutenant Jade to get her team there for rendezvous in the meantime."

"Understood, sir."

"Dax?"

"Mm?" the krogan grunted.

"Friendlies are at the rendezvous with a big supply of arms and armour. Some of it's for us, some of it's for a supply drop. I need space cleared in the hangar bay for the latter, and space in the armoury for the former."

"New toys?" Dax muttered, with a toothy grin. "Lucky me."

"Quite… and Andersen?"

The third figure on the screen glanced up absent-mindedly - he'd been working away at _something _outside the frame, and only now started to pay full attention.

"Captain?"

"I'm bloody bedridden for the time being," Murphy grumbled, "but I've got business needs seeing to. Care to attend to it for me?"

"Depends what it is," Andersen smirked, folding his arms.

"Get a cab over the wards. Go pay Shalta General a visit."

Andersen's smirk faltered, then dropped entirely. After a moment, it was replaced by a nervous smile, and a weak nod.

"…will do, sir."


	509. Downtime 51

_**Shalta General Hospital, Shalta Ward**_

_**Day 2, 1500**_

Flying bullets and screaming Reapers were one thing, but Andersen had to admit, he was _shaking _with nerves as he stepped onto the military ward. Memory alone had carried him up here, no directions from the stressed-out receptionist or the harried-looking nurses, and as he glanced towards the rooms on the right, there were no familiar faces, no sign of Gina, or Dr Malin, or even the salarian Murphy had mentioned, not that he was so familiar.

The door to Vanyali's old room was shuttered, no peek of light visible, and curtains were well-drawn over the windows. That… wasn't a good start. Glancing around to left and right as he reached it, he found the corridor abandoned. Nothing else for it:

_Knock knock_. He rapped his knuckles on the glass, and stood back warily.

A few moments.

Nothing. His heart skipped slightly. Checking the corridor again, and finding it empty, he put a hand to the door, and slid it open, stepping into the room.

It was cold, and quiet, an open window venting a cool breeze from the wards outside. The bed in the middle of the room was empty, covers folded back.

_Oh shit._ Andersen opened his mouth, but no words came out, not even a sigh or a groan. He bowed his head, shut his eyes resignedly… and then stiffened, as he felt something press against his temple.

"_Bang_," a quiet voice murmured. "Watch your corners, Andersen."

He glanced to his right, and found two fingers aimed at his head like a pistol. Such was the absurdity of the situation, it took him a moment to recognise the figure beyond, tall and slim and wearing a weak, faltering smile at the sight of him. Then, it hit.

"Holy shit…" he muttered, sweeping round and just _grabbing _for her.

Vanyali didn't reply. Without any of the usual protest she returned the embrace, a pair of thin arms latching under his shoulders, and for a good few minutes, they were simply silent. Andersen could feel her fingers pressing into his back, searching, as if making sure he was real, and her face was pressed flat into the shoulder of his civvies. He just stood, held her tightly, head still spinning slightly at the surprise of it all.

"…that was a stupid joke, wasn't it?" she mumbled, voice muffled by his shoulder.

"Almost gave me a fucking heart attack."

"Sorry."

"S'alright."

"It is very good to see you again, my friend."

Vanyali laughed quietly - or maybe shook quietly - and as she did, Andersen noticed just how thin she was. Not slim and fit, like before, but painfully _thin_, such that his arms overlapped behind her back. That… was disconcerting, and he shuffled his arms slightly, trying not to notice.

"Sorry…" she said again, stepping out of his grip as if noticing his discomfort. "Let me just… sit down…"

With a few deep breaths, she made her way over to the bed, sliding up onto it with her legs dangling over, barefoot. A loose civvy shirt and some crew-issue slacks were hanging off her, only adding to the worryingly skinny appearance. Her face, now he could see it, was a little paler than usual, and as she bowed her head, she rubbed at the corners of her eyes with a free hand. Andersen looked away, quite deliberately, and instead of drawing up a chair he just hopped onto the bed next to her, the both of them looking up to stare idly at the far wall, searching for _something else _to think about.

"It's good to see you," she murmured, with a weak shrug.

"I think you said that already," he chuckled.

"Sorry."

"And stop… _that_, alright? You've apologised more in the last five minutes than you have since I met you…"

"Oh. Sorr… mm. Objection noted, corporal."

He looked across at her with an amused smirk, at that, and she met him with a bemused expression.

"What?" she frowned.

"It's… kinda lieutenant now," he admitted, scratching the back of his head awkwardly.

"_What?_"

"Alright, no need to sound _so _surprised…"

"When?"

"A… little under a week," Andersen chuckled. "Passport to Rio and all."

Vanyali opened and closed her mouth a couple of times, lost for words. Eventually, she just abandoned the effort to find any, and leant over, hooking one arm around his neck to pull him into another tight, proud hug. The engineer laughed again, hoarsely, before finally managing to shake himself free. It wasn't difficult, all things considered. Yali had a weak grip these days…

"Alright, alright…" he muttered. "Why are we talking about me, anyway?"

"…because I don't want to talk about me?" she shrugged, after a moment's thought.

"You never do. Seriously… how are you feeling?"

"Look at me," Vanyali frowned, calling him on his feigned ignorance. "I feel like shit… _lieutenant_."

"You're alive," Andersen pointed out, bowing his head quietly nonetheless.

"Yeah. Alive. I've also got an inch of scar tissue buried in my chest. Muscle degeneration, loss of fine motor control… I look like a fucking coat hanger, too."

She raised her arms, scowling with some of her old fire, and then looked down at her feet.

"_Alive_," he repeated, simply. After a moment, and with a meek nod, she echoed:

"Alive…"

"Captain'll be glad to hear it. He's been worried. Sent me down here to check how your treatment went, actually."

"And here I thought it was a friendly visit," Yali smirked. "How's he doing? Half-expected him to be here, truth be told."

"He's laid up in bed, same as you," Andersen noted, with a slight chuckle. "Took a shot on our last run."

"Again? Idiot really needs to learn what 'cover' is…"

"Heh."

Another awkward pause. Andersen's eyes flickered over to the bedside table, but he tore them away quite deliberately, and distracted himself by asking:

"How long are you in here for, anyway?"

"A while yet," she sighed. "Long physio program. Don't think I'm combat-ready just yet."

She smirked a little at the latter, but Andersen fixed her with a gentle smile as he replied:

"Nobody's rushing you, Yali. We just want you fit and healthy."

"…thanks."

He nodded, and bowed his head again, wordlessly. A nurse or an orderly went wandering past in the corridor outside, boots echoing down the hall. After a minute or so, he felt something soft land on his shoulder, and glanced up in surprise to find Vanyali resting her head against it, tiredly.

"Doctor Malin was right, by the way…" she murmured.

"What?"

"You hear what's going on. When you're… y'know…"

She glanced down at the bed, and shut her eyes a moment before continuing.

"Thanks for doing… what you did. Meant a lot to hear a friendly voice."

Andersen grunted quietly, a 'no worries' kind of gesture, but his eyes were flickering over to the bedside table again, trying not to voice the implication that followed. Nonetheless, Vanyali voiced it for him, after a few more awkward moments:

"I listened to it," she muttered, quietly.

"You got the password?" he blinked.

"'How's your arm?'," Vanyali chuckled, hoarsely. "I broke my arm on Benning. Operation Huntsman. Password was, ah… Charlie."

"Fire team Charlie. Huh. Wait. I shouldn't have asked that, should I?"

"You're just curious," she shrugged. "Wouldn't be you if you weren't, and I don't imagine you actually want to listen to it."

"Not in the slightest. I know what was in mine, so I imagine yours would… probably have me sobbing like a little girl."

She laughed wearily into his shoulder, and shut her eyes. Andersen just smiled down, weakly, and tilted his head against hers, squeezing her hand in reassurance.

"How're you holding up?" he whispered, a little more soberly than before.

"Fine."

"…well, I'm convinced."

He flashed a sarcastic smile, and she tried to return it, but eventually she just flopped her face into his shoulder again, shaking her head.

"It's… like going on vacation and coming back to find your house burned down," she murmured, eventually. "I know there's something missing, I feel the hole… but I don't know how I'm meant to feel right now. Am I meant to start grieving a month after it happened? Am I meant to be… just… over it, right away?"

"You're meant to feel however you're meant to feel," he said, putting his free arm around his shoulders. They were shivering slightly. "How _do _you feel?"

"Numb."

The engineer nodded wordlessly, and she fell quiet again, leaving it at that. They sat for another few minutes in silence, legs dangling over the side of the bed, Andersen's shoulder propping her upright as footsteps continued to pass in the corridor outside. The cold chill from the open window was swirling at the base of his neck, causing the hairs to stand on end.

"If you tell anyone I've gone sentimental like this, I'll fucking murder you…" a quiet voice whispered.

"Noted. You want to talk, or…?"

She just shook her head.

"Have you got to be off?" she murmured.

"Not for a while. Cambrai's docked for the day. Want me to stay?"

A small nod into his shoulder.

"Alright, then..."


	510. Downtime 52

_**SSV Cambrai, Kithoi Ward Docks**_

_**Day 2, 1720**_

"Enjoying your treasure trove, krogan?"

"Heh."

Dax grunted happily, hauling a crate up onto the nearest free table as Araya bounded up to him, swigging from a bottle of Tupari. The armoury around them was almost abandoned, save for a few dozen crates of beautiful, beautiful guns… he had broken two open already, laying out their contents on the armoury tables, and now he set about the third. The latches _crack_ed open easily, and he yanked it open, grinning at the sight of gleaming steel within.

"Ooooh…" Araya cooed, stepping up to his side and standing on her tip-toes to see into the box. "Shiny."

"Shiny!" a happy voice echoed, from the back of the room. Lisk was sat on one of the empty tables, swinging the team's yellow Firestorm around with abandon.

"Is he… supposed to have that?" the vanguard murmured, cautiously.

"Fuel cell's still locked in my stockpile," Dax chuckled. "No ammo in the thing, but if it keeps him happy, it keeps him from breakin' stuff.."

"…fair enough."

The human hopped up onto one of the armoury tables, legs swinging idly, and the krogan just grumbled in annoyance as she sent several handguns skidding off to either side, oblivious. With a grunt, he bundled them up in one arm and transferred them to the next table, taking care to examine each and every one with an oddly paternal look.

"Supplies any good?" Araya asked, again.

"Nice stock so far," he nodded, as he set about disassembling one of the handguns, a sizeable Carnifex. "A dozen rifles, some sidearms, lots of tech for modifications…"

"And… those?" she frowned, nodding to the two man-sized crates stacked by the far wall.

"Not a clue," Dax growled. "Captain won't let me open 'em, says they're for the N7s. Code-locked and all."

"Ooh, secrets…" Araya echoed, still swinging her legs merrily and taking another sugary swig of Tupari.

The krogan just grunted, disinterestedly. He held some doo-hickey from the Carnifex up to his eye, before shrugging and setting it down again, with an expression of evident approval.

"How's your arsenal?" he muttered, absent-mindedly, and Araya almost choked on her Tupari.

"How's my _what?_" she gawped, hoarsely.

"Ar-se-nal!" the krogan growled, turning to face her and rolling his eyes.

"…oh."

She blushed crimson, and looked down at her boots for a moment, before replying more cheerfully:

"Fine, I suppose. Locust's good. I'm shooting twenty-seven or twenty-eight now."

"And that piece of scrap shotgun?" Dax grunted. Or maybe he'd omitted the 's'. Her hearing wasn't so good, apparently.

"Still… working," she shrugged, avoiding the subject. The rusted frame of the gun was still hovering in the small of her back, as always.

"Working well?"

"It can hit… big things. And the ammo clips still _sort of _fit."

Dax chuckled, hoarsely, and just held out a big hand, his meaning clear.

"…promise not to steal it this time?"

"I promise," he muttered, gruffly.

Reluctantly, Araya pulled the Graal from her back, and shoved the stock into his big, scaly hand. It fitted much more naturally, she had to admit - a paperweight to him, unlike the hindrance it was to her. He unfolded it in his hands, snapped the breach open with a _click _and a slight _crunch_, and peered inside, wordlessly.

"Hmm…"

"That bad, huh?" Araya murmured nervously.

"Loading chamber's all torn to shit," Dax grunted, sticking a giant thumb down the slot where the thermal clip was meant to go. "Muzzle looks worn too. Nakmor crap always did turn to rust."

"Can you… fix it?" the vanguard suggested, quietly.

"I could fit a new loading chamber and fiddle with the choke, but I'd have to tear up a perfectly good Graal to do it, and the whole shell's full of rust anyway."

"Oh. Okay… could you sort me something new, then?"

Dax blinked in surprise.

"Thought you were fond of this thing," he chuckled, good-naturedly.

"Yeah…" Araya admitted, holding out a hand - he gave her the Graal back - and sighing, "but maybe I'll hang it on the wall instead of… _using it_."

"Fair enough," Dax muttered, with another low bark of laughter. "Let me have a look through this lot, think I might have just the thing…"

The krogan scratched his brow plate, as if trying to conjure up a troublesome memory, and ducked under the table to look through two smaller cases. He popped one open, grunted in annoyance, shut it, opened the other… eventually, he straightened up with a white, snub-nosed gun in hand, about the size of a rifle with a square tail.

"Scimitar," he announced, holding the weapon out horizontally. "Ariake Tech. Twin kinetic generators instead of one for a higher rate of fire. Eight rounds in the clip, but there's spare sockets, I can upgrade that to twelve… and fully automatic if you squeeze the trigger down."

Araya whistled quietly.

"…I could also mess about with the generators, if you gimme an hour or two. Kick it up a notch."

Lisk cheered happily at that, from the back of the room. Araya just held out her hands, setting her Tupari bottle down on the table, and Dax tossed the gun to her. It was half the weight of her old Graal, if that, and manoeuvrable - the short length of the gun and the snub-nose let you swivel it easily from side to side. She wiggled her finger on the trigger, and the empty shotgun gave a series of satisfying _click_s. Dax just grinned, wandering back over to the weapons case it had come from, and leaning down to shut it… he paused, however, grin broadening, and looked up to ask:

"You need a knife?"

"Well… I don't _have one_," Araya replied, frowning and not quite answering the question.

"Then you need one. Swap."

He straightened up, holding out a hand, and she reluctantly gave him the Scimitar back. With the other hand, he passed her a glimmering steel blade, and as he marched over to a workbench to start tinkering with the shotgun, she examined it closely. It was about six inches of steel, curved to a sharp point and with a round guard to protect the wielder's hand.

"Looks turian," Dax grunted, over his shoulder. "Probably came off an Armax shipment. Might do you some good if you ain't got your biotics up close."

Araya nodded, flipped the knife into her hand, and then hopped down from the table. She swiped it through the air once or twice, spun like a ballet dancer to stab behind her, whirled on her tip-toes again…

"Oi!" the krogan barked, as Lisk just cackled happily in the background. "Watch the tech!"

The vanguard stopped dead, blushing again and stepping away from the loaded benches and their rather expensive contents. Dax's expression softened after a moment, though, and he turned back to his work with a shake of his head, chuckling:

"We'll make a proper warrior outta you yet, girl."


	511. Downtime 53

**A/N: Half a million views. I freakin' love you guys.**

* * *

><p><em><strong>SSV Cambrai, Kithoi Ward Docks<strong>_

_**Day 2, 1900**_

"Alright, last couple crates! Get 'em in, and get outta here!"

Captain Murphy hopped down the cargo ramp as his loaders set to work on the final few boxes of equipment, striding out onto the dock beyond. The docking bay was a hive of activity, the cruiser Pretoria steaming gently in the opposite mooring as techs went to work on her exterior, and marines in uniform black armour set about loading her up. They made quite a contrast to the ragged bunch from the Cambrai, arrayed in human, krogan, turian armour of all colours, or no armour at all - Victor for one, now recovered from his chills on Yasilium, was heaving in a simple black t-shirt as he and Kamur pulled an ammunition crate up the ramp.

The captain himself was exempt, on account of the bloody bandages still wrapping his chest, but he had insisted on coming down to observe. Stretching his shoulders slightly, he wandered off across the mooring platform, settling by a railing on the far side and staring off into the purple abyss visible through the Citadel arms.

"Captain Murphy?"

He glanced to his right, neck _crack_ing slightly in the act, to see another figure in Alliance attire approaching. Tall, well-built. East African, by the looks of him. Buzz-cut hair. Leather strap over one shoulder obscuring his bars. Murphy glanced to the other shoulder, but before he could catch a glimpse of the man's rank-

"Captain Olufemi Fofana. SSV Nairobi."

Murphy nodded, briefly, but his eyes were following the leather strap up Fofana's chest. Large pad on the shoulder to hold it in place, looped down his back and under one arm… holster? Brow rising slightly, he noted the white bulk resting inside.

"M-97 Viper," he observed, in a tone of amusement. "Rosenkov-made. That's not standard-issue for a fleet man."

"SSV Nairobi… and formerly Marine Corps," Captain Fofana smirked, leaning against the railing next to Murphy and likewise staring out into the void.

"Sniper?"

"Tactical weapons systems."

"Uh-huh. Support man. Broad view of the battlefield…"

"…and not so different from the helm of a cruiser, no."

"Marine on the helm. It's like Singh, but younger."

Fofana's brow quirked, as if he alone appreciated the irony of _Captain _Murphy saying that, but he didn't mention it. Instead, he shrugged, and muttered:

"I served with Nitesh on the Hyderabad. So that's not much of an insult, captain."

"Wasn't meant as one."

The both of them chuckled quietly, and Fofana nodded a few times, agreeably. After a moment's silence, it was Murphy who spoke up again:

"Is this a friendly visit, captain?"

"Business."

"Uh-huh. Singh Jr," he smirked.

"Heh. Quite. You've got your share of the supplies from the Pretoria?"

"Loading the last of it now," Murphy replied, nodding to the loaders behind him. "Appreciate the specialist tech."

"Not a worry," Captain Fofana smiled, waving his hand dismissively. "You have specialists, after all. I'm sure they can make good use of it. The Rio package arrived as well, I take it?"

"Locked up in the armoury. I'll pass it on to my men when they're both fighting fit again. One was, ah… quite badly hurt on Kahje."

"My condolences. A speedy recovery, I hope?"

"Mm. Tough man, I should imagine so."

The Nairobi's captain nodded, and stared out over the edge for a moment or two more, chewing his lip thoughtfully. Then, he turned back over his shoulder, and murmured:

"I'm curious about your ship in truth, captain. She's an SR2?"

"Mhmm."

"Tantalus core?"

"Fresh from repairs and all."

"Aha… quite a formidable piece of machinery. My helmsmen could do with a power plant like that," Fofana chuckled. "We have several other frigates, as I'm sure you know. Good ships, good crews. Agincourt, Ain Jalut, Trafalgar. None of them quite able to match an SR2, though."

"I'll assume the flattery's going somewhere?" Murphy smirked.

"Indeed," Fofana chuckled. "I want you on the vanguard, captain. We've received some new intelligence."

"Oh?"

"The Reapers are pushing faster than expected in the Silean Nebula, as I believe you discovered on Yasilium."

Murphy didn't reply, just nodded, grumbling a little at the memory and the flash of pain in his chest.

"We have supply drops to make on Cyone and over Phoros," Olufemi continued, "but I'm worried about our third, Nevos. It's in the Teyolia system, quite far removed from the rest of the cluster."

"…we can cover that distance quicker than you can," Murphy concluded, presciently.

"Quite. There is a garrison outside the capital, Astella - the city has yet to be hit, but it is only a matter of time. I want the Cambrai in Teyolia as quickly as possible with the necessary supplies, and you have complete freedom of manoeuvre to make it happen."

"Shouldn't be too difficult…" the N7 nodded. "We're almost done taking on fuel. One quick shift at rest, and our helmsmen can take us out in the early morning. We'll be at Nevos by midday."

"Perfect. You have the supplies already - everything in your hold is designated for Astella. The Ain Jalut will be taking a small team of frigates to contact resistance forces on Phoros, while the cruisers and the rest of the force make for Cyone."

"And once we're done? I'll assume it's not safe to broadcast our rendezvous over the radio…"

"Mm, indeed not," Fofana sighed, reaching into the breast pocket of his shirt and drawing out a small datapad. "Give these co-ordinates to your helmsmen. All ships will retreat there once their respective tasks are complete. If no other vessels have met you there by midnight tomorrow, fall back through the mass relay, our operation is aborted."

Murphy nodded, with a slightly grim expression, as he took the datapad and tucked it into his belt. A low _hiss_ of steam had just risen in the background, as the Pretoria's crew began venting heat from her core. Closer at hand, Yui and the other loaders had just pulled the last crate aboard the Cambrai, and were slumping down on the cargo ramp for a well-deserved breather.

"If the rest of the task force _does _arrive," the other captain continued, "we'll proceed with our objectives as best we can."

"Right…" he muttered, uneasily, and Olufemi caught his expression in an instant.

"Problem?" Fofana murmured, quietly.

"Nothing major. Little uneasy about the smash 'n grab, is all."

"Ah…" his fellow nodded, with a sigh. "I can understand your disquiet. If it helps at all… every man has a line. Nitesh would not have put me in command if he thought I would have to cross mine. We will take what has been abandoned, but we also help _those _who have been abandoned."

"Hm. Guess that's something," Murphy replied, nodding approvingly. "We'll be in flight by four, captain."


	512. Operation Garrison Briefing

_**SSV Cambrai, Mass Relay Transit**_

_**Day 1, 0420**_

"Morning, sleeping beauties…"

Murphy chuckled at his own joke, and leant back against the war room table as Andersen and Alec wandered in, looking variously alert, variously dishevelled, and variously… _awake_. Alec had the expression of a rudely-woken bear as he stretched his shoulders and straightened his crew shirt. Andersen looked like he'd at least slept, but no less grumpy, pushing a flick of blonde hair up off his brow.

"Were the sirens really necessary, sir?" the engineer frowned - the sound of four-in-the-morning alarms had only just stopped echoing through the halls.

"Probably not," Murphy shrugged, simply.

Andersen sighed, and Alec gave an annoyed rumble, but the both of them just stood by, arms folded dutifully behind their backs. Carter was certainly the bigger of the two, but side by side, the captain couldn't help noticing how much his engineer had squared up in the last few months. They'd make a proper marine out him yet, he noted, with another slight chuckle.

"Alright…" the captain began, finally. "Ship's en route to the Silean Nebula. Asari colony world of Nevos."

He swiped the console behind him, and an image of the planet flickered into life on the table, blue-green and shimmering, not so different to their own homeworld…

"Another mission, sir?" Alec grunted.

"…of sorts," Murphy replied, after a moment's thought. "Not a combat op. We're dropping supplies into the capital city, Astella. Asari garrison on the edge of the city's waiting to take delivery. Arms, armour, ammo…"

"All that mess in our cargo bay?" the marine laughed. "They're welcome to it."

"Well, quite," he nodded. "I don't want trouble on this one, boys. We get down there, drop the supplies, and get out for rendezvous with the Nairobi."

There was silence for a moment, as the three men exchanged glances around the darkened war room. The Cambrai's core was throbbing gently in the background, sending a shiver through the hull as it worked away at maintaining the FTL corridor. Finally, after a few seconds of quiet, it was Andersen who spoke up:

"…seriously?"

"Hell no," Murphy retorted, with a single, harsh laugh. "With our luck, I'm expecting shit to kick off as soon as we hit atmo."

"Well. Makes more sense outta why the hell I'm here," Alec grinned.

"Quite… doubt it's escaped your notice, we're missing a lot of personnel right now, especially up top. I'm laid up on doctor's orders, Irving and Sarah are still resting up from Kahje… Rilum's handling the logistics on our drop, I've put him to work already."

"Kamur?" Andersen piped up.

"Handling security on the ship."

"Which… would imply security on the ground."

"Well, quite."

Alec chuckled, seemingly grasping _half _of the issue at hand as a look of comprehension passed over Andersen's features.

"I want you two managing the handover on the ground," Murphy continued. "Make it quick, keep it safe."

"Wait… me too?" Alec frowned, chuckle dying away quickly.

"You're an N7," the captain shrugged, as if that had almost been forgotten. "Leadership comes with the billing, doesn't it?"

"Err… yessir," the marine nodded, coughing slightly.

"That said… Andersen, I'll let you do the talking. Your contact's a Captain Tarenna, local battalion. Once the supplies are squared away with her, we get out quick-sharp, okay?"

"Noted, sir. What's our ETA?"

"Breakin' atmo just before midday, so you've got a while to prepare. Take whoever you like that's fighting fit, and if you need a third party for dealing with the asari, Aeryn's about. So's the justicar, she wouldn't let me send her back to bed."

"Alright… any intel on the drop site? Up high, covered…?"

The two N7s both looked at their colleague, with vaguely impressed expressions.

"Unknown," Murphy replied, after a moment. "Just got co-ordinates for the edge of the city. Prepare a couple contingencies."

"No plan survives contact with the enemy," Alec piped up, looking quite pleased with himself for remembering the quote.

"That'd be why you're there, big guy…" Andersen chuckled, already glancing down at his omni-tool.

"Indeed…" the captain agreed, straightening up from the table. "Now, we've get plenty of time to prepare for this one. Get some rations down your necks, ready up the first few guards, and pay the armoury a visit."

With a nod to them both, Murphy rose from the table, stepped around Alec's shoulder, and made for the door. Over his shoulder he called, quite casually:

"Chief, that means you! Dax says he's got something special with your name on it!"

"Chief?" Alec grunted, turning around. "The old man ain't here, sir."

"Service Chief Carter," Murphy grinned, "I believe I was talking to you."

He turned on a beat, walking backwards towards the door as he dug into his pocket, pulled out a set of service chief's bars, and tossed them at Alec's chest. The marine caught them, looking stunned, as the captain called out, cheerfully:

"Get it done, gentlemen! We're just getting started here!"


	513. Operation Garrison Part 1

_**Astella Garrison, Nevos**_

_**Day 1, 1225**_

"Lynus, how's it looking?"

"Drop's under way. Krogan and Araya offloading cargo now."

Andersen nodded, and made for the edge of the cargo ramp with the salarian close at his heel. It was hovering a few feet off the drop zone, a curtain of smoke and dust rising from the Cambrai's downdraft, and at the edge of the ramp, Yui was tipping a weapons crate down to Dax, as the little human vanguard watched on, shotgun resting casually on one shoulder.

"Alec? Aeryn?"

"Got the bay side covered," Carter replied, with a grunt. "T'Rel's got eyes on the city."

"Saffiya?"

"Right here, lieutenant."

Sure enough, as Andersen and Lynus jumped the few feet down from the cargo ramp, the justicar was hovering off to one side, inspecting an oddly-shaped pistol in her hands - her old Predator was still shoved through her belt as well. Behind her stretched the drop zone, a flat steel rooftop on the very outskirts of Astella. The Cambrai was hovering on the south side, occasionally swaying in the wind. To the west, a steep railing separated the platform, and those scurrying about on top of it, from the churning waters two or three storeys below. _Service Chief _Carter was on that side, rifle propped against the railing, helmet tilted up to watch the skies. Beneath his feet, a few stories down, a broad highway stretched off across Nevos' bay. The other three sides of the building were backed by the city, tall spires looming over the somewhat smaller guard post, warehouse… whatever it was. Aeryn T'Rel was off to the east, eyes on the city, conversing absent-mindedly with a few of the asari who had already come up from the cargo elevator in the corner. A dozen more were scrambling over to help the loaders with their cargo.

"Hurry it up, lieutenant…" murmured a voice in his ear. "Akito's watching the satellites, and he's getting nervous up here. I want to be clear and away in ten, before anything comes in-system."

"Copy that, Solov. Tell him to keep an eye on those feeds."

With a wordless nod to his companions, Andersen made for the far side of the rooftop, at a brisk walk. He had already pegged one asari hanging back, decked out in full armour and rifle unlike the rest and murmuring business-like to one of the others. As he approached, he called out:

"Captain Tarenna?"

"That… would be me," the asari nodded, slowly turning her head as her colleague scurried away.

"Lieutenant Andersen, Alliance."

She nodded again, and turned fully to face him, hands clasped behind her back.

"Lieutenant. Impeccable timing."

"Your scans picking up the same as ours, captain?"

"Oh yes. Imminent."

The both of them nodded, grimly, before the captain tilted her head to one side, _crack_ing it with a sigh, and murmured:

"I'll assume you're hauling jets as soon as these supplies are down?"

"Afraid so. Can't risk our ship in the crossfire," he explained, awkwardly. Then, with a thought for his colleagues and a desperate wish to change the subject, he added: "Ah, by the way… Major Lynus Rilum, STG, in charge of your supplies. And this is Saffiya, a-"

"Justicar," Tarenna muttered, cutting him off as a pair of ice-blue eyes swivelled to focus on the other asari. "Colour me surprised. Wish I had a few like you on the ground, justicar."

"I'm sure your company's just fine all the same," Andersen interjected, with what he intended as an encouraging smile.

"Yeah, well… you'd be forgiven for thinking that," the asari shrugged, not taking her eyes off Saffiya.

"These asari are young…" the justicar noted, sombrely. "Very young. The captain herself does not appear to be out of her maiden stage… captain?"

Tarenna nodded, quietly, and her gaze flickered back to the human for a moment.

"Logistics company… little more than a platoons these days. Full of greenhorns, recruits and reservists. There's only one soldier here who's ever been on deployment, and you're looking at her."

"Would almost expect such a veteran to carry her rifle loaded," Lynus observed, speaking up for the first time. Glancing over, Andersen noted that the Vindicator hanging lazily in Tarenna's hand was indeed lifeless, ammo counter blinking zero.

"You'd also expect the head of a company to have ammo," the captain replied, deadpan. "Sadly, that's not the case."

"You don't have _ammo?_" Saffiya piped up, in mild incredulity.

"Not for ourselves," Tarenna muttered. "We've got trucks and fuel, but our job here's to funnel all the weapons and ammo we find to the fighting troops further inside the city. There's a full regiment dug in in the siari temple, the info stockade, the city spaceport… speaking of which, what exactly are you giving us here?"

She nodded to the crates coming off the Cambrai's ramp - her asari were helping the krogan and Araya haul them down now - and before Andersen could push the _no ammo _thing again, Rilum had spoken up, with his usual efficiency:

"Alliance arms and armour," he began. "Standard hardsuit components, Avenger and Viper rifles, fragmentation grenades. Also asari weapons, Disciples and Acolytes" - Saffiya held up her new pistol, to demonstrate - "as well as a small shipment of biotic amps. Serrice-made. Lots of ammo, too."

"We'll get it moving ASAP, then," the captain nodded. "Appreciate the drop, lieutenant, now get your bird clear as soon as those crates are off. Satellites are-"

"Ma'am!"

"Oh, what is it now?" the asari groaned, wheeling around as another of the asari came hurrying up to her, looking ashen.

"Satellites just went haywire," the young maiden reported, nervously. "FTL signatures in high orbit."

Tarenna bowed her head, swearing something in siari that made both Saffiya and the young squaddie wince, although Andersen's translators didn't pick it up. Slowly, he reached for his own comlink, and muttered:

"Yurai? Solov?"

"Yeah, we see them too…" Akito sighed. "I hate to say I told you so, but… actually, no, I kinda love it. Told you so."

"Smartarse."


	514. Operation Garrison Part 2

_**Astella Garrison, Nevos**_

_**Day 1, 1230**_

"Alright, ladies! Get downstairs, start rigging up barricades! This is not a drill!"

As Tarenna barked at her company, sending them scurrying off towards the elevator or the edge of the roof, many of them with supplies in hand, Andersen stepped back to give her some space, pulling his two companions with him into a huddle of sorts.

"I believe captain's orders for this eventuality were to 'get the hell out'," he muttered, quietly. "Thoughts?"

"I… would not hold that against you," Saffiya admitted, "but in accordance with the Code, I would ask your blessing to stay and help defend these people. Alone if need be."

"Alright…" Andersen sighed. "Helpful suggestions only from now on. Lynus?"

"Not worth sacrificing the crew for the ground forces here…" the salarian muttered, "…objectively. Nonetheless, recommend we stay."

"Not averse to the idea, but I want to hear why."

"Supplies. Enough in this drop to outfit several regiments. If abandoned to the Reapers… would cost more lives than we would save."

"Makes a certain kind of sense… can't risk the Cambrai, though. No way we'd get those supplies loaded before the Reapers arrive, and she's a sitting duck here."

The three of them nodded in _some _kind of agreement, and bowed heads thoughtfully, even as the asari scrambled past, panicked chatter filling the air. The rest of the Cambrai's team were all wandering in from their posts, watching the lieutenant carefully for orders.

"Captain Tarenna!" he called out, eventually.

"Lieutenant?" she frowned, turning on her heel.

"That highway," Andersen asked, jabbing his arm out to the west, "where does it go?"

"Out of the city. Runs across the bay, then up into the foothills."

"Any settlement up there?"

"Couple of abandoned farmsteads. Evacuated."

The two engineers exchanged a look, as Rilum finally seemed to catch on to what the human was thinking - Andersen didn't mind admitting, that moment's delay filled him with a little bit of pride.

"Then here's what we're going to do!" he continued, calling out to both his men and the asari. "We get these supplies loaded onto your trucks, send them west across the bay, our ship bugs out and meets us there for pickup!"

"Excuse me?" Tarenna frowned, hands moving to her hips. "Lieutenant, I've got orders for this contingency. Dig into defensive positions, and try to keep a supply line open to the regiments in the city."

Andersen sighed, shoulders sagging slightly as he mulled over how _exactly _to go about convincing her. Before he could even start, however, a loud voice from one side beat him to it:

"Captain!" Alec barked, taking a couple of steps forward. "You ever seen what the Reapers do to a city?"

"I have not."

"Well lucky for you, I was on Earth. So I can shove it through your skull that in an hour's time, those regiments in the city'll be dead under the rubble, or outta reach, whether you and your girls evac or not. Two hours, you won't get any ride out at all, Reapers'll have full air superiority. You want to die here, that's fine, long as you know what you're getting into…"

The lieutenant nodded appreciatively to the N7, but Alec didn't notice - his eyes were still locked on the asari captain, and hers on him. There appeared to be a moment of raging indecision on Tarenna's features… and then she glanced around at her platoon, with a sigh.

"Keep working on the barricades!" she yelled. "And get those trucks loaded to move, bay exit!"

She swept around on her heel, making for the elevator, and Andersen's shoulders sagged in relief for just a moment.

"Cambrai," he muttered, into the radio. "Going for an airlift here, supplies and personnel. Bug out, get as far from the city as possible, and activate stealth systems. We'll rendezvous on the far side of the bay."

"Copy that, lieutenant. You sure?"

"Sure," Andersen bluffed.

"Copy that. Taking the engines up, bugging in thirty."

"Anyone up there who's armed and armoured, we could use some more hands. Drinks on me when we get back."

"Deal," a voice grunted, though the speaker was obscured by the clatter of movement and the rising din of the engines.

"Lynus," the engineer continued, wheeling around to face his squad on the ground.

"Andersen."

"Take the krogan and Araya. Get those trucks moving out over the bay, and set an RV for the Cambrai. We'll mount a defence, give you a head start on their infantry."

The salarian nodded, in wordless approval, and waved quickly to his three colleagues, who gathered around him.

"Saffiya?"

"Mm?"

"If you'll permit it, I want you attached to that platoon down below. Justicar'll be a big boost for their morale, and I want to know there's at least one person down there I can count on to hold their ground."

"Of course," she nodded, checking her pistol.

"Alec, Aeryn, we'll dig in on the top floor. Roof's too exposed to enemy air support, but we don't want to give up the high ground."

"Carter!"

Alec glanced over curiously - as did the rest of the squad - at the outburst, from Dax of all people. Without pausing to explain, the krogan reached down to his hip, pulled a weapon stock from one of his hardpoints, and tossed it at Carter. The marine caught it in one hand, giving nothing but a small, approving grunt as it unfolded in his arms. An odd-looking rifle, round-nosed and with the whir of a kinetic generator.

"Falcon?" he muttered. "Shiny."

Dax just grunted, and then swept off on his heel towards the cargo elevator, quickly followed by Lynus, Yui, Araya and the justicar.

"Ground team, we are bugging out," Akito murmured, over the radio. "Everybody clear of the cargo ramp?"

"Jumping now," a voice grunted.

Andersen wheeled around, reaching for his helmet absent-mindedly, and his features broke into a wide grin. Ethan and Sam were in the act of hopping down from the cargo ramp, Zel and Kan a few paces behind, all of them gripping rifles and helms and other bits of gear.

"Better be a big goddamn tab," Cash chuckled, clapping Andersen on the shoulder as he approached.

"Deal," the lieutenant echoed, pulling his helmet over his head. "Defensive positions, people!"


	515. Operation Garrison Part 3

**A/N: Sorry for the few days' gap in uploads. The move back from university took up a lot of time, and I didn't get chance to sit down and write. Will hopefully have a second chapter written up today to make up for it. Also, trying something new with radio dialogue, throwing it in italics for a little clarity - I'd appreciate some feedback in the reviews on whether it works, or whether it doesn't, because I'm still on the fence.**

* * *

><p><em><strong>Astella Garrison, Nevos<strong>_

_**Day 1, 1240**_

"_Cambrai is away, stealth systems engaged. Good luck, ground team._"

"Appreciate it, Cambrai. Contact Rilum on callsign Bravo for the supply team. Callsign Alpha's staying back to mount a defence."

"_Understood. See you on the other side._"

With a quick tap of his comlink, Andersen dropped the radio, reaching instead for omni-tool and pistol. He and the rest of his squad were filtering out into a corridor on the top floor of the building, checking weapons and glancing around cautiously.

"Windows face east into the city," Alec grunted, objectively. "Bunk rooms back between us and the elevator… north? South?"

"Office on the north end," Zel reported, already in the doorway. "Only a couple of windows, decent view of the flank though…"

"Set up there with your rifle," Andersen muttered. "Kan, cover her. Keep your heads down, pick off targets of opportunity. Rest of you, I want rifles in these windows facing east. Shore them up with whatever you can pull out of the bunk rooms. Barricades, people. Sam, south side?"

"Stairwell!" the detective replied, appearing at the top of it. "Leads down into an armoury. All emptied out."

"No windows?"

Sam shook his head.

"Saffiya, you catch that?"

"_I… no, Andersen, I… sorry, it's a bit busy down here,_" the justicar replied, very calmly amidst a mess of background chatter and movement.

"We've got an elevated position, eyes on the main road east, and the north flank, but we're blind to the south, how copy?"

"_Understood, lieutenant. You two! With me, south garage!_"

The sound of hurried footsteps and the _clunk _of rifles took over the asari's channel, and a moment later it fell silent completely. Andersen just reached for his omni-tool - stepping back as he did to allow Alec past, dragging a desk towards one of the windows as a barricade.

"Bravo, please tell me you're out already."

"_On the road now,_" Lynus confirmed, his channel filled with the hum and roar of engines and mass effect generators. "_Three repulsorlift trucks, moving west over the coast road. Will stay low._"

"Got your rendezvous?"

"_Yes. Far side of the bay._"

"Good. Cambrai! You guys clear of the city yet?"

"_Out of the immediate strike zone already. Circling over the lowlands to make rendezvous,_" Akito's voice answered, sounding a good deal calmer than the other two. "_Left you a present, though._"

"Did you put a pretty bow on it?" Alec grunted, interjecting himself into the radio chatter as he finished propping up the desk.

"_Afraid not. We launched a recon probe before we hit the city limits. Enemy air'll take it down fast, but until they do, we've got an aerial view of the Reaper infantry as they come down._"

"Keep us updated, then."

"_I was planning to. Make yourselves busy in the meantime, Alpha. Contacts just hit orbit, asari comm network's getting pounded._"

Andersen nodded, and scrolled through his omni-tool, selecting a familiar old program. As he reached down to grab the sentry turret still folded up on his belt, the chatter became distinctly local, as the rest of Alpha settled down behind window frames and makeshift barricades - a desk, an overturned bunk, a couple of lockers from the ransacked armoury downstairs. The windows themselves had been knocked out by rifle butts and gauntlets, to stop the glass raining _in _as shrapnel when the Reapers hit.

"Sit your ass down, LT," Alec muttered, kneeling behind the desk and propping his Falcon up on it. "Reckon this is my show from here."

The engineer just nodded in agreement, and slumped down to sit next to him, his back to the desk, fiddling with the turret pod still clutched in one hand. He gave one quick glance to the right, and for a moment both men exchanged a worried, nervous look… then they were back to it, as Alec disengaged the safety with a _click_.

"Okay, I got the first shot," the now-service chief announced, calmly. "Element of surprise, we hit 'em hard with the Falcon. Rest of you open up when I drop to reload."

"Targets of opportunity," Andersen added, in quiet sync with the marine. "Tarenna's soldiers can handle the bulk fighting. We go for officers, artillery…"

"…and the big bastards," Carter nodded, in agreement.

"What if they hit the roof?" Kan asked, matter-of-factly.

"Hope they can't work an elevator?" Alec shrugged, with a mordant laugh.

"And if they _claw their way down the elevator shaft?_" the quarian persisted.

"Kan, it's fine," the lieutenant interjected. "Left them a recon mine outside the elevator doors."

"A recon mine?"

"Neat little gadget. Tag it on the wall, it scans for hostiles, gives me a proximity warning… then blows them all to hell on a trigger pull."

"…nice."

"Very."

"Heads up!"

All eyes shot left, to the end of the corridor nearest the office. Ethan was already craning his head up through the window, rifle in his arms, as he yelled:

"Fireballs, up high!"

"_Confirmed,_" Akito's voice added, chiming in over the radio. "_Got eyes on contacts, fast moving…_"

Andersen gave his pistol one final check, glancing over at Alec - the marine's eyes were fixed on the street, rifle pressed hard into his shoulder.

"…_impact. Two miles to your north. Half a dozen more closing, immediate._"

"Yeah, we get it," Carter grunted. "Anything close?"

"_Drop at the end of the road. East. Incoming._"

Alec nodded wordlessly, and lowered his eye to his rifle. The air outside was thick with the sound of gunfire and screams - there was a murmur of activity from the asari platoon below, and across the city, Andersen could see tower blocks lighting up as the troops garrisoned within began to open fire on the invaders…

"_Another one coming down. Close._"

The squad's heads dropped as another screaming meteor slammed down on the main road east, smashing right through the façade of a shop on the right-hand side of the street. There was another murmur from the asari below, more panicked this time, and a couple of warning shots flew out towards the impact site, bright rounds tracing the path.

_Crack crack crack crack… _quite suddenly, a burst of crimson fire announced the reprisal. A lone Cannibal came staggering out of the smoke, firing wildly. It fell a moment later, as one of the asari troopers landed a quick burst, but more shapes were shifting in the haze, rushing from the end of the street…

Without a word, Alec squeezed the trigger. There was a quiet _thunk _and a grenade went flying. Even as a mob of Reaper creatures came stumbling down the road, the marine tracked them down the road with slow, deliberate trigger pulls, scattering half a dozen rounds in the wind. A moment later, the first one hit.

_Bang! _A Marauder dropped, shields flaring as the grenade took a chunk out of its chest. Two Cannibals to its side were sent flying by the blast, and quite suddenly carnage ensued, as the rest of the grenades struck home. _Bang, bang, bang, bang… _half a dozen bright flashes lit up the road, skeletal forms falling clumsily to either side. Alec just ducked beneath the barricade as shots began to fly, ejecting his spent clip and reaching for another. The air outside was thick with crossfire, as the asari below continued to exchange shots with the Reapers.

"Got two more," Alec muttered, as the Falcon's fabricator gave a small _whir _and blinked into life again.

"Save them for targets of opportunity," Andersen replied, reaching for his omni-tool rather calmly as a stray round _pinged _through the window above them, bouncing off the far wall. The chief just nodded, tossing the loaded Falcon down beside the window and reaching for his rifle.

"_Alpha, this is Cambrai._"

"We hear you," the engineer nodded, chattering on the comlink even as Carter - along with Aeryn at the next window - rose up to pour down rifle fire on the street below.

"_Oculus drone just took down our probe, we're blind. Confirm._"

"Solid copy. How'd it look before the probe went down?"

"_Lots of incoming from the north and east. There's an asari garrison to the southeast, holed up in the shipyard. Lots of fighting down there. They're keeping hostiles off your south flank for now."_

"Understood, Cambrai. Bug out, we'll meet you at rendezvous. Tell Bravo to hurry the hell up."


	516. Operation Garrison Part 4

_**Astella Bay Highway, Nevos**_

_**Day 1, 1250**_

"_Word from the LT, Rilum. Says to hurry the hell up._"

"_Amusing. Proper officer now._"

"Our little gearhead's all grown up!" Dax barked, laughing happily as the chatter filled their radios. Araya couldn't help but giggle at the expression on his scarred face, even as the city descended into fire and chaos in the rear-view mirror.

Bravo had commandeered three hovertrucks from the asari, loaded them with all the gear they'd brought in the first place, and set off west from the stockpile. Now, they were cruising down the highway which cut out over the bay, moving low and fast to avoid the attention of the skirmishing Oculi and Harvesters above - as Araya glanced out of the window, she saw two of the red steel drones chase down an asari gunship, clipping its wings with beam fire and forcing it down into the waters of the bay.

Lynus Rilum was in command of the first truck, forging a path down the highway towards the rendezvous now blinking on all their HUDs. Hei Yui was driving the second, producing the wonderful mental image of his steel foot stomping on the pedals, and Dax was in the third, with Araya riding shotgun in his cab. When the two Oculi circled back, their prey destroyed, she couldn't help but fidget with the Locust in her lap, turning it over once or twice and sliding her finger to the trigger. The drones just soared overhead, ignoring the little specks on the road below as they whizzed off towards the next dogfight.

"_Stay low,_" Rilum muttered over the radio, matter-of-factly. "_The Reapers are gaining air superiority._"

"How far to the rendezvous?" Dax grunted.

"_Unsure_."

"Great…"

The big krogan grumbled to himself, and his hands twisted slightly on the controls. With a quiet hum, the truck swung to the left side of the road, riding easily on a cushion of… air? Eezo? Araya didn't quite know how these things worked, only that they were slow as shit compared to a decent skycar-

_Wham._ There was a bright red flash up ahead, a splash of surf and fire from the edge of the road. Thin dark forms came twisting out of the flames…

…and Lynus' truck bowled right through the first two, reducing them to a fine mist.

"_Ha!_" Yui barked, as the rest of the Reaper creatures disappeared in the convoy's rear-view mirrors. A few faltering shots bounced off the tail of Dax and Araya's truck, but then the monsters were a speck in the distance, a worry no more.

"That was… huh," Araya murmured, glancing back through the small window behind their seats. "That felt easy."

"Wonder if the captain'll let us keep these?" Dax chuckled, patting the truck's controls.

"_More contacts,_" Rilum announced. "_Watch-_"

_Wham!_ Another burst of red fire and a shattering impact, this time closer at hand. The meteor skipped once off the highway, and slammed right into the second truck of the convoy.

"Whoa! Oookay…"

Dax swung desperately at the controls, and their truck skidded to the left, sliding a little way further down the road. Rilum's was already coming to a gentler stop, but between the two of them, Yui's truck was a battered hulk. The cab had been smashed utterly, glass was scattered across the road, and skeletal forms were shuffling out of the debris.

A loud growl and a shotgun blast, however, announced that Yui was still kicking. That was something. With a roar and a bloody cough, he leant down out of the cab, loaded another round into his Claymore, and blew the head off a Cannibal as it crossed around the front of the truck.

"_Keep moving!_" Lynus barked urgently, his own vehicle rising and twisting back to twelve o'clock. "_Contacts incoming, we can't afford to be caught in the open!_"

Sure enough, two more red-hot meteors were dropping from the heavens, even as Yui clambered back up into his cab with a grumpy rumble and turned the engine over. Araya gripped her Locust tighter as one went bowling across the road behind their tail, a couple of the dropped Cannibals stumbling right off into the water as they hit the highway's edge. The second was close behind, _very_ close, and-

_Wham!_

Araya yelled out, ducking instinctively and throwing her hands over the back of her head, gun tumbling into the footwell as the fireball came down very close indeed. The truck's cab tipped upwards as the meteor hit their tail, and the glass window at the rear of the cab shattered, showering the occupants in broken glass. Dax roared and rumbled, shielding his eyes and flooring the accelerator even as the fire died away. Yui's truck was already racing away, cab dented and battered, and they set off in hurried pursuit, swinging rather clumsily down the road. With a baleful moan, a Cannibal that had been attempting to climb the crates on the truck's tail went sailing off into space, thudding down onto the road and disappearing into the distance.

_Crack crack crack! _Araya ducked again, and Dax flattened himself against the controls, as a burst of rifle fire ricocheted through the cab's rear window and shattered the front, showering them in glass again - Araya felt a flare of angry biotics ripple across her skin, as a shard cut across her cheek and more stung the arms above her head. The vanguard wheeled around, glancing back through the window just in time to see a Marauder straighten up, balancing precariously on the crates on the tail-

A large, gauntleted hand grabbed her none-too-gently by the collar, barking gutturally and shoving her head back out of the window frame as the Marauder's rifle opened up again:

_Crack crack crack!_

"Gah!"

Dax growled and coughed, leaning heavily on the controls with one arm - the other, in the act of pushing Araya away, had taken three shots from shoulder to elbow, orange-ish blood spattering onto the vanguard's seat. With another rumble, the krogan attempted to swerve left, and there was a loud clatter as the Marauder toppled out of sight. By some miracle, however, it clung on, and another burst of rifle fire bounced off the cab's ceiling.

Araya gave up fumbling for the Locust in the footwell, and reached for the Scimitar in the small of her back. Unfolding it clumsily in the cramped cab, she angled it up over her shoulder, through the rear window, and:

_Bang bang! _Two loud shots which bucked with recoil and caused the shotgun barrel to rattle off the window frame. Beyond, she heard the sound of a body tumbling onto the crates, and the _ping _of one of the cables atop them snapping, lashing out into open air.

"Gone?" Dax grunted, still hunched over the controls as his arm dripped steadily on the upholstery.

The vanguard twisted around, peering up into the window and leaning his shotgun to one side. There was no skeletal visage beyond, no dead turian face staring back-

_Smash._

With a sudden tug of momentum, a cold arm grabbed her by the neck, and a jolt of panic ran down her spine. The glass window on her side of the cab had shattered, and the top half of a turian was leering through, head and arm filling the window as she twisted back to see it, still fighting with the claws on her collar. Her shotgun went tumbling down to the floor, too unwieldy to turn, and she lashed out instead with a closed fist, cracking a punch across the Marauder's solid jawbone. It hardly moved, giving a metallic _thud _and just bobbing slightly.

"Human!" Dax barked, glancing over with a mixture of concern and panic and trying to keep his good arm on the controls.

Araya didn't respond. The Marauder's rifle had come hovering up into the window, clutched in its free arm and whipping about in the wind as the creature continued to screech and snarl, claws raking the neck of her armour. She lurched back in her seat, crushing the monster's arm and causing it to let go of her for just a second. In the space of that second, she slammed her left hand into the shattered window frame, glowing blue with a hasty rush of biotics.

_Whump_. The Marauder yowled again, and its rifle went ricocheting off into open air as the mass effect field burst. Before the creature could react, Araya had gone for her belt with the other hand, yanking her new turian talon free. The husk lunged, shoulders jutting through the door as its free arm reached for her again-

She grabbed it in one hand, pinned it down against the dashed board, and stabbed in with her knife - _one, two, three_. The creature yowled and screeched and tipped back, one arm still gripping the rail to the side of the cab's door for dear life. Araya just dove at it, talon clutched backwards in her hand, and drove it in beneath the Marauder's eye socket. She winced as a spatter of blue-silver blood hit her face, and yanked the blade free. Without so much as a hiss, the skeletal turian tumbled out of sight, bouncing off the road and disappearing.

Araya slumped back in her chair, breathing heavily and still clutching her knife as a chill wind ripped through the cab's shattered windows. Up ahead, Yui and Rilum's trucks were winding their way towards the foothills, as Dax gained steadily on them.

"You, ah… you got a little something'," the krogan grunted.

The vanguard put a hand to her face, and her glove came away stained with a mixture of the turian's blood, and her own, trickling down from a slash on her cheek. She wiped it away - actually just smudging it across her face - and slid her knife back into her belt, quickly leaning down to recover her guns from the footwell.

"You too," she retorted as she did, punching his bloodied arm absent-mindedly.

"Gah!"

"…sorry!"


	517. Operation Garrison Part 5

_**Astella Garrison, Nevos**_

_**Day 1, 1300**_

"Sniper's dry! Reloading!"

"Keelah. Got you covered."

"_Husks pushing on the south garage. Melee range. Stick together, don't leave your backs open._"

"_Justicar, watch your-!_"

"_Got him._"

"Aeryn, I'm out! Big mob in my sector!"

"Switch!"

As Ethan and Aeryn spun around each other, swapping windows, Andersen took a moment to steady his breath and take it all in. The radio was going insane, battle chatter drifting in from all sides as rounds continued to ricochet off the walls and dogfights filled the skies above. The dull rattle of Aeryn's rifle as she joined the firefight was just another tone in the cacophony going on all around them. Sending out a loud report, Alec's rifle started firing too, close at hand, and with steady, deliberate trigger-pulls, the marine emptied his clip in two-shot bursts, the Valkyrie remaining perfectly level in his arms.

"Burning ammo fast," he muttered, ejecting his clip without moving the rifle, and reaching for another with his free hand as the thermal clip bounced off the floor, eventually rolling to a halt by Andersen's boot.

"Take this," Andersen interjected, quickly reaching for his Phaeston and passing it over, pistol still clutched in his other hand. "LMG. Big magazine, fifty rounds a clip."

Alec nodded, not even questioning the act, and dropped his Valkyrie between the pair of them. After a moment's effort to prop it into his shoulder and adjust to the weight, he leant the machine gun down on the window frame, and began to let rip again, once more firing short, controlled bursts into the mob below.

Wordlessly, the lieutenant reached down for the little pod at his side, running his omni-tool across it once before picking it up, and tossing it casually into the air. It soared to the top of the window frame, sunk a couple of inches, then ignited, hovering steady on a small blue jet. It whirled around, angled down towards the shifting shapes outside, and:

_Crack crack crack crack crack crack…_

Carter dropped back into cover, grunting and taking a moment's pause for breath, as the little sentry drone did his job for him. It swept left and right, rapid-fire rounds pouring out into the street, and a chorus of screeches and yowls came floating up in response.

"Nice trick," the marine chuckled, quietly.

"Better than shoving your head up through the window," the engineer shrugged, already lining up another program, a piece of incineration tech.

"To each their own, I guess. How long's it last?"

"Three, two, one…"

The sentry gave a little whine, and dropped out of the air like a lead weight. Andersen just shot out a hand, catching it idly. With the other arm, he swung up his omni-tool and sent a fireball whistling out into the fight outside.

"You spend five nights a week practising that, don't you?" Alec scowled, eyes still on the turret pod in the engineer's hand.

"Only three."

Carter rolled his eyes, grinned a little at the exchange, and leant up out of the window to offer another burst of fire from the Phaeston, cutting left to right across the mob as the turret had done. So much for targets of opportunity…

_Thunk-_

"Shit!"

_Bang!_ A crimson flash lit up the right side of the corridor, and Andersen's head wheeled around to face it, hands shooting up to cover his visor. When he dropped them, and the smoke cleared, he saw Vimes flat on his front, rifle abandoned and arms shielding the back of his head, in the act of diving away from the blast.

"Sam?" he barked, cautiously.

"Fine!" the detective yelled, quickly. "Fuckin' grenade!"

"Where's the bastard?" Alec asked, snapping his eye to the Phaeston's sights.

"Upstairs!" Vimes answered, rolling back into cover and grabbing his rifle once more. "Bounced it in from the roof!"

"Son of a bitch… get air support to burn 'em?"

"Comm network's a mess," Andersen replied, shaking his head, "and by the looks of it, air support's got bigger problems…"

As if to prove his point, an asari fighter in the skies above chose that moment to drop out of them, engines blazing. It spiralled down somewhere to the northeast, and disappeared beneath the skyline.

"Best hope they stay up there, then," Alec grunted.

"Oh great!" Sam scowled. "He jinxed it!"

"Ah, grow up."

Andersen just _looked _at the marine, as if to say: _'He's got a point.' _Alec shrugged, and went back to his suppressing fire.

"Friendlies, be aware," the lieutenant murmured, tapping into the radio again. "Hostiles on the roof. They haven't found a way down yet."

"_Copy that!_" Captain Tarenna's voice replied, frantically. "_Justicar! Tell me the south's still clear…_"

"_Distinctly less clear than a minute ago,_" Saffiya sighed, her words oddly punctuated by the _squelch _of a blade. "_We're holding, though_."

"Ravager, end of the street," Kan reported, stoically.

"Lining up a shot…" his turian comrade nodded...

_Crack. Crack. _Two whip-like shots from the Viper, sounding out over anything their rifles could produce. Andersen didn't see the result, but judging from the lack of chatter that followed, the Ravager was now a bloodied corpse on the north road.

With a mixture of caution and speed, the engineer swung up into the window himself as Alec dropped to reload. He took three quick shots with his Predator, saw a Cannibal amidst the approaching mob drop, and then reached out with his omni-tool in the other hand, ignoring the shots that bounced off his shields. A quick whir, a tug on one of the finger-trigger programs he'd set up earlier, and a holographic drone flickered into life even as he dropped back into the safety of cover.

The drone blinked, spun once, and then rose up, ignoring the fight in the street outside as it made its way to roof-level. There was a _jolt _of electricity, out of sight, and a deathly screeching sound, before a Marauder came tumbling over the edge of the roof, shields fried, hitting the ground below with a dull _thud_.

"…okay, that one was actually pretty funny," Alec admitted, flashing a grim smile as he propped his machinegun on the windowsill once more.

"Thank you…"

Marine and engineer fell silent a moment later, exchanging a worried glance as a _groan _of metal filled the air. Not a temporary clatter outside, but a long, low moan, reverberating around the walls…

"The _fuck _was that?" Carter growled.

"Not… sure. Sounded structural. Keep firing!"

The marine shook his head, growling and turning back to his sights, another dull chatter of Phaeston fire filling the air. Andersen was reaching for his omni-tool, scanning furiously, but before he could yield any results:

_Skreee…_

"_Shit! Out of the way, you two-_"

_Wham!_ The building shuddered, the sound of a large impact echoing up from a couple of floors below to replace the deafening screech of steel. The engineer had his suspicions already, but they were quickly confirmed by the asari's radio chatter:

"_Elevator just came down! Mother of all!_"

"_Jaena, Derys, check the wreckage! Make sure they're not coming down the-_"

"_Aargh!_"

"_Husks! Captain, husks!_"

"Jesus Christ…" Alec swore, as he reached down for the next reload. "Do you _always _have to be right?"

"Curse of the job," Andersen scowled, abandoning his scan. He reached for his pistol, and-

_Beep beep_.

"…ah, damn it."

_Bang! _The recon mine at the rear of the corridor went off, reducing two human husks to cinders just as they succeeded in clawing open the doors to the elevator shaft. The doors sprung back with a pneumatic _thud_, but a moment later they shuddered, something very large and very heavy hitting them from the other side, a sizeable dent appearing in the metal… there was a moment's pause, in which the firefight outside continued to rage and bicker, then:

_Wham! _A clawed arm as thick as the engineer's torso punched its way through the doors, tearing them clean in two, and as the claws dug into floor, they were hauling up an armoured shoulder behind the arm, a head atop the shoulders…

"Keep firing!" Andersen barked, tapping Alec on the side as he scrambled to his feet. "Somebody, with me, get the goddamn Brute!"


	518. Operation Garrison Part 6

_**Astella Garrison, Nevos**_

_**Day 1, 1310**_

_Crack crack. Crack crack. Crack crack crack crack…_

A chatter of high-pitched, fast-paced rifle fire drowned out the slow bursts of Andersen's Predator as Ethan rushed up to his side, the both of them aiming a bevy of shots down the corridor. At the far end, on the right side, the Brute was point-blank ignoring them as it tried to force its massive frame through the rather smaller elevator door, bright flashes filling the air as shots ricocheted off the armoured arm. With a brutal _crunch _of metal, its shoulders broke through, tearing open the doorway to the elevator shaft and scattering half of the steel panel into the far wall.

Ethan dropped onto one knee, pouring out fire from a fresh mag, as Andersen braced his pistol on his arm and fired away with that as well, his brain running over the situation. Both weapons were low-calibre, the Brute heavily armoured… even as they drowned out in lead, shots were bouncing harmlessly off patches of armour and thick hide. A couple of stray rounds from Ethan's Avenger glanced its stomach and disappeared through the open door to the barracks beyond, but a moment, the creature bowed low, the larger arm moving down like a shield to cover head and belly alike.

Then, the thing reared to its full, terrifying height, with a _roar_. Two light fixtures went flying, shattering into pieces, and the ceiling itself was left dented and buckled as the Brute dropped back down again, rumbling…

"Flank?" Andersen murmured, a little nervously, as his pistol ran dry and he reached for a fresh mag.

"Flank," Ethan nodded, with a gulp. The rest of the squad were still behind them, backs exposed as they kept their focus on the street outside.

"Okay, on three. One…"

The Brute crouched lower, snorting and growling gutturally.

"Two…"

It rocked backwards, leg muscles flexing powerfully.

"Three!"

The monster charged just as the two humans broke, and as it barrelled down the corridor, they were already rushing headlong to either side. Ethan was by far the quicker of the two, breaking off to the right, and as the Brute passed him snarling, he had already dropped to one knee, sliding to a halt on it as he brought his rifle around and cut a livid line of shots, a dozen or more, up the Brute's side. Andersen kept his head down, concerned himself with getting past that massive claw arm.

Flailing as its momentum faltered and it tried to turn, the side of the Brute's arm almost caught him in the flank, and it was all the engineer could do to hurl himself out of the way. He tumbled, fell into a rough combat roll, and bounced into the corridor's left wall, shooting out one arm to steady himself as the other raised his pistol:

_Crack! _A single shot, well-placed in the back of the Brute's thigh, and it folded to the ground, skidding another foot or so before picking itself up and rounding on them. It was snarling angrily, blooded more than crippled, but at the very least, it was moving away from the rest of the squad now…

"Bunk room!" Ethan barked, rising from his knee and setting off at a run for the barracks at the far end of the corridor, one open door away from them. Andersen just nodded, moving to follow him as the Brute came charging back up the corridor, gaining momentum-

_Thump. _An impact that felt like a small skycar caught him in the back, knocking him effortlessly off his feet and across the floor. He slid along, rolled onto his back, caught a flash of the Brute's claw arm raised high mid-swipe… with a grunt of pain, he skidded into the wall beside the elevator, head spinning.

_Crack crack crack! _Ethan's rifle started up again, three bright flashes filling the air and reminding Andersen that they were both _very _close to the Brute right now. The turian head on the krogan shoulders snapped back, recoiling as a rifle round shot clean through one glowing eye, and then it whirled left, practically lungingfor the sentinel.

Cash darted away to his right, speed saving him but not _quite _enough to beat the beast's charge in such an enclosed space. One armoured shoulder caught him in the back, shunting him into the doorpost, and he bounced away into the corner between the barrack door and the wall, rifle tumbling off by his boots.

The lieutenant lunged in, aiming to distract the Brute at least long enough for Ethan to get back up. He snapped two shots at the creature's exposed flank, then wreathed his omni-tool in flame and swung it up and over, the Brute's head in sight-

_Wham!_ With surprising speed and not-so-surprising severity, the big hulk wheeled back to the right, and its claw arm caught him in a hefty backhand. He toppled back off his feet, visor shattering noisily with the impact, and he felt the back of his helmet rattle painfully off the wall-

…nope, not the wall. The edge of the elevator door, because a moment he was spinning out into open air, the ground beneath his feet vanishing as he tumbled into the empty shaft. There was a sharp bark of surprise from Ethan somewhere in the background, and a jolt of panic ran down the engineer's spine. He flung out both arms, abandoning his pistol entirely and hearing it bounce loudly off the walls as it clattered down to the ground floor.

By some small shred of luck, the engineer himself wasn't _clattering_ _down_ anywhere. His left arm had hooked around the remnants of the doorway as he fell, more on instinct than anything else, and he hauled up his right with some effort, hooking it over the edge of the precipice. After a few moments of flailing, his feet found some purchase at knee-level, a junction box or some such…

_Crunch_. His attention snapped back up to the corridor above at the sound of rending metal. The Brute's claw arm had just taken a chunk out of the doorway leading to the bunk room, and much to the lieutenant's concern, Ethan was trapped on _this _side of the doorway, not _that_ side. With a curse of frustration, the sentinel gave up any attempt to recover his rifle, igniting both omni-blades instead.

The Brute clung tight to the doorframe with its claw arm, pressing the other firmly into the wall and using both to ramits shoulders forward like a piston. Ethan took a shoulder plate right in the ribs, and grunted in pain as the force of the charge knocked him _up _the wall, off the feet. Even as the monster snapped and snarled, however, he had managed to drive one omni-blade into the soft flesh above its shoulder, pinning it into his grip and preventing it from backing off for another charge. With the other blade, he took two wild swipes at the creature's neck, hacking away dead flesh and drawing blood, but as the Brute snapped and gnashed its jaws, he dissolved the blade entirely and shot out his hand instead, taking tight hold of… _something_. It could have been a metal tube, it could have been a jawbone, it was hard to tell with such a mess of cybernetics. The Brute roared again, trying to inch its head closer to the marine, but he kept a tight if laboured grip, holding the skull away from him even as his blade slipped further into the shoulder.

Andersen tore his eyes away from the stalemate as a bright red flash lit up the elevator shaft, emanating up from below. Peering down over his shoulder, he saw a bloodied Cannibal take two shots from amidst the wreckage of the elevator, firing out at something on the ground below. There was a panicked cry, a clatter of movement, then two bright blue shots which filled the corners of his vision. The Cannibal tumbled into the wreckage, with a groan.

"_Contact down. Elevator's clear, captain._"

"_Copy that._"

With hurried steps, two asari stepped into the wreckage at the bottom of the shaft. One was reloading a curved Disciple shotgun, still hot from killing the Cannibal. The other was fiddling with the radio, eyes lowered attentively.

"Hey!" he barked, not even bothering to go for the radio. "Up here!"

The two of them wheeled around in surprise, and it took them a moment to _look up_, eyes widening at the sight of the engineer. Before either of them could reply, another baleful roar from the Brute had gone echoing down the elevator shaft, and he yelled:

"Shotgun! Now!"

The trooper just looked blankly up at him, but the radio operator seemed to have more presence of mind. She dropped her gear, grabbed the Disciple out of her stunned friend's hands, and hurled it upwards with all the force she could muster, and just a flicker of biotics.

Andersen snatched it out of the air with his free hand, tucking it under the crook of his arm and throwing caution to the wind as he kicked off from the junction box, propelling himself up and over the edge. The lieutenant swung his boots up onto solid ground, scrambling away from the edge and falling onto one knee, shifting the freshly-loaded shotgun into his arms.

_Bang! Bang! Bang! _The gun was surprisingly light, and the recoil caught him by surprise, punching him in the shoulder as three livid blue rounds lit the corridor. The first punched into the Brute's belly, the second and third tracked upwards with recoil, catching its flank, its shoulder…

The monster roared and groaned, back slumping as the shells tore great messes of blood and flesh out of its side. It lurched to the right, ignoring the damage done by Ethan's blade and weakly reaching out for the engineer with its claw arm. He just put his hand to the trigger again-

_Bang_. The clip ran empty with one more shot, but not before said shot had taken a chunk out of the Brute's collar and neck. It groaned once, and slumped to the floor - dragging Ethan with it, his omni-blade still buried in its shoulder.

Panting slightly, the marine yanked his blade back out and folded it away, extricating himself from the dead creature's torso. He doubled over, took a couple of deep breaths - Andersen was doing the same - and then glanced up, staring incredulously at the shotgun.

"…I could get used to one of these," the engineer muttered.


	519. Operation Garrison Part 7

_**Astella Bay Highway, Nevos**_

_**Day 1, 1330**_

"_All units, Bravo is five minutes from rendezvous. How copy?_"

"_Solid copy, Lynus. Cambrai's circling the AO, moving in for pickup. Are we unloading the trucks, or taking the lot?_"

"_Depends very much on our pursuers._"

"_What about them?_"

"_Whether they are present._"

A quiet chuckle from Akito, and then the radio fell silent again, leaving Dax and Araya to the soundtrack of wind rushing through their battered cab, waves breaking against the highway… and battles tearing through the city behind them. The Reapers had almost total air superiority now, with only a few asari air units remaining to joust with them in the skies.

"Drones," Dax grunted, pointing his shot arm up towards the foothills. "Incoming, fast."

Araya clutched her Locust a little more tightly, finger sliding to the trigger for comfort, but she wasn't quite sure what she was planning to do with a sub-machinegun… the Oculi certainly came on whether she was holding the gun or not, moving fast, _very _fast…

They shot overhead, low, but paid little heed to the trucks on the highway below. They had bigger fish to fry, apparently.

"_Vacating the bay…_" Rilum muttered, cogs clearly turning in his agile little mind. "_Cambrai, turn your eyes up._"

"_Come again?_" Akito replied.

"_Scanners. Up. Orbital approach over the city, possible variation twenty degrees. Anything there?_"

There was a long pause. In the rearmost truck's cab, Araya and Dax exchanged a nervous glance, waiting out the conversation quietly…

"_Big crimson_," the co-pilot replied, finally.

"_How big?_"

"_Big. Capital-class._"

"_Understood. Bravo, move faster. Need to reach the foothills._"

"_Faster?_" Yui grunted."_Why?_"

"_Faster,_" the salarian replied, simply.

Back in the cab, Dax rolled his eyes, and pulled his shot arm to one side with a grunt, reaching for the shifter in the centre console. He rammed it forward, and the truck lurched slightly, before setting off at a pace after the rest of the convoy.

"_Revised ETA?_" the voice from the Cambrai asked.

"_Three minutes,_" Lynus answered, shortly. "_Almost-_"

_Skree… thoom._

There was a sound like thunder in the skies above, as the atmosphere _exploded _and a dark, obsidian shape came hurtling down out of the heavens at speed. It slowed only a short way off the ground, and Araya found herself transfixed, mildly _horrified_, as steel arms unfurled from the torso, and then-

_Wham! _The whole bay shuddered, and Dax barked loudly as he fought to keep the controls in line. Off to the right side of the highway, a great plume of water had gone up, and it slammed back down with the force of a tidal wave, sending ripples and shudders all the way to the road itself. Standing tall out of the water, emitting a low, rumbling drone, a titanic Reaper cast its eye across the cityscape…

"_Capital-class_," the salarian muttered, simply. "_Confirmed._"

"_Holy…_"

"_Alpha, this is Bravo. Touchdown in the bay to your west. Capital-class Reaper, threat immediate._"

"_What? Oh, for f-_"

"_Fall back. Almost to the rendezvous, shouldn't stay here any longer._"

"_Copy that, bugging out._"

The radio fell silent once more. Back to the whistling wind, the rush of air through the broken windows…

"_Harvester, ten o'clock_," Rilum reported, calmly.

Sure enough, a dark shape was swinging over the bay on their left side, even as the great Reaper churned up the waters on the right. It drifted lazily on the wind, tilting side to side every few seconds, and circling back towards the city in search of-

_Oh shit. _With a screech and a whip of its wings, it spotted the convoy, and came barrelling around to face them. Dax growled in annoyance, and a moment later the radio burst out with a short, krogan bark from Yui of:

"_Incoming!_"

_Skree! _The Harvester came lunging down with a high-pitched shriek, forgoing its guns to dive-bomb the trucks outright. Tucking its wings, it came down with frightening speed, crashed down onto the left side of the road, took a few faltering, stumbling steps... Lynus' truck was already clear even as it tried to regain its balance, Yui's was swerving around the right side. Dax swung the controls left, but the creature staggering back that way, and:

_Thump!_

"Aaah!"

Araya couldn't help but let a little squeal escape her lips as their truck ploughed straight into the Harvester's back leg. There was a _thud _of dead flesh, a baleful moan from the creature, and she saw its long neck snap around, trying to get to the offending presence, but speeding metal beat flesh. Any glass left in the windows _poured _into the cab, along with a good measure of grime and gristle, cybernetic blood and dead flesh, but a moment later they were speeding clear, hurtling off up the highway as the Harvester wandered off in a daze.

"Eyes up!" Dax barked, checking the rear view mirror. "He's in the air again!"

True to the krogan's word, the horrible creature was lurching up into the sky as Araya leant out the window, SMG in hand. She had half a mind to start firing at it, try to clip its wings, but in a matter of moments it was too far back, too high… it circled, eyes leering back down as it tried to get a line, a shot, some means of revenge…

_Boom. _With a cold, emotionless flash of white, something slammed into the creature's side, gutting it and throwing up a cloud of smoke and ash. The Harvester's body tumbled limply, still smoking, until it hit the bay below and sank out of sight.

It took a moment for Araya's senses to catch up with the sonic boom and the cry of engines, as a silver shape darted over the highway from left to right, crossing the Harvester's grave. There was a dull roar, a flicker of light, and the interceptor slowed, hauling itself around in a lazy arc in search of new prey.

"_Friendly contact in the air_," Rilum noted. "_Asari-_"

_Skree…_

"Ah, shit…" Dax groaned.

_Whoosh! _A stream of scarlet light filled the sky, hurled out by the Reaper in the bay. Araya couldn't tell what Yui or the salarian were doing, but in the rearmost truck's cab, she and Dax simply held their breath, unable to do anything else as their heads throbbed and their teeth rattled. Their airborne saviour, too close to the beast, was wiped away like a twig in a torrent, disappearing in the sea of red and never reappearing, even as the Reaper's shot faded away… With a cold, mechanical _clunk_, the towering monster's aim shifted back away from the highway, towards the city.

"_Off-ramp just ahead…_" Rilum noted, and the human honestly couldn't tell if it was shellshock, or just his usual business-like tone. "_Almost to the rendezvous. Keep moving._"


	520. Operation Garrison Part 8

_**Astella Garrison, Nevos**_

_**Day 1, 1335**_

"Captain Tarenna, this is Lieutenant Andersen. We've got to fall back. Reaper in the bay!"

"_What?!_"

"You heard me, captain! Reaper in the bay, we're out of time!"

"_Shit! What the… what the shit?_"

"Saffiya, get them moving if you have to, no time for freak-outs…"

"_Understood, Andersen. Anyone not holding a point, make sure the trucks are fuelled and ready to move!_"

"My team's coming down from the second floor, watch the elevator shaft for friendlies!"

"_Understood!_"

Andersen let the comlink die away, with a rueful shake of his head. On the opposite side of the window, Alec just grunted, and hefted his Falcon.

"Last round of grenades," he reported. "Burn 'em?"

"Targets of opportunity!" Andersen nodded, for what felt like the hundredth time that day.

"Three Ravagers at the end of the street!" Aeryn interjected, from the next window up the line. "Alec?"

"On 'em!"

Without another word, the marine swung himself up into the aperture of the window, bringing up his gun to fire-

"Ravagers opening up!" Sam yelled, from the other side.

"Christ! Down!" Andersen bellowed, physically _grabbing _Alec and dragging the bigger man under the window sill - how, he wasn't quite sure.

_Boom, boom, boom! _Three shots obliterated the window frame above them, and to the left, Aeryn dove down to the floor with a yelp as another Ravager took her cover apart. The front façade of the building did little to resist what was basically _artillery_, and the walls crumbled under each shot, shards of rubble bouncing down into the corridor over their heads.

"Office wall's gone!" the engineer heard Kan bellow, through his filter. "Zel, out, now!"

There was a chatter of rifle fire, and looking up over the prone form of Alec in front of him, he saw the quarian belt out a dozen rounds through a gap in the wall - the result of the third Ravager's barrage - as the sniper rushed out behind him, keeping her head low.

With a grunt, the marine beneath him fought free, stumbled up onto one knee, and shoved his grenade launcher through the breach. He paused for just a moment to sight down on the loading artillery, and squeezed the trigger:

_Thunk, thunk, thunk, thunk…_

He dropped once more, not watching as the shots flew. Alec rose up in his place, quickly spotting the trio of Ravagers-

_Bang bang bang bang bang bang! _With what could only be described as a _fountain _of smoke and ash, the rachni-creatures exploded, six micro-grenades going off beneath their feet to reduce them to pulp and body bits.

"Artillery's down!" Andersen yelled. "We need to go!"

"Agreed!" Kan replied, as he and Zel slid down on their backs to avoid a curtain of rifle fire shooting through the windows.

"Elevator shaft in the back, you should be able to climb down."

"We'll check it out," the turian nodded, setting off at a _very _low run and making for the corridor where the dead Brute lay, the quarian close on her heel.

With a loud chatter, Alec started firing again, pressing his body into the wall and his borrowed Phaeston around the corner. The engineer just popped another sentry drone, leaving it to hover helpfully beside the marine's head as it poured shots into anything that moved.

"Grenade out!" Cash shouted, tossing one into the crowd outside. It clattered down, bounced audibly, and exploded with a satisfying _boom_, accompanied by the wails of a cluster of Reaper creatures unfortunate enough to have been in the way.

"_Alpha, this is Bravo_," the radio chimed. "_At the rendezvous, unloading cargo._"

"Copy that, Bravo. Falling back from the building-"

_Skree…_

"What the-?"

_Whoosh! _

The room _flattened_, everyone diving onto their bellies and abandoning their firing positions as the sky flashed crimson. A noise like an earthquake filled the air, emanating from somewhere across the city, and the heavens burned for a good few seconds before the Reaper's fire finally died away. The gulf of silence was filled, almost immediately, by a renewed chatter of gunfire in the street outside.

"Zel, Kan, get the fuck downstairs!" Alec bellowed, rolling onto his back. "We're done here!"

"Moving!"

"Ethan, Aeryn, go with them!" Andersen added, picking himself up. "Sam, you alright over there?"

"Fine…" the C-Sec officer coughed, extricating himself from a pile of rubble - the pillar beside his window had collapsed with the force of the Reaper's strike.

"Covering fire!" Carter continued, noisily, as the sentinel and the asari hurried off towards the elevator shaft. "Burn one mag, then we run down after them!"

"Got it!"

The engineer reached for his pistol, checking the ammo count before reconsidering, and loading a case of disruptor rounds. Off to his right, Sam was recovering his rifle from the floor and shifting towards better cover, while Alec checked what was left of his Phaeston's mag, clearly planning to drain the lot.

"Ready?"

"Ready."

"Ready!"

With a clatter of boots and armour, the three of them swung up out of cover - Alec had shifted to the next window down to stay out of Andersen's way - and levelled weapons at the encroaching mob outside.

_Crack crack crack crack… _a loud rattle of gunfire filled the corridor, and Andersen did his best to drown out the rifles to left and right, setting his own eyes to his pistol, placing each trigger pull. He flared the shields of a Marauder, took it down, bullseyed the Cannibal next, yanked his aim down to hit a husk that went charging at the garage, took another couple of shots into the mob, one missing…

_Click_. His clip finally ran empty after taking a Cannibal to the ground, and he hopped back from the window, dropping low and reaching for a fresh mag as he made for the door-

"Almost empty!" Alec hollered, as Sam fell back on the right with his rifle dry.

"Falling back!" the detective shouted- "Shit! Incoming, get away from the windows!"

"What?" Andersen frowned. Quite contrary to instructions he stumbled _forwards_, craning his neck to look back through the window again…

Two red dots on the horizon. Moving fast, and low, and… _oh no_. He set off at a run, dashing down the corridor to the right with Sam. Some kind of instinct told him running back towards the elevator shaft was a bad idea, and the same instinct was propelling his fellows - Sam was next to him, and Alec was quick on their heels as his MG ran dry, sprinting towards the staircase on the south side-

_Boom! _A rush of air filled the corridor, ground shaking beneath them as two Oculi pounded the side of the garrison with beam weapons. Andersen went off his feet in a second, rubble pelting the side of his helmet, and the air rushed out of his lungs as he hit the floor, his two companions close behind.

"Airstrike!" he heard Alec bark, groggily. "Captain, airstrike on the east side, corridor's collapsed behind us!"

"_I've got multiple casualties down here!_" Tarenna replied, shakily. "_Justicar, I need you back in the centre to plug this gap!_"

"_Negative. Reaper forces are pushing on the south garage, we're close to being overrun._"

"_Oh, that's just great! That's great!_"

"Captain, half our squad's on the way down," Carter coughed. "Rest of us are cut off, we'll try to find a way down through the armoury. Sit tight."

There was a thud of boots in the dust, and as Andersen rolled onto his side, taking in the smoke and rubble all around them, he saw an armoured figure come limping out of the corner of his eye, grabbing him unceremoniously under the arm and hauling him upright.

"C'mon LT," the marine muttered. "Time to go."


	521. Operation Garrison Part 9

_**Astella Garrison, Nevos**_

_**Day 1, 1345**_

"Where. Are. They. Coming. From?"

Saffiya punctuated her rather _growled_ question with a two-handed swing of the drell sword in her hands, taking chunks out of a group of husks that were rounding the corner into the garage. As the last one fell, neck in tatters, she dropped back into cover with an exhausted sigh, reaching for the Acolyte pistol with one hand even as she let Raziel's sword hang in the other. Six rounds left, in clips of three. A dozen warp rounds remaining in the Predator thrust through her belt.

"Main road to the south," a maiden marksman replied, peering down the scope of a Mantis as two of her fellows spent what remained of their rifle ammo on pushing the Reapers back. "Feeding in through the back streets and the alleyways… I see fighting all the way to the highway, justicar, and some big plumes of smoke where that Reaper hit…"

"I'm not familiar with this city," Saffiya muttered, wiping her blade clean on the leather leg of her armour. "Would that smoking ruin happen to be the spaceport?"

"…about the right distance, yeah," the sniper admitted, with a nervous little nod.

"Captain…" the justicar sighed, patching into her radio again. "It would appear our defenders at the shipyard are gone. Reaper creatures are hitting the south flank unhindered."

"_The temple looks like a bombed-out shell from here_," Tarenna cursed. "_We're losing blocking positions left and right._"

"Time we left."

"_Time we left_."

There was a _thud _and a squeal, and one of the asari rifles dropped back, ducking low and spitting out rounds in retaliation - a Cannibal had just cut a line of half a dozen red-hot shots into the pillar of the garage door, above her head.

"Reloading!" the other maiden cried, sliding back into cover to reach for a fresh magazine - the barrel of her Avenger was still glowing scarlet from the effort of firing.

Saffiya stepped out in her place with a nod, raising the now-familiar Acolyte. It was a powerful weapon. Pausing a moment to pick her target, and barely flinching as a round or two bounced off her barriers… _bang_. She took the head off a particularly fearsome Cannibal, punching through the thick armour plates that had swollen around its neck and skull. _Bang, bang_. She blew out the legs of another batarian as it came charging, leaving it for the maiden with her rifle to dispatch. Finally, as another pair of husks and a squad of shooters came rushing for the door:

_Whump! _She raised her other arm, keeping a grip on the sword's hilt with thumb and forefinger, and shooting out the other fingers of her hand, level. There was a flash of biotic blue, and then a shockwave rippled forth, tossing the creatures off to left and right, dead or crippled. One Cannibal was left spinning lazily in mid-air, groaning balefully - just as it rose to the height of its arc, the sniper picked it out of the air with a deafening _bang!_

The justicar fell back, taking a deep breath as her muscles strained and her brain throbbed. Biotics were an effort she could only spare so often now, and as the now-loaded rifleman spun back out to keep firing, Saffiya's attention was on her rather more material weapons. She set her sword down, leaning it against the garage wall behind her, and set about loading her last clip into the Acolyte. Only once it was in with a faint _click _did she pick up the blade once more, twirling it once in her hand and setting her eyes to the besieged garage door.

_Bang! _The sniper, crouching behind a pile of empty crates, took another target's head from its shoulders with her rifle. Even as she pulled back the bolt action, however, causing a spent casing to rattle off the top-most crate, she was looking wary.

"Two left!" she called out.

"Last mag here!" one of the rifles replied. The other turned her head away from the firefight to report:

"Empty!"

She turned a moment later, discarding her rifle entirely and reaching for the sidearm in her belt - one magazine loaded, 'just in case', as was the style. The rifleman-without-a-rifle dropped to one knee just inside the garage door, pelting out quick, anxious shots from the pistol and visibly unnerved.

"Ten rounds!" the other rifle reported, as a short, staccato burst from her rifle felled an approaching Marauder.

_Bang. _The sniper took herself down to one round as she obliterated the armour-plated chest of a tough Cannibal.

"Get the door!" Saffiya called, reluctantly. "We need to fall back…"

The drained rifleman nodded from the far side of the doorway, reaching for the control panel by her side and tapping something in. Her fellow outside backed up one foot over the other, firing a five-shot burst from left to right, then another back the other way, then abandoned suppressing fire entirely and ducking through the garage door as it slid shut. With a dull _clang_, the garage sealed up, leaving the four asari alone with the sound of shots ricocheting and creatures baying outside…

"Captain," the justicar murmured, setting off at a jog to keep herself moving and waving for the rest to follow. "We've shut the garage door, but it won't hold long. We're spent."

"_Damn it. Get in here, justicar, we're barely holding the east side…_"

"You three, grab ammunition and back up the captain's team!" she called to the maidens in her wake. They nodded anxiously, and as the group stumbled back into the main warehouse, they broke off to the left towards two of the Alliance crates, opened up to arm the platoon. Beyond, four more trucks were being readied to move, engines ticking idly in the loading bay… the justicar just made a beeline to the right, pistol and blade in hand.

The main line was… not faring well. As she approached the sturdy barricade Tarenna's platoon had erected over the east entrance to the garrison, Saffiya counted no fewer than three troopers huddled in cover, ammo spent and clutching knives or omni-blades for the inevitable moment when the Reapers came bursting through their line. The captain herself was in the centre, Vindicator still rattling defiantly, and a motley collection of rifles, sub-machineguns and shotguns were pelting out rounds from the barricade line on either side of her. In the street beyond, a mob of Reaper creatures even larger than the one besieging the south garage had gathered, and even as Saffiya advanced, another meteor-drop was exploding onto a rooftop opposite. With covering fire from the floor above now gone, the enemy was pushing hard…

"Friendlies, coming out!"

Saffiya hadn't even made it to the line as she stopped, staring off to her left. A battered radio operator was scrambling out of the way of the elevator shaft as a turian thudded down next to her. The quarian dropped in next, wiping dust and ash off his visor and swiftly followed by an asari, a stocky human man… the justicar had never been quite so relieved to see her colleagues, as they emerged with weapons in hand.

"_Shit!_" a panicked voice yelled - one of Tarenna's NCOs, if memory served correctly."_North side's breached, we're-_"

_Thud_, in the background of the radio. A forlorn blast of shotgun fire rang out from the north side of the garage, before that too was silenced. From somewhere in the distance, the bellow of a Brute echoed through the building…

"North side!" the justicar screamed, and Zel got the message. Practically _dragging _Ethan with her, she set off north with her sniper rifle in her arms, Aeryn and Ethan following closely behind a moment later.

"If you're empty, fall back!" Tarenna cried, from the barricade. "Get the trucks ready, pull those ammo crates onboard too!"

A handful of asari soldiers scattered from the battle line, dashing back towards the loading bay and the waiting vehicles. Saffiya hesitated, halfway to joining Tarenna on her battle line before the noise of battle distracted her once again.

"Zel, nail the bastard's skull!" Ethan was yelling, as a Brute's roar echoed from the north once again - her four colleagues were stood in the cavernous doorway between the main warehouse and the north storage wing. "I'll try to flank him!"

"_Saffiya!_"

The justicar shook herself back to attention, going for the radio as Lieutenant Andersen's voice caught her ear.

"I hear you," she said, bobbing up and down on her feet unsure of where to go.

"We're in the armoury stairwell, ground floor, but the door's locked! We can't get through, can't go back around!"

"I'll open it from this side," Saffiya replied. "Captain, where's the armoury door?"

"North wall of the loading bay!" Tarenna barked, over her shoulder.

The justicar set off at a run, first hopping down into the sunken bay around the trucks, then clambering up on the far side of it, making for the door set into the north wall. No crimson roundel in the centre, it was simply dead, short-circuited by some blast or other. As she reached it, the asari pounded a fist against the door, calling out:

"Andersen?"

"Right here!" the engineer replied, muffled by the door. Correct door. That was a good start…

"Can you blast it open?" she asked, quickly.

"No explosives! Your biotics?"

Saffiya paused, running a hand over the door and letting a mass effect field resonate. The steel was solid, her arm tired…

"Can't knock it through," she concluded. "It's shut tight! I'm not sure I can pry it apart!"

"Find something to lever it open!" Sam's voice suggested, from slightly further back.

"I'll try!"

She backed away from the door, pistol and sword still in hand, both useless. The door was solid steel, thick enough to withstand a shot, while the drell blade was thin, quick, precise… and far too brittle to pry a door open. With a vague noise of frustration, the justicar slid both items into her belt and glanced around, looking for something amidst the tools and the gear and the remnants left scattered across the loading bay…

An unexpected helper beat her to it. Before she could turn up anything useful, she felt something hefty being pressed into her arms, and turned to find a visor staring back at her.

"Auto jack!" Kan explained hastily, before diving back into cover by the corner of the wall. He had clearly darted in from the north wing in time to hear the conversation, and there was trouble following him - in the background, Ethan Cash thudded to the ground under an impact from what had to be the Brute, managing to scrabble away only thanks to a burst of covering fire from Zel.

"For a door?" the justicar frowned, examining the wedge-like contraption now resting in her arms, all levers and gears, with a hydraulic bottle hanging somewhere in the middle and a crank jutting out of one side.

"If it can hold up a truck, it can hold open the door!" the quarian explained. "Get them through!"

_Crack crack_. He leant out around the corner, pinging two shots at some hostile out of sight before dropping back, a wave of crimson shots battering the column behind which he was sheltering. Saffiya made a beeline for the armoury door, but even as she approached it, there was a feeling of uncertainty in her gut…

"I need both hands!" she called out, sharply.

Kan didn't reply. He muttered something under his breath, fired another blind _crack crack crack _around the corner with his rifle, then sprinted to her side, dropping the Avenger entirely and snatching the jack out of her unprotesting arms.

"Do it quick!" he barked.

Saffiya nodded, and went straight for the door, hoping the others had the sense to stand back. She wreathed both arms in all the biotics she could muster, and thrust them forward, hands outstretched. After a moment's effort, she found the edges of the gap in the door, working her fingers into it, though the touch was far-off, distant as if underwater. Then, with a snarl of effort, she took a firm grip of each half of the door, and _wrenched _them apart. All the force she could marshal was only sufficient to push the door open a few inches or so, and the pistons in the door were pushing back, trying to close it on her straining arms…

"Let it go!"

The justicar glanced down, blinking in surprise as she realised Kan had already slotted the auto jack in above her arms. She leapt back, biotics dying with a flicker, and the two halves of the door _slammed_ inwards onto the jack. It held, by some miracle, and a small flicker of light was visible from the stairwell beyond.

"Help me with this…" she murmured, setting her hands on the crank and starting to turn it, as Kan grabbed it from the other side. "Lieutenant! We're opening it up!"


	522. Operation Garrison Part 10

_**Astella Garrison, Nevos**_

_**Day 1, 1400**_

_Crunch. Crunch. Crunch._ The auto jack - smart thinking, Andersen noted - seemed more like a rib separator as it pried the two halves of the door apart, slipping a few inches with each turn of the crank and spreading wider, affording the trio in the stairwell a glimpse of the loading bay beyond…

"Get in here!" Kan barked, tensely, his visor glancing back over his shoulder every few seconds to watch the firefight raging behind him.

Without hesitating to reply, the three commandoes piled through the gap, ducking under the jack and between the outstretched arms of their colleagues. Kan and Saffiya stopped cranking the moment the trio were through, and the lot of them spread out, reaching for weapons and examining the situation around them.

It wasn't what you'd call _good_. The asari's line to the east was crumbling, the south seemed abandoned, and from the north, around the corner:

_Wham_. A large claw hit the ground, a dying flail from a Brute now riddled with shots.

"Big guy's down!" Ethan yelled, a little too tense and hyped-up to sound happy about it.

"Back up!" the engineer shouted back, pistol in hand as ever. "Captain Tarenna, gang's all here!"

"Fall back!" the asari captain bellowed hoarsely, nodding to Andersen over her shoulder. "You two, drones on the barricade line!"

Two of the maidens in her platoon popped up from the loading bay, tapping at their omni-tools and producing a pair of flickering drones, which went hovering over to the east side as the asari fell back. One of them sent a fabricated rocket soaring up over the barricade, and as a baying husk attempted to scramble over a stacked crate, the other put it down with a _jolt _of electricity.

Andersen threw his own drone out to the north, giving Ethan and Zel and Aeryn some hint of covering fire as they backed off to join the rest of the squad, the lot of them hurrying to the trucks. Four vehicles waiting, asari piling into the front two, understandably… everyone wanted to be out the door first. Those who found no room in the front two were waved back to the third by Captain Tarenna, who was glancing nervously back to the eastern line, rifle still in hand…

"Last truck's yours, lieutenant, needs a driver!" she called.

"I got it!" Ethan shouted quickly, clapping Andersen on the shoulder and sprinting past him, rounding the front of the vehicle to hop up into the cab. Zel was hot on his heels, climbing into the passenger seat, and the rest of the squad clambered into the truck's bed. Andersen for one fell flat, pressing him low to find as much protection as he could from the bed's low walls, and his lungs were bursting with adrenaline as he glanced to one side, doing a headcount. Sam was diving in next to him, Saffiya was flat on her back, chest rising and falling rapidly. Kan was sitting up against the cab, reloading his rifle, and by the tail, Alec and Aeryn were bracing their rifles, eyes bearing down on the east barricade in case it fell.

"_Get those doors open!_" Tarenna barked, and there was a loud rumble of machinery as one of her men hit the controls. The huge doors onto the highway slid apart with a groan, casting bright light and a vague crimson glow over the soldiers in the loading bay.

Then, the trucks roared into life, kinetic generators whirring as they rose off the ground. The first two broke away almost before the doors opened, darting out onto the highway, and Tarenna's vehicle wasn't far behind, though they at least waited for the doors to stop grinding apart. Ethan punched the controls, adjusting quickly, and then they were soaring free, truck swinging violently. Andersen rolled onto his back, going for the radio and checking, yet again, whether his squad was all in one piece. They were, scratches and dents aside.

"This is Alpha!" he hollered, over the rush of wind. "Trucks are mobile, we're inbound on the RV!"

"_Copy that,_" Akito replied, urgently. "_Bravo's onboard, so is the cargo. Cambrai's circling. The bay area looks clearer than before, but only because enemy air's giving the capital ships room to operate. Please make it quick, Alpha._"

_Please_. Holy shit, Akito was panicking…

"Coming as quick as we can, Cambrai. Alpha team, out."

He glanced around, examining the squad again. Not their wounds this time, but their weapons. Kan's rifle was reloaded now, ready to fire... Alec had run his Phaeston dry, but he still had the Valkyrie loaded. Saffiya had both her pistols, but there were no spare clips hanging from her belt… same story for Sam and Aeryn, both clutching rifles with ammo counters blinking, last mags half-filled. The lieutenant himself had only his Predator, fully loaded, another clip in his belt. Probably… half a dozen magazines between them. Not good, if they were ambushed on the road-

"LT?"

Andersen glanced up, only to see Alec staring back from the back of the truck bed, rifle in his arms.

"Yeah?"

"Stop worrying. Take a breather."

The engineer sighed and nodded, letting his head fall back against the bottom of the bed. That… was a mistake, as it happened. The truck's next shudder caused the steel floor to bounce, rattling his skull uncomfortably, and he grumbled in discontent.

"Bravo," Alec muttered, "how long'd it take you to reach the RV from the garrison?"

"_Close to an hour_," Rilum replied, not-too-encouragingly, "_but, wasn't moving at full speed. Estimate… thirty, fourty if that were the case_."

"Great…" the marine groaned. "Everyone catch your breath, and sit tight. Not out of the woods yet."


	523. Operation Garrison Part 11

**A/N: To the guest commentator on the last chapter (I don't usually reply to guests, because FF makes it tricky, but I personally consider this one important): That's one of the more difficult aspects of working with other people's characters. You can't really make an editorial decision like that without consulting the person who actually owns the character. There's also the risk of being so overt about it that the character in question gets pigeonholed. Off the top of my head, however, I can think of at least two members of the crew who openly _don't_ fit that mould_,_ and the vast majority never discuss the matter one way or the other. If you happen to have an account, I'll happily discuss this further in PMs - trust me, it's a topic I consider carefully.**

* * *

><p><em><strong>Astella Bay Highway, Nevos<strong>_

_**Day 1, 1420**_

"Twenty minutes," Andersen muttered, checking his omni-tool. "Halfway there."

_Whoosh!_ The right side of the bay flashed scarlet, as the Reaper in the water took a shot across the city. The lieutenant's eyes followed it absently, watching as the siari temple descended further into rubble…

"Not many troop drops out here…" Sam observed, from his side.

"No need to drop on the outskirts," Alec shrugged, from the tail. "They're pushing on the centre now."

_Thoom, thoom, thoom._ A series of dull echoes rattled around the hills from the far side of Astella, breaking the monotonous drone of the Reaper for a moment or two.

"What was that?" Kan frowned.

"Defence cannons," Aeryn answered. "They weren't firing before… Reapers must have landed nearer the battery.

"Artillery won't scratch those things," the quarian scoffed, shaking his head.

"At least they won't go quietly."

The squad fell into silence, heads bowed, the lot of them nursing weapons in their arms or laps. Their truck was still hurtling down the highway at the tail end of the convoy, the cab providing only a little cover from the wind now whipping past them…

"Not sure if this is a good day or a really shitty one," Andersen chuckled. "I mean, some bloody delivery run…"

"Everyone's in one piece, and we killed a lot of goddamn Reapers," Alec muttered simply. "Good day."

"I'll go with that…" Aeryn smirked, laughing quietly. Some flicker of her old humour, long-missing after Terra Nova but recovering now.

"Hear hear…" the lieutenant echoed, cracking the slightest of grins himself.

"_Drop coming down, one o'clock_," one of the asari drivers reported. Sure enough, a moment later:

_Wham_. A fireball came skidding down the right side of the highway, and the convoy swung past it, widening a gap even before the Cannibals came stumbling out. A few haphazard rounds shot back up the road, bouncing off their tail, but no-one in the squad seemed too perturbed. Alec just reached to his belt, unclipping a grenade before twisting around on the tail gate and _pelting _the thing like a baseball. It skidded down, bouncing a couple of times…

_Bang. _A little explosion, far-off in the distance already by the time it went off.

"Got two… maybe three," Sam muttered, craning his neck to cast his sniper's eyes down the highway.

"Good enough," Carter grunted.

They fell silent once more, and it was a good few minutes before anything else happened - not a troop drop, not an apocalyptic barrage from the Reaper, but a small _clunk _as Zel pulled open the cab's rear window to talk to them.

"ETA fifteen," the turian muttered, quietly. "Everyone alright back there?"

"Just great," Kan replied, sarcastically.

"Hey, at least it's quiet…" she murmured.

"Oh great. You jinxed it."

The sniper shot a scowl at the quarian, but even as she did so, Ethan was tapping her on the shoulder, at first silently, then _frantically_:

"Zel!"

"What-?"

_Boom. _There was a flash of light somewhere up ahead, and a roar of engines as two silver forms buzzed over their heads. Everyone in the truck bed flattened, tensing up and clutching weapons as one of the asari trucks came bouncing down along the convoy's side, cab in tatters, troopers spilling out of the back as it rolled… Ethan slammed on the brakes, rattling everyone, and their truck ground to a halt with the two remaining, circling back around the downed vehicle…

"No, no, we need to move!" Alec barked, standing up from the tailgate as the two Oculi circled somewhere to their six o'clock, and came hurtling back. Andersen couldn't help but imagine they were the same pair that had bombed the garrison, though in truth they probably weren't.

"But-" someone began.

"Move!" Andersen yelled, echoing the marine chief as he practically _dragged _Sam and Kan to their feet, pulling them towards the edge of the truck bed-

_Boom! _A beam weapon's strike came down, louder and closer than before. The entire back end of their truck rocked, movement drowning out the _boom _as the Oculus took a shot at one of the asari's trucks… the lieutenant went tumbling over the side of the bed, still holding on to his two colleagues and pulling them with him. In the peripheries of his vision, he saw the justicar spring away with renewed vigour, saw Alec and Aeryn stumble over to the tailgate…

He thudded to the ground, losing his bearings for a moment as smoke and flame filled the air. A sharp punch to the side from Sam got him moving again, and they stumbled to their feet, the quarian still with them. There was another _clunk _from their side, and Zel practically _dropped _out of the cab as the door came open, coughing her lungs up - on closer inspection, the control panel was ablaze, and it took Andersen a few panicked moments to register that Ethan had bailed out too, tumbling down safely on the other side.

A few of the asari were screaming as Tarenna and the remaining NCOs shoved them out of their vehicles, and the drones came back around for a third pass. A few of them were scrambling towards the wounded now crawling out of the first truck's wreck, but most were just trying to process what the _fuck _was going on - the world, as it often did, was going a little bit mad.

_Boom, boom. _Another relentless barrage, and Andersen ducked instinctively as the cab of one of the asari trucks disintegrated, showering steel debris into the air.

"Heads up!" someone was yelling, maybe Aeryn. "Troop drops incoming!"

"Behind the trucks!" Alec bellowed, his now-hoarse voice far more recognisable. "Dig in, give the bastards a fight!"

As Andersen dove around the front of the truck with Kan, Sam and Zel, a meteor came skidding down to their left, a group of Cannibals stumbling out. The lieutenant picked off the two frontrunners with a pair of steady, measured shots, conserving his ammo as the group ducked back around the cab for cover.

"Cambrai, this is Alpha!" he barked, into the radio. "Convoy is stalled, repeat, convoy's stalled!"

"_Then get it moving, lieutenant!_"

"Not sure that's possible, Akito! We've got a truck disabled, maybe three, and the Reapers are targeting are position, this is it!"

"_Christ... fight back, Alpha!_"

"The fuck d'you think we're doing?!" Alec yelled, from around the corner.

"_Well, just… hang in there, okay? We'll sort something out, we'll sort something out…_"

"We need evac, Cambrai," the engineer persisted, trying to keep his voice calm even as Akito's filled with rare panic.

"_You're sat next to a fucking capital ship, Alpha! We… goddamnit, just sit tight!_"

The radio faded to silence, and Andersen let his omni-tool drop, glancing around at his squad. Eventually, he exchanged a nervous glance with Kan'Sura, and the quarian muttered:

"So… that's not good, is it?"


	524. Operation Garrison Part 12

_**Astella Bay Highway, Nevos**_

_**Day 1, 1435**_

_Clang_.

Andersen wheeled around, just in time to see Alec pounce on a Marauder as it rounded the corner of his cover, grab it by the collar, and _slam _it into the front of Alpha's now-burning truck, metal grille shaking under the impact. Before anyone could think about finishing the turian off, the chief had gone for its throat with a silver combat knife, making messy work of stabbing into it before letting the body drop.

"Ammo check!" he barked, as he stepped back.

"_Half a dozen rounds!_" Saffiya replied, her voice far-off in the melee.

"Five!" Andersen shouted.

No-one else shouted.

"That's it?" Alec yelled, incredulously. "For fuck's… okay! CQB, people! Stick together, cover each other's backs! Don't let the shooters get a clear shot, and kill anything that comes round the nearest corner!"

Alpha and the remnants of Tarenna's platoon were… up against it, to put it mildly. The Oculi had buzzed off for now, but Reaper troops were encircling the ruined convoy, Cannibals and Marauders peppering the hulks with crossfire as human husks charged in like attack dogs. In truth, Andersen didn't even know how many of the asari were left at this point. He could hear Tarenna bellowing now and again, but his attention was on his own squad.

_Thud. Shing! _In a remarkable display of teamwork, Kan and Zel took down a sprinting husk as it rounded the corner of one of the trucks. The quarian crouched down and grabbed it around the midriff as it ran in, pounding his shoulders and head into its ribs. Before the creature could even think about tearing at his back, Zel had run in from behind the quarian to decapitate it with an omni-blade.

The rest of the squad were scattered around, fighting tooth and nail whenever the bastards appeared. Ethan was in his element, scrapping with every second husk and doing bloody murder with his omni-blades. Sam was hanging back at a distance, just watching the sentinel's back and stepping in where he was needed. Alec and Andersen were covering each other, sort of, and Aeryn was out of sight, off with the justicar… hopefully.

"LT, left!"

_Crack. _The engineer swivelled, putting a round through another Marauder's eye socket as it stepped out from the wreck behind him, attempting to line up a shot on the squad. It dropped with a limp _thud_, and lay still.

"Captain!" Alec called out, partly using the radio, partly just bellowing over the sounds of battle. "You alright?"

"_Lots of wounded here!_" Tarenna replied. "_We're fighting around the truck, enemy's got us pinned!_"

"Aeryn, justicar, get over to 'em!"

"_We're trying!_" Saffiya replied, frustratedly - the loud report of her Acolyte sounded out in the background, followed by the _shing _of a blade.

Off to the right, Andersen heard two electronic chimes, and his head snapped around just in time to see Sam and Ethan both hurl out incineration tech, omni-tools flashing. The two fireballs whizzed out of sight, and exploded noisily in the background, to shrieks and cries…

"Ravager down!" Sam reported.

"Ravager?" Alec snapped. "Jesus! Where's our evac?"

"Not… entirely sure it's coming," Andersen replied, checking the ammo count on his pistol - four rounds.

"They'd fuckin' better be!"

"Any chance we can move up the highway on foot?"

_Crunch_. To the side and very close by, Zel put her boot through a husk's skull as it hit the ground.

"Fuck all chance! No cover!" the marine barked.

"Yeah, yeah, I know, just running options…"

_Thud. Bang!_

"Well, we ain't got too many of those left! Just fight, damn it!"

_Crack, crack_. The engineer snapped up his pistol, just in time to nail two Cannibals as they came charging down the left side of the squad's truck, on Alec's flank.

"'Just fight!' isn't a long-term plan, chief!"

"No, but it's a damn good short-term solution! Watch out!"

The big marine came charging at Andersen, clearing the distance between them in a matter of seconds… and bull-charging a husk that had been creeping up on the engineer. He tackled it into the frame of the truck behind them, causing the whole structure to rattle loudly, then dispatched the creature with a swift knife to the temple.

"_Another drop!_" one of the asari screamed, as a deep rumble filled the air and a fireball came crashing down behind Alpha's truck.

"We're on it-"

_Skree!_

"…oh, goddamnit."

The chief and lieutenant exchanged a nervous glance, clutching pistol and knife more tightly as a slender, skeletal form emerged out of the fire. A group of husks went barrelling off to the left, chasing the asari, but the Banshee itself came stalking over towards Alpha, making slow progress up the side of the truck and shimmering with biotic fury… Andersen raised his pistol to fire, but before he could, Alec had pushed a hand over the gun's muzzle, shooting him a warning look.

"Barriers," he muttered, simply.

"Shit…" the engineer nodded. "Zel, Ethan, we need biotics!"

The turian and the sentinel glanced up, looked at each other, then nodded and hurried over. Sam and Kan lingered behind, now partnering up with each other to hold off the steady trickle of husks still pushing on their flank.

At a furious wave from Alec, the two biotics ducked down behind the nose of Alpha's truck, out of sight, both channelling bluebell flames to their arms as the Banshee wandered closer, still screeching, eyes fixed on the marine and the engineer… Andersen simply braced his pistol, keeping a firm grip on it with both hands. Alec, meanwhile, was glancing at their two colleagues, one hand clutching his knife, the other outstretched with an open palm, holding them back…

The Banshee drew closer, and closer, and closer still… it was almost to the front of the cab when it swung out an arm, delivering a furious rush of biotics - the two commandoes dove apart, narrowly avoiding the shot as it slammed into the truck behind them, denting and twisting the metal chassis. The monster took another step, then a second, finally stepping beyond the front of the truck's cab. Glancing to his left, Andersen saw the chief's hand still outstretched, now counting down. Three, two, one.

_Now_. As he clenched his fist, the two biotics swung forward, going for the Banshee's back with a combined _barrage _that made all the hairs on Andersen's arms stand straight beneath his armour. A single loud _whump _of biotics sounded out, and the Banshee screamed as its barriers disintegrated. It took a stumbling pace forwards, tried to turn…

But before it could round on the biotics, Alec was right up next to it, charging once again. He drove his knife in twice, just above the hip, darted around to go for its spine-

And caught a biotic knock round the back of the head as the Banshee twisted, dealing him a stunning blow. He _bounced _away, tumbling down by the truck at Zel and Ethan's feet, but Andersen didn't find time to watch him rise. On pure instinct he stumbled to his feet, raised his sidearm once again, and pulled the trigger:

_Crack, crack! _His last two shots, right through the back of the Banshee's brain as it rounded on the biotics and the fallen marine. The asari's twisted skull bobbed and shook, rose back in a scream… and then the creature was dropping to its knees, tumbling to the ground, dissolving into blue ash and fire as a horrible death rattle filled the air…

"I'm out," Andersen muttered breathlessly, shoving his pistol back into his belt empty.

"Worth it," Alec grunted, half-humoured as he pushed himself up onto his knees, then his feet, using the side of the truck cab for support. "Christ…"

"You alright?" Ethan asked, quickly.

"Fine. Get back up there."

The marine waved them away, and Cash went sprinting back to the flank with Zel at his heel. Alec just recovered his knife from somewhere around his feet, and stepped over the Banshee's ashen remains to reach Andersen's side again.

"Too close…" he murmured, making sure none of the others could hear.

"Yeah," the engineer nodded, quietly. "Told you 'just fight' was a shitty plan…"

"For once in your life, don't be smug…" Alec chuckled mirthlessly, taking a few deep breaths before shaking his head clear again. "We gotta fight. Still the only plan we've got."

Andersen nodded in reluctant agreement, reaching for his omni-tool and wreathing it in flames. The marine just wiped his knife clean on the sleeve of his armour, before looking around for the next battle. Off to the right, Kan was stabbing the shit out of a fallen Cannibal, as Sam and Zel wrestled with its fellow, and Ethan threw biotics at an approaching pack of husks. Somewhere in the distance, far out in the bay behind them, the Reaper's cannon burnt the sky once more, sounding out across the city like a death knell...


	525. Operation Garrison Part 13

_**SSV Cambrai, Nevos**_

_**Day 1, 1440**_

"Blood pressure's a little elevated, but that's to be expected… good progress, captain."

Ria fixed an easy smile to her features, but Murphy wasn't having any of it. He scowled up from his pillows, glancing around the med bay before returning his eyes to the _good doctor_.

"Why exactly am I here?" he frowned.

"Because you got _shot_," Ria replied, deadpan. "Forgive me, but I wouldn't be doing my job if I didn't check up on you."

"In the middle of a mission?"

"Have you got somewhere better to be?"

The asari put her hands on her hip as she retorted, suddenly scowling to match the captain. She had a good poker face, but hovering by the far wall, Alicia looked a good deal more nervous. Heck of a tell.

"I don't know…" the captain began, slowly. "I _might_, but seeing as you're keeping me off the comms right now, I wouldn't know, would I?"

Ria's frown persisted, with a roll of the eyes. Alicia shuffled in the background. The captain sat up.

"What's going on?" he muttered.

"Nothing."

"Ria!"

The asari flinched, _just a little_, and her assistant a good deal more as the captain raised his voice. He sat up fully now, arms folded, brow knitted into a scathing frown as he continued:

"This is my ship, and my crew. What the hell is going on?"

Both medics exchanged a nervous glance.

"Promise you won't do anything stupid?" Ria sighed.

"Promise," he snapped, "now what's happening?"

"…Cambrai's going in for evac," the doctor admitted, finally. "Our team's pinned down on the highway out of Astella."

Before anyone else in the room could react, Captain Murphy had lurched upright, swinging his legs out of bed and steading himself with one hand on the crash cart. The other was already at work tearing the blood pressure cuff off his arm…

"Hey! Captain, you promised!"

"I had my fingers crossed."

"Damn it, sit down!"

Murphy stood, and Ria crossed the end of the bed to block his way, putting both hands on his chest and giving him a warning glare. He tried to step around her, but she moved with him, arms not straying from his chest, glare persisting.

"Sit. Down," she repeated, firmly.

"Fine," he muttered. "But you'd better get your ass down there, doc."

She took a step back, still frowning slightly, arms falling away from his chest to fold over hers instead.

"Wounded," the captain continued, rubbing his stubble-covered jaw with a growl. "I'm betting they've got wounded, and you won't fit 'em all in med bay, not if the asari are coming too."

Ria's lips curled into an ugly expression, quite far removed from her usually pretty features. It was an expression of exasperation, frustration, and more than a little anger. Still silent, though.

"…somebody's got to go down there," Murphy concluded. "You, or her?"

He nodded to Alicia, who stood a little straighter as she was suddenly dragged back into the conversation. Ria turned to look her assistant up and down, shaking her head. There was a Shuriken resting on the counter behind the young medic, a biotic amp visible on her neck… but she was no asari commando, that was for damn sure. Cursing something under her breath, the doctor made for the exit a moment later, grabbing a kit bag from the bottom of the crash cart and hurriedly pulling the med bay door open.

"If he leaves, it's on you," she snapped as she left, directing the comment squarely at Alicia. The human girl just nodded, meekly.

Then, with the _hiss _of a door closing, Ria was gone, and the med bay was silent once more. For a good few minutes, the captain and Alicia stood in silence, not quite meeting each other's eyes and trying to ignore the soundtrack, the rumble of engines and generators rising up from the engineering deck below.

It was a good few minutes before Murphy broke the silence. Folding his arms slowly, he looked at the door through which Ria had disappeared, then over at Alicia. Back to the door, then back to the medic…

"Nuh-uh…" she whispered, almost _pleadingly_.

"Try and stop me," he muttered.

Before the young biotic could react, he was halfway to the door, arm outstretched for the control panel. The med bay exit came open with a _hiss_, and he was through it a moment later, emerging onto the crew just as the ship tilted, and a high-pitched whine filled the air, the ship's hull groaning under the stress of manoeuvres... as he made a beeline for the elevator, the _clank _of boots on metal began to follow him across the deck - hasty, panicked…

"Hey!" Alicia barked, as he ducked around the corner. "Captain!"

He rounded the corner, thumped the control panel to the elevator, stepped inside and immediately swiped for the hangar bay, doors sliding shut-

And quite to his surprise, a slim figure followed him in, slipping between the doors just in time. With an angry glare and the Shuriken clutched in one hand, Alicia shuffled to the side, eyes fixed on the captain.

"What're you doing?" Murphy scowled, with half a sigh.

"The hell does it look like?" she snapped in reply, checking the Shuriken for ammo. Loaded, the captain could already tell. Asari commandoes didn't leave weapons lying around empty.

The elevator slid down through the decks, weightless for a moment even as the Cambrai spun around it. Then, with another subtle hiss and the sound of machinery grinding to a halt, it settled on the bottom deck, doors sliding open…

The hangar bay had been loaded with cargo, storage crates hurriedly pulled back off Bravo's trucks and stacked high wherever there was space. Quite visible through a corridor in the centre, however, Dr O'Leiph was at the top of the cargo ramp, wrapped up in conversation with Kamur, and a cluster of other crew members. Murphy had half a hope of going unnoticed for a moment, but as if on cue, the turian's eyes flickered over to him, and narrowed. He muttered something to the asari, and nodded their way. Well. Time to face the music…

"What did I say?" Ria sighed, glaring at Alicia as the pair jogged out of the elevator. "I told you to keep him upstairs!"

"She tried," the captain grunted, before Carter could reply.

"What part of 'doctor's orders' didn't you understand?"

"The part where my men are in trouble, and I'm sat here taking orders on my own goddamn ship!"

"Captain, you were shot in the chest," Kamur muttered, stepping up to the doctor's side.

"Yeah, I remember. Don't think you're getting off easy either, I know this was your call."

"It was a smart call," the turian retorted, not denying it.

"_Was_."

"Captain-"

_Click._

All eyes turned to one side, as a scarred figure stepped up with weapon in hand. Vor Hebat was just sliding the bolt shut on a Mantis, fished out of one of the open crates, and after a moment's pause he tossed it upright to the captain.

"Man wants to fight, he can fight," the batarian grunted. "Let's just stop pissin' about and get it done with."

Kamur nodded, wordlessly, and Murphy let the matter rest for now, glancing around at the evac team assembled. Aside from the medics, himself, Kamur and Vor, there were the four members of Bravo, looking variously battered, and Victor Cross, rifle in hand with a look of concern on his face at the argument that had preceded. Even as Vor tossed the captain a case of ammo, which he quickly stowed to his belt, Kamur was getting into full, commanding flow…

"Dr O'Leiph, Miss Carter, clear some space to the aft for incoming wounded," he instructed calmly. "Krogan, I want you on the corners. MG crossfire, you know the drill. Vor, Captain, hang back at range - pick off targets of opportunity. Rest of you on me, we set up a killing field at the top of the ramp. Use the cargo crates for cover, massacre anything that follows our boys in… sound like a plan?"

"Good enough," Vor muttered.

"Alright then. Hero time, people."


	526. Operation Garrison Part 14

_**SSV Cambrai, Nevos**_

_**Day 1, 1450**_

A bright red flare burst into life over the heads of the ground team, spiralling up into the air before bouncing down onto the battered husk of one of the trucks. The world was moving in slow motion, even as alarm bells began to ring.

"Fuckin' light up our position, why don't you?" Alec bellowed, frustratedly.

"_Marking for friendlies!_" one of the asari replied, from somewhere around the corner. "_Visual, our nine o'clock!_"

"Can't see you missy, where the hell's your nine o'clock?"

"Our six!" Ethan barked, pausing on his feet just long enough to impart that information before charging headlong at another husk, producing by-now-familiar results with his omni-blades - a severed cybernetic head and a lifeless body.

_Whoosh! _A dark shape swung overhead, and in Andersen's head it was a _triumphant _roar that echoed out of the Cambrai's engines. She flew low over the highway, hauling on the brakes to turn on a dime a little ways down the road. As the frigate hovered around-

_Crack crack crack!_

"Down!"

_Clang. _Alec _shoved _the engineer none-too-gently into the wreckage of the truck behind them, bowling both of them out of the way as a burst of enemy fire raked through the space they had occupied a moment prior. Two Cannibals came lumbering over, and the marine went for his knife-

Before he could use it, a blue flash of biotics had sent both creatures hurtling away to one side, quite silently on account of the Cambrai's engines drowning it out. Aeryn came rushing in from the left, arms still flickering with the afterglow of her efforts, and the justicar was close behind - bleeding, Andersen couldn't help but notice, a set of ragged slash-marks visible on her flank.

"We need to go!" she screamed, not looking perturbed by her injury in the slightest as she waved for the squad to follow with one arm, the other still clutching her borrowed sword…

"Move!" Andersen nodded, bellowing as best he could and waving frantically back up the highway, the way they'd come - the Cambrai was hovering down over the road now, only Alpha's own truck between them and the frigate. Tarenna's platoon was bailing out to their left, and the two human commandoes set off after Aeryn and Saffiya-

_Thud. _Alec hit the ground, a burst of rifle fire catching him as he ran and knocking him flat on his ass. No blood or dramatics, just an impact like a punch to the chest, and a grunt from the marine as he went down.

"Alec!" Aeryn cried, noticing him drop in the corner of her vision. She made to double back, but Andersen waved her away, stooping to grab the marine's shoulder himself and drag him to his feet…

"M'fine!" Alec barked, stumbling upright and sounding groggy. "Shields took it!"

"Well get moving, then!"

They set off at a sprint once more, darting down the left side of the truck, ducking as another burst of fire rattled off the framework… as they cleared the vehicle's nose, the lieutenant whirled around, checking for the rest of his squad.

The four remaining of them were sprinting down the truck's right side, close on their heels, but a pair of human husks were charging into their path. Before the engineer could even pull up his omni-tool, they had collided. Zel hit the first one headlong, tripping for a moment, but as the husk attempted to grab for her throat she swung around, grabbed it under the arm, and pulled it into some kind of spinning throw, slamming it against the truck cab.

Sam threw himself at the second, grappling with the creature and taking a few raking blows across the visor, but buying enough time for Kan to spin around, pull out an omni-blade, and drive it into the husk's spine. As it recoiled, with a screech, the quarian decapitated it in a single, ruthless blow. He clapped Vimes on the shoulder as the detective passed, and they set off at a sprint once more, catching up on the rest of the squad…

"Drones!" screamed one of Tarenna's maidens, close enough to be heard without the radio. "Four o'clock, incoming!"

_Boom_. The first drone soared overhead, four o'clock to ten o'clock, blowing a crater in the road with its beam weapon somewhere between Alpha and the Cambrai's hovering form. The second dove in screaming-

And disintegratedbefore it could fire a shot, scrap metal raining down onto the highway with an unearthly screech. The first Oculus swung high, looping over for another run, but a moment later the Cambrai's GARDIAN batteries took another scalp, tearing a chunk out of the small silver drone and sending it spiralling off into the bay, never to resurface. The frigate swung around, cargo ramp dropping down towards the highway, and suddenly there was a curtainof suppressing fire issuing out above the heads of the commandoes. The lieutenant _felt _rather than saw a harpoon round go sailing past him, and a dull chatter of machine gun fire broke out a moment later, cutting swathes across the road.

"Move, now! And help them with the wounded!" he bellowed, gesturing towards the limping remnants of Tarenna's platoon. Aeryn and Saffiya darted over, swiftly followed by a few more members of the squad. Andersen stuck to the centre course, grabbing Alec by the shoulder just long enough to propel him towards the cargo ramp.

_Crack, crack, crack… _a group of Cannibals on the right went down screeching, as a series of short, controlled bursts from a rifle whizzed down from the top of the cargo ramp. A lone husk veered away from the ragged survivors to charge the ramp, only to be sent tumbling back down it by a loud rattle of shotgun fire. Andersen hopped over it, sprinting as he hit the ramp and throwing one arm up over his head, shouting:

"Friendlies, incoming!"

A rifle round or two whizzed by his ear as he hollered, but a moment later the fire from the top of the ramp relented. He saw vague figures, obscured by the lip of the ramp, shifting places and finding a better angle as the first volley died away, leaving only the machinegun rattles and the loud whip-cracks of sniper rifles to sound out over the roar of the engines.

With a sudden rush of movement and a hastily barked order, two figures came bolting out from the cargo hold, clutching loaded rifles and sprinting to the base of the ramp to secure a perimeter. Kamur and Victor barely shot the engineer a glance as they passed him, but as he drew up to the top of the ramp, Alec at his side, two more welcoming faces were waiting.

"Catch!" Araya yelled happily, throwing a pistol of some description into the air. He caught it, spun on his heel to join their makeshift firing line, glanced down once to inspect the gun - Phalanx, fully loaded, regular mag…

_Bang, bang, bang_. He placed three heavy shots into a pack of Cannibals nearing the base of the ramp, and Kamur wiped the rest with a spray of MG fire. A moment later, the blare of an Avenger rang out next to his head, as Lynus pushed a rifle into Alec's hands and the marine stepped up to his side once more. The rest of the squad was trickling in from the right, some lashing out with tech or biotics, others dragging wounded asari in… a couple of Tarenna's operators still had ammo in their shotguns, and were blasting away with Kamur and Victor as they backed up slowly.

"Thirty seconds!" Kamur hollered, waving for them to _get a move on_. "That's a Reaper up there, people, we need to be gone in _thirty seconds!_"

That certainly put some haste into them. Captain Tarenna physically dragged two of the braver souls back before their heroics could get them in trouble, and the rest were scrambling up the cargo ramp, most abandoning any pretence of putting up a fight and just rushing for cover. Many were propped up on the shoulder of a colleague, two or three more were carried aloft by their squadmates… the wounded were being rushed towards the back of the hangar bay, including one maiden slung unconscious over Zel's shoulder.

_Crack crack crack. Crack crack crack. _Captain Tarenna let off two final bursts from her rifle, then tossed it off to one side, empty. At the base of the ramp, Kamur and Victor were now the front line of defence, cutting down Reaper creatures as they approached, rifle fire and sniper rounds clattering down around them…

There was a slight _thud_ as Kamur's shields flared, a dull impact ringing off the collar of his armour. He staggered back, and Victor shifted back with him, his bearing nervous, free hand searching for a sidearm as his rifle mag ran dry-

"We're all in!" Alec barked, finding his voice again as he shouted over the intercom. "Lift the goddamn ramp!"

There was a metallic _clunk_, and a rumbling of machinery as the cargo ramp began to rise off the highway. Kamur and Victor finally abandoned their positions, sprinting back along it as it rose and stumbling to a halt on the solid ground at the base of the ramp. The steady _ping, ping, ping _of shots ricocheting off the hull could be heard even over the rumble of the Cambrai's guts, and the panicked chatter of the survivors now flooding the hangar bay.

It took a moment for reality to sink in, and the adrenaline to subside. As the Cambrai swung upwards into the air, spinning on a dime and flaring her engines, Andersen let his borrowed pistol drop to the floor, and then dropped with it, sitting right down on the deck and burying his head in his arms until his breathing steadied. Alec thudded down next to him, leadenly, and it was left to Kamur to actually check their situation.

"Helm, all survivors aboard…" he reported, quietly. "Sitrep?"

"_Stealth systems engaged_," Akito replied. "_Clear for now… but let's not jinx it._"

"Understood."

Another few moments of silence, as the turian let the radio drop. Sam and Kan were wandering back over to re-join them, the human looking tired and beaten up, the quarian looking… well, masked as ever, though even _his_ body language was weary. Ethan and Zel were in the background, the former inspecting a bullet hole in the latter's pauldron, and the squad's two asari were lingering with their compatriots, somewhere near the aft.

Andersen hung his head, rubbing his brow blearily. The whole damn thing had been a blur, one big, chaotic, fast-moving blur… his attention was only drawn again by a clatter from amidst the crates, as the two snipers emerged from their cover positions. He was mildly surprised to see Vor as one of them, Kishock in hand. He was far _more _surprised to see the captain next to him, rifle slung up over one shoulder, still clad in a crew shirt with bandages poking out…

"What I want to know…" Murphy chuckled, breathlessly, "is how you managed to make that big of a shitstorm out of a _supply run_."

"With the greatest respect, sir…" Alec laughed, "…screw you."


	527. Operation Garrison Debrief

_**SSV Cambrai, Silean Nebula**_

_**Day 1, 1520**_

"Alright. At ease, you two…"

Alec and Andersen both slumped, shoulders sagging and hands falling to sides as they fell at ease. The two of them were stood at the war room table with Captain Murphy, out of their armour, looking _and _feeling battered. He couldn't speak for the marine, but the engineer himself was uncomfortable, shifting from foot to foot and occasionally tugging his sweat-soaked fatigues off his chest as they clung.

"You did good."

It was a simple statement, but it had to be said, he realised. Both he and the chief stood a little taller, and a half-hearted smile flickered over Murphy's features.

"All supplies recovered intact, and no casualties in the squad," he continued, nodding approvingly. "Could have been a lot worse."

"The, ah… asari took a lot of casualties," Alec pointed out, rubbing his jaw.

"And that's unfortunate," the captain sighed, "but that planet was hit by _Reapers_, Alec. Every survivor we extracted is one more soldier who would've died otherwise."

"I know, sir. Just noting the fact."

"It… should be noted," Murphy agreed. "But a little perspective helps. Likewise… big picture isn't quite so rosy as the small-scale."

The engineer nodded, wordlessly. His brain had been working over the 'big picture'since they made it back to the ship, and to put it mildly, to put it _tactically_… they were pretty screwed.

"Wider situation's fucked," the captain muttered, echoing Andersen's thoughts. "The Reapers arrived even sooner than we expected, and they hit the planet in force. Now, it's possible they drew forces away from the siege on Cyone…"

"But it's more likely they just got reinforcements," Andersen grimaced.

"Right…"

"What's our plan going forwards, then?"

"Same plan as before, for the time being. Captain Fofana's task force should be coming through the relay and making their drops as we speak, so we fall back to the rendezvous, keep stealth systems running, and bide our time."

"We're going to keep running the stealth systems?" interrupted the engineer, with a frown.

"At least until we know where we stand, yeah…" Murphy nodded.

"That's… gonna get hot, captain. IES diverts thermal output into the heat sinks…"

"And back into the ship. I know. It's gonna be an uncomfortable night, but as long as we're just drifting, no thrust, we should be fine. Won't hit dangerous levels for another day and a half."

"Since when were you an expert?"

"Akito told me."

"…oh. Right. Sir."

The captain rolled his eyes, and the engineer looked at his feet, awkwardly. Alec just smirked at him, then muttered, in a pleasant change of topic:

"What about the asari? Have you spoken to Tarenna?"

"I have," Murphy nodded. "She's grateful, but… she might not sound it if you ask. She lost a lot of people down there. She's down in the hold with what's left of her platoon, at present."

"Understood, sir. What's _their _plan going forward?"

"Nairobi or Pretoria should have shuttles to spare. A dozen survivors? I imagine they'll get evac back to the Citadel. Go off to another fight."

"'Least they know what they're up against now."

Murphy nodded, half-heartedly, but the mood had turned a little sombre again. It was one of those days.

"I don't imagine we'll get much downtime from Fofana," the captain concluded, finally. "This operation's moving at pace, especially if the Reapers are accelerating their assaults. We'll have to match them. At any rate… next mission's a matter for tomorrow. Good work today, you two. You both earned your shiny new bars. Dismissed."


	528. Downtime 54

_**SSV Cambrai, Silean Nebula**_

_**Day 1, 1600**_

The mess hall was oddly quiet, Alec noted, as he entered. A few people were catching precious sleep in quarters, or hanging out on the observation decks, but the mess was… yeah, oddly quiet. Not quite time for dinner, but too early for drinks, he supposed… even the med bay was quiet, and that probably wasn't a good thing for him.

He rubbed his chest, wincing a little as a dull ache spread through his collar and shoulder, and wandered towards the med bay door. Shut, but not locked. He reached out to open it, and-

"There's no-one in there…" a voice sighed.

As he glanced left, Alicia emerged from some corner of the mess hall, previously obscured by the back wall. She had a weary expression on her face, and an opaque bottle in one hand which her brother eyed warily…

"Before you get all protective," she murmured, with a roll of her eyes, "it's cola."

"Oh."

"Yeah. Sorry to steal your thunder."

"Where's the doc?"

"Downstairs, dealing with the asari. A few of them were… hurt pretty good."

"Any particular reason you ain't down there with her?" he grunted.

"She… said she was fine. Figured I'd just keep outta the way."

"What, she mad at you or somethin'?" Alec smirked.

"No need to sound so pleased about it," Alicia retorted, with a scowl.

"…holy shit, she _is _mad at you."

"Aaand she's not the only one."

"The hell happened?"

Alicia sighed, and rubbed the bridge of her nose before explaining:

"She left me to look after the captain, keep him put when he wanted to go fight. He's pissed off that I tried, she's pissed off that I failed. I mean, he's a marine sniper, how am _I _meant to stop him?"

"Biotics?"

"Yeah, sure, I'll just go ahead and knock my boss out cold. No way that can go wrong…"

Alec chuckled and shook his head, rather happier than he should have been about his sister's misfortune. She just scowled at him for a moment or two, until it faded into a somewhat kindlier expression, and a look of concern.

"Why do you need Ria?" she asked, glancing him up and down quickly.

"Eh, probably nothin'…" Alec muttered. "Some bastard got me with a concussive round. Cheap shot."

"Hurt much?"

The marine narrowed his eyes and grumbled, receiving the sweetest of sarcastic smiles in reply. Eventually, Alicia just rolled her eyes and set off for the med bay, beckoning for him to follow with one hand as she took a swig of cola with the other. They stepped inside, shut the door behind, and wandered across the room, Alec hopping up onto the nearest bed as Alicia flitted over to the desk.

"Alright, take your shirt off," the medic instructed absent-mindedly, downing one last draught from her bottle before setting it down on the desk and shifting over to wash her hands in the basin.

"What?" Alec frowned, awkwardly.

"Jesus, Alec, do you want me to look at it or not? Besides… seen it all before."

Alicia shrugged, and he scowled, pulling his shirt over his head as she dried her hands and crossed the room towards him.

"What, like that time…?"

"I wasn't even going to bring it up. What was her name again?"

"I… don't remember," he admitted, very quietly.

"What a surprise. Didn't even stop when I stumbled in, though. True professional."

"Oh, go f- argh!"

"Lie back…" Alicia sighed, putting one hand none-too-gently on his chest to press him down against the bed. There was a livid patch of bruising on one side, around his collar bone and shoulder, about six inches across and darkening to a deep purple now. It fucking hurt, too…

"That fucking hurts," he informed her, gruffly.

"Sorry," she replied, not sounding sorry at all. "That thing really did a number on you, huh?"

"Like I said. Cheap shot."

"Uh-huh. Hold still."

She stepped up to the head of the bed, doing _something _with the computer on the wall before sliding the slim omni-tool on her arm across it, loading some program or other.

"Do you know how to use that thing?" Alec frowned.

"Do you?" his sister retorted.

The marine just grumbled and lay back on the bed, wincing slightly. His chest was throbbing with pain, not that he cared to admit it, and his blood was still running warm from the fight. Alicia's taunting had given way to a calm, professional air he was quite unused to, and after a moment, she ran the whirring omni-tool across his chest, watching it intently as various charts and displays popped out from the centre…

"Second rib's broken," she noted quietly. "Only a partial fracture, not… _too _bad. Does it hurt?"

"Not really."

"And, forgoing the fact you're a stubborn jackass for a moment?"

"…yeah, it kills."

"We'll get you on some painkillers," Alicia muttered, with a lopsided smirk. "Should make the breathing easier."

"Thanks," Alec grunted, reluctantly.

"Now, let's get your shirt back on. You need to hit the gym, by the way."

"Oh, screw you."

She grinned, and ducked down to recover his shirt from the bedside where it had fallen. As she did, however, it up-ended, and something tipped out of the breast pocket- ah, damn it. With a curious frown, Alicia dropped the shirt on the bedside and plucked up the little gold patch, holding it up to the light.

"What," she murmured, "are these?"

"Err… bars?" he replied, sheepishly.

"Not your bars. These are… service chief? Or gunnery?"

"Service," Alec grunted.

"Huh."

"Yeah, about that…"

He scratched the back of his neck awkwardly, and reached for his shirt, quickly pulling it back over his head while Alicia examined the bars. Inwardly, he braced himself for whatever abuse was about to come next - a mocking taunt, or a sarcastic remark, something-

"Dad'd be proud."

"Err… what?"

"You heard," she retorted quietly, tossing the bars back to him. "Don't make me compliment you _twice _in one lifetime."

"Wouldn't dream of it," he smiled, with a weak chuckle.

"…I'm still his favourite, though."

"Piss off!"

"Love you too, big brother."


	529. Downtime 55

_**SSV Cambrai, Silean Nebula**_

_**Day 1, 1900**_

_Thud._

"How the hell do you two still have the energy to do that?"

"Do what?" Zel smiled, with mock innocence. The illusion was somewhat shattered, however, by the fact her heels were currently above her head, Ethan's hand still gripping her collar in the tail end of a textbook judo throw.

"It's ninety degrees in here, we ran a mission this afternoon, and you two are _sparring_," Vimes groused, from his perch on a nearby cargo crate. "You're turian - what's his excuse?"

"Prospect of a cold shower after?" she chuckled, glancing up at Cash.

"Sounds fun…" her partner grinned.

"You know…" Kan piped up, with a sigh, "we're all very glad you get to sleep with your best friend now, but _get a room_."

"Gladly," Ethan grunted, releasing his grip on the turian's collar and offering her a hand up instead, as he muttered sarcastically: "For the record, I've heard Sam's a very tender and attentive lover."

There was an awkward pause, as everyone let that sink in.

"…well he's not _wrong_," Sam shrugged.

"Both of you, please shut up now," the quarian shuddered.

"Yeah… will do."

Ethan just smirked at the pair of them, and after a moment more of silence, he and the turian disappeared towards the elevator, still in their sparring gear.

"Is it wrong that his happiness annoys me?" Kan frowned, ruefully.

"My friend, it's almost human," the detective chuckled. "Come to think of it… how the hell are you holding up in that suit?"

"I have air filters."

"…son of a bitch."

The quarian cackled, and Sam just shook his head, glancing around the hangar bay. Most of the crew were up in the mess hall, or the showers, but a few were lingering down here, a few more dropping down in the sleeping area already… Captain Tarenna and her asari were in one corner, clustered around the med bay Dr O'Leiph had set up, but everyone knew better than to approach them. Their expressions were sullen, their heads bowed. Poor sods…

"Hey," a new voice muttered. Looking to his side, he saw Victor Cross wandering in tiredly, and-

"Seriously?" Sam scowled, noting the long-sleeved shirt.

"It's fine," the big man shrugged, although seeing as his sleeves were clinging to his wrists with sweat, Sam didn't quite believe him.

Before he could push the matter any further, however, Victor's cargo took his attention - without warning, the big fighter slung a six pack of beer up onto the nearest cargo crate, and hopped down onto the one beside it.

"Sorry, quarian…" he murmured, pulling at the tab. "There wasn't any dextro."

Kan just shrugged, and waved it off. He was a lightweight anyway, Sam noted, chuckling a little at his own thoughts. Meanwhile, Victor had gotten two bottles free, and held one out to Vimes wordlessly.

"Where'd you get the _levo _from, anyway?" the detective asked, taking the bottle nonetheless and twisting the cap free.

"Supply crate," Victor chuckled. "The salarian was taking inventory, and I guess this was some stacker's idea of a joke. Big crate labelled 'Dutch courage'."

"Makes sense to me," Sam laughed, taking a swig as he did. "I'd want a couple of these in me before I went at a Reaper."

"…you make a good point," the other man nodded, with a wry smile. "Speaking of which, how was your op today? Evac was hairy."

"The mission was worse," Kan sighed, quietly. "They hit that city hard."

"Couple of close shaves," Sam agreed. "Almost got a grenade to the face."

"Yikes," Victor muttered, taking a swig. "Andersen handle himself alright?"

"…yeah. Why?"

"Kid's new to his command."

"Just checking, alright? Not much worse than bad leaders."

"Well, the 'kid' did alright, okay?"

"Mm. Didn't mean to offend anyone."

"Eh… sorry," Vimes groaned, shaking his head. "It's hot, and we spent the day getting beat up. Not in the best of moods."

"Happens to the best of us," Victor shrugged, quietly. "Come on. Let's talk about something less grim."

"Thought you were meant to be the antisocial one?" Kan smirked.

"Yeah? Well I'm having a day off. Humour me."

"Alright, alright… the heck do we talk about?"

"Drink and women, mostly," Sam laughed. "Now let's see, stories… first kiss?"

"Pass," the quarian scowled.

"Aye. What is this, a slumber party?" Victor grinned.

"Okay, tough guy… first kill?"

"Boring story. Military."

"And you've heard mine before," Kan added. "Twice."

Sam just shook his head, glancing at his two companions and then at their surroundings, at the hangar bay… finally, his eyes settled on his rifle, stacked against a nearby crate, and a sly smile crossed his features.

"Best kill_shot_," he suggested.

"Ego contest? I'm game," Victor chuckled. The big guy was coming out of his shell… "You first, quarian."

"Alright, alright…" Kan nodded, rocking back on his perch and tilting his head back, thoughtfully. "Best killshot… are we talking ancient history, or since we signed up?"

"Either," Sam shrugged.

"Well, you were _there _for it, then," the quarian laughed, nodding at him.

"I was?"

"Mhmm. Illium."

"Safeguard, or Blizzard?"

"Safeguard."

"Oh, shit, the gunship!"

"…okay, you're gonna have to explain that one," Cross muttered, looking between the two of them as they grinned at the memory.

"Ah, right after you joined the crew, we went on a deployment to Illium. Covert op, it got a bit…"

"FUBAR," Kan interjected.

"Oh," Victor blinked.

"Yeah… long story short, I end up chasing our target across the courtyard of his estate. I'm out of ammo, I'm out of _armour_, and he calls a goddamn gunship in to back him up. Mantis troop carrier, the works."

"So he's running across the courtyard, screaming his head off," the quarian continued-

"I was _not _screaming."

"Eh."

"I wasn't!"

"Either way, I come out on the second floor and find that whole circus going on. So I knock the window out, I lift my rifle, and- bang. Right through the left thruster."

"One shot?" Victor chuckled, taking another deep swig.

"One shot. Winged bosh'tet hit the ground hard."

"Nice. Can you beat that, Mr Vimes?"

"Maybe not for size, but who's comparing?" Sam grinned, necking the bottle. "Reckon I've got him on distance though."

"Go for it."

"Six months after I went to Special Response. Bank job goes wrong, and it turns into a hostage situation. Gang of batarians with guns and masks. Captain Marin takes four men in through the back entrance - kills two of them, subdues two more. The last guy runs into the manager's office with a hostage and puts his back to the wall."

"Tricky one…" Victor frowned.

"Right. Gabriel eases up, stacks his guys on the door and tries to get the bastard to back down. I'm number five in the team - marksman. Maybe a hundred metres up, two hundred out, sitting in the back of a shuttle with a police-issue Mantis. I'm talking to our number two on the radio, but problem is, we were set up on the south side. After this last guy runs, the standoff's on the north side."

"You're mobile. Just relocate the shuttle."

"Still messes up my shot. We come around the corner on the south side, and Two's in my ear going: 'He's gonna do it, he's gonna do it, Five, take the shot.' I don't even have time to zero for range, or wind… but what are you gonna do? I put the scope up to my eye, I tweak the crosshair left, and I pull the trigger."

"I guess you hit the guy, or you wouldn't be telling this story…"

"Yeah. Wind takes it left, gravity takes it down. Shot goes right through the office window, over the hostage's shoulder, and pushes our bank robber's eyeball so far inside of him the coroner couldn't find it."

Victor winced and shook his head, taking another glug of beer as a wry smile spread across his features.

"Gory," he chuckled. "You get a close-up of all that?"

"Nah. Recoil took the scope, I didn't see shit. All I hear is the shot, then a flashbang going off, the team storming the room… I'm up there trying to sight down on the bastard to see if I got him, but my hands are shaking too much. Couple seconds later, I just hear: 'Five, Two. Clean shot, you got him.'"

"Regular little hero, huh?" Cross grinned.

"Somethin' like that," Sam laughed. "Gabriel took the guy's helmet from evidence once they were done with it. Cleaned it up and hung it on the wall next to my desk. Big goddamn hole in the middle of the visor."

They all chuckled a little at that, and the two humans finished up their bottles, Victor reaching for two more from the pack at his side. The trooper was smiling more than Vimes had seen since he joined the crew - potentially talking more, too…

"Alright then, big guy," he muttered. "You owe us one too."

"Tricky," Victor replied. "Not a sniper like you two. Hm…"

"Doesn't have to be a sniper shot," Vimes shrugged. "Fancy burst from that rifle of yours, or a sidearm…"

"How about an axe?"

"…you have my attention."

The other man grinned, and necked his drink before leaning forward, hands together, eyes down as if they were swapping stories around a campfire.

"Back when I was with the Alliance," he began. "Few years ago now. A band of pirates took down a convoy off one of the Traverse colonies, and tried to lay low on an abandoned world nearby. Some snowball moon, uninhabited. Idiots parked their ship on a glacier, didn't realise it'd be a big old red dot on our thermals. So we chased them down, moved in low, and climbed up the side of the glacier to get to them. Like some exercise out of basic training, ice axes and crampons and mooring lines, all very gruelling…"

"Still not seeing where a shot comes into this."

"Hey, I let you set the scene, didn't I? Anyway. I was second on the tether line. We get to the top of the cliffs, and there's a bloody glacier whipping round us, couldn't see more than twenty feet. Our point man goes up over the edge, and I scramble up after him. All clear, we thought. Rest of the squad's still climbing up behind us. So, I've got this climbing pick tethered to my wrist, just in case. Nasty-looking thing, sharp spike."

"Popular murder weapon," Vimes noted, tilting his bottle as he dropped that fascinating nugget.

"I can see why. I've just pulled the thing off my wrist when something comes out of the blizzard. Batarian sentry. He puts a harpoon through our point man's shoulder and he goes down screaming, poor sod. Next thing I know, the batarian's loading another round and turning to me. Well, I don't have my rifle, do I? It's still on my back, sidearm's in a holster… all I've got to hand is this ice axe."

"No way," Kan chuckled, quietly.

"What's a guy to do?" Cross shrugged. "I pull back my arm, and I tomahawk the thing at him. God as my witness, it spins twice and lands right between his eyes. Bastard was probably dead before he knew what hit him."

And with that, Victor just shrugged again, taking another swig of his beer as his audience of two gawped at him. There was a moment's silence, and then:

"…yeah, he wins," the quarian muttered.

"Seriously?"

"_Seriously._"

"Goddamnit."


	530. N7 530 Downtime 56

_**SSV Cambrai, Silean Nebula**_

_**Day 1, 2350**_

"Ten minutes to deadline, captain. Orders?"

"We stick to the plan. No comms by midnight, we head for the relay. Got a course planned?"

"Three."

"Good. Ten minutes to go yet, wait out."

"Aye aye, sir."

With a sigh and a rub of his brow, Captain Murphy sunk down at the comms station, cracking the knuckles in his left hand idly. Off to one side, Erika and Akito were hovering nervously at the controls, preparing to evade Reapers, or burn sky to the relay, or… something.

The captain had been on the helm with his pilots for some three hours now, anxiously watching the scope and waiting for the rest of the task force to appear. The heat on deck had risen hour by hour, less so now they were sitting still and idling but still… rising. Murphy tugged uncomfortably at his collar, feeling it pull away from his neck sodden.

"Contact."

Every hint of discomfort disappeared, as the hairs on the captain's arms rose and stood to attention. His two colleagues were jumping into action, Akito narrowing down the scanners as Erika peered out through the cockpit window, searching for a visual…

"Friendly?" Murphy called, from the back seat.

"Not sure!" Solov barked, and he couldn't help but notice she was unlocking the controls as she did - just in case.

"Warming up the engines-"

"_Cool those jets, Cambrai. Friendly on your six, passing._"

The cockpit shuddered, and as Murphy gripped the side of his chair tightly, a dark shape came skimming over their head, blue engine trails cutting through the black. With a growl muffled by the emptiness of space, the frigate drew to a halt, twisting left and coming around to their ten o'clock.

"_SSV Agincourt, reporting in_," the helmsman continued, to a sigh of relief from Akito - who quickly dialled back the engines, causing the Cambrai to fall silent once more. "_Rest of the task force is behind us, ETA immediate._"

"Copy that," the co-pilot replied. "Disengaging stealth systems-"

"_Belay that, Cambrai_."

"What?"

"_CO's orders, he wants them running_."

"Agincourt, we're boiling here. They've been running for half a day."

"_CO's orders_," the helmsman repeated, with a sigh. "_Ain Jalut and Trafalgar are flying under the radar too_."

Yurai glanced back at the captain, but Murphy just gave him a small, reluctant nod. There had to be some reason behind it…

"Two more ships," Erika reported. "Six o'clock, cruiser-size. Lead vessel's opening short-range comms… now."

"_This is SSV Nairobi to all vessels,_" the voice of a comms officer announced. "_Check in - everybody make it?_"

"_SSV Agincourt, here and intact,_" the frigate's now-familiar helmsman reported. "_Cambrai's here and all_."

"Confirm that," Murphy nodded, leaning up to the comms terminal. "SSV Cambrai, reporting in."

"_SSV Pretoria, intact_," another voice added, as the first of the cruisers - the Nairobi, according to the storey-high letters on its nose - came sailing silently past on their left. One of her great fin-like wings had been punctured, but she otherwise in fine condition, as was the Pretoria, which followed her in.

"_Ain Jalut, reporting_."

"_Trafalgar, second that._"

Quite to the captain's surprise - and not too surprising in hindsight - two frigates came flying in beneath them, both plain and visible, but utterly absent from the radar. Stealth systems on, just like the Agincourt had said…

"_That's everyone except our fighters_," the officer on the Nairobi muttered. "_Guess they didn't make it. The rest are all yours, sir._"

"_Thank you, lieutenant_."

That was Fofana's voice, Murphy noted, taking over at the cruiser's comm station. With a cough and a slight rumble, the other captain gathered his thoughts, before beginning his inevitable enquiries:

"_Cambrai. Was your mission successful?_"

Murphy sighed, and exchanged a _look _with Erika.

"Negative," he replied, after a moment's hesitation. "Reapers got to Nevos ahead of schedule. Full fucking assault, almost caught us on the way out… asari garrison got smashed before we could even distribute supplies."

He scowled, and tugged at his collar again. The day's events had left him angrier than he'd thought…

"_That's unfortunate…_" Fofana replied, with a sigh, but none of the disappointment Murphy expected. In hindsight, that wasn't good. "_We appear to have underestimated our enemy_."

"Sir?"

"_Reapers were hitting Cyone right as our cruisers arrived. We deployed some of our supplies by orbital drop, but we never got close to a landing. The lunar outposts over Phoros were already scrap._"

"Shit…"

"_We spent five hours trawling Phoros' orbit,_" one of the other captains grumbled, the Ain Jalut's, according to the comms panel. "_Lots of wreckage from the orbital stations, and signs of skirmishes - dead droids, engine trails. Asari might be using the gas clouds to mount hit-and-run attacks, but we couldn't for the life of us track 'em down to hand off supplies._"

"_I suspect that was by design_," Fofana sighed. "_At the very least, they're well concealed from the Reapers too. Cambrai, Ain Jalut, we'll start transferring shuttles shortly, pull your cargo back aboard the cruisers. You'll need your bays free for the next phase._"

"Next phase?" Murphy frowned. "The op's continuing?"

"_For now. I still have a list of targets, and some of them remain out of the Reapers' sights for now. They're hitting major colonies, large cities, infrastructure. We can still salvage something from the areas they've ignored._"

"…alright. What's our target?"

"_Call me paranoid, Murphy, but I don't want to say over an open channel… we've got contingencies planned, and I'll transmit your orders by a more secure channel. Your helmsmen should know what to do with the nav data._"

"Understood."

"_Now… this location is no longer as safe as it was. Our cruisers are two big red dots on thermal scans… we'll transfer cargo within the hour, then scatter. Cambrai, Ain Jalut, Trafalgar, keep your stealth systems engaged for now, you should still have half a day's safe running at the least._"

"Copy that."

"_Acknowledged_."

"_Yessir_."

"_Transmitting order, and launching shuttles…_" Fofana concluded. "_All vessels, radio silence from here on out_."

The comms fell quiet, just like that, and only a rumble of movement in the Nairobi's hangars gave any sense of action in the wake of the captain's orders. A few moments later, however, there was a subtle chime from the Cambrai's nav console.

"Data packet," Akito muttered, curiously. "Pulling it now… enhancing."

Just a little too far away for Murphy to distinguish, an image bloomed onto the navigation screen, several other files popping out to the corners around it. He could see what appeared to be a system map, lines scrawled across it with annotations and addendums…

"Either the good captain knows his stuff, or he's got a fantastic helmsman," the Cambrai's own co-pilot chuckled, as his colleague nodded approvingly. "It's, err… nav data, captain, like he said. Manoeuvres for the whole task force, plus objectives and contingencies."

"What's the plan?" Murphy asked, a little too hot and tired to rise from his seat and take a look.

"Err… short version?"

"Please."

"I'll skip the contingencies, then. Stealth frigates are on the op, rest of the task force is running distraction. Nairobi and Pretoria make another advance on Cyone, try to draw in some of the Reapers patrolling the middle of the cluster. Agincourt makes a beeline for the relay like she's running for help - no stealth systems, so she's a distraction. Meanwhile, stealth frigates make a move on our objective, moving quietly and carefully. Ain Jalut goes direct, arrives around oh-three-hundred, lays the groundwork. Trafalgar flies with her as far as Phoros, then disappears into the gas clouds and breaks away on another bearing. Misdirection."

"And the Cambrai?"

"Fastest engines, so we've got the longest route… also the most heat, but I'm afraid Fofana's right, we've got another half a day before it's dangerous. We skirt around the other side of the system, back through Loropi. Drop out of FTL near Yasilium, check we're clear, then go to FTL again, short jump to the Phontes system and our target. We arrive… about the same time Trafalgar does, oh-six to oh-seven hundred."

"Alright then… what's our target?"

"Dekuuna, sir."


	531. N7 531 Downtime 57

_**SSV Cambrai, Silean Nebula**_

_**Day 2, 0120.**_

The task force's shuttles had done their work quickly and dutifully, emptying the Cambrai's cargo bay of supplies in less than the promised hour before returning to the cruisers, and the task force itself had scattered after that. The Cambrai was burning her way towards the edge of the system now, preparing for another FTL jump… and every mite of energy the engines took in seemed to be raising the temperature another degree.

Andersen rolled over uncomfortably, his hammock practically stickingto his back as he did, sodden with sweat. He jammed his eyes together tightly, attempting to ignore the fact that his breath felt _hot _in his lungs, and his temples were throbbing. Like most of the crew, he had done away with his shirt, but the heat remained stifling, and eventually, he could take it no more - leadenly, he swung his legs out of the canvas, then dropped down to the deck, managing only so much grace as was required to avoid stepping on Vimes. The detective was on a bedroll below, slumbering fitfully - but still sleeping, the bastard.

With a low rumble, the engineer wandered over to the nearest source of relief his eyes revealed - a gallon jug of water, half empty already. Dr O'Leiph had been quite adamant about dehydration, and there were several more jugs scattered through the sleeping area, filled to varying degrees. Andersen went for this one as if it had just appeared to him in the desert, and tipped it back, taking a deep glug, then another, then…

Then, somewhere around the third gulp, he realised the water was as warm as he was. He choked slightly, pulling the bottle away hastily and spitting some of the lukewarm water onto the deck, before forcing himself to gulp down the rest uncomfortably. With a defeated grumble, he set the jug back on the floor, and slumped down next to it. The hangar around him was still, and dark, and silent… hang on.

He tipped his head back, listening for a moment. The Cambrai's engines were rumbling through the walls, and there was a familiar _hum _in the air around him, a combination of the eezo core and the electrical generators. Closer at hand, however, there was a quiet murmur, coming from one direction in particular, not the ship in general…

The engineer tilted his head, listening for sounds he knew few besides himself would even notice, let alone recognise. The beleaguered panting of the ventilators, the slight _creak _from the substructure as they manoeuvred... and the quiet signature of a generator, coming from one of the shuttles.

He dragged himself back to his feet, with some effort, and wandered over absent-mindedly, cursing whoever had left the thing running. Power was expensive, and idling for a full night - he hit the door release, sliding the rear compartment open - was going to mean it needed maintenance checks, run by _guess who_-

"Gah!"

Andersen stopped dead as he entered the shuttle's compartment, and on instinct his head swivelled left to follow the _yelp _which had just emerged from the cockpit. Through the open door, he saw a slim figure shrink in on herself, instinctively pulling her knees up to her chest and yanking a thin blanket over her torso at the sight of the intruder. Shit, sorry Wen-

_Shit_. Not Wendy.

"So… you couldn't sleep either?" he smiled half-heartedly, scratching the back of his head and trying to lighten the mood.

"…nope," Cat muttered, shaking her head over the top of the blanket. Slowly, she began to uncurl again, feet sliding back to the floor and arms emerging from under the blanket. Still gripping the edges of it, though, as she camped out in the pilot's chair.

"I'm fuckin' sorry," Andersen blurted out quite suddenly, rubbing the bridge of his nose and scowling at _himself_. "I saw the-"

"No, honestly, it's fine-"

"-I just saw the light and-"

"-yeah, it's my fault-"

"-no, I shouldn't have… wait."

"Huh?"

The engineer frowned to himself, realising something for the first time. He glanced up at the ceiling of the compartment, then to the corner, then back down to Cat, with an accusatory expression.

"Have you got the air-con running in here?"

"It's… kinda just circulating hot air at this point," she muttered, looking at the floor sheepishly.

"Yeah, bull-shit," he scoffed, quietly. "Still better than outside."

"That bad?"

"It's like an oven."

"Everyone else asleep?"

"In and out. Vimes was sleeping like a baby… bastard."

"…did you put a pillow over his face?"

"Sorely tempted."

She chuckled darkly and rose from her chair, pulling the blanket around her shoulders for modesty now. With a weary sigh and an expression of supreme effort, she wandered into the compartment with him, slumping down on one of the seats usually occupied by deploying soldiers and wrapping the blanket even more tightly around her shoulders.

"Guess I can't persuade you to leave the air-con?" she laughed, weakly.

"I _might_ mutiny."

"Damn."

"But it's awkward as shit if I say I want to stay…"

They looked at each other, as if suddenly remembering this _was _awkward.

"…so what do we… do?" he murmured, his train of thought finally limping into the station.

There was a moment's silence, as the two of them looked at each other wearily. The shuttle's power plant just _hummed _along in the background, the air-con whipping a steady if somewhat lukewarm breeze through the compartment.

"Shut the damn door," Cat sighed, finally.

Andersen's brow furrowed.

"Not like _that_," she scowled. "You're letting the air out…"

He nodded, with a weary grin and a chuckle, and turned to slide the door shut - rather quietly, to avoid waking anyone else for a 'mutiny'. Once the compartment was sealed, and the air began to circulate around the walls, he wandered over to the far bench and slumped down next to Cat, rubbing his brow with the palm of his hand. She just shuffled a little further away, head bowed with the blanket still around her shoulders.

"I'll… take the cockpit chair, if you prefer," he muttered awkwardly.

"Nah, that's… fine," she replied, shaking her head. "Not sure these are any better."

She slapped her hands against the seat between them, and it gave a horribly _rigid _rattle.

"…alright then. Cockpit's yours."

Cat grunted, but didn't respond. Didn't… actually move, either.

"I'll shift in a minute," she sighed wearily, answering the unspoken question.

Andersen just nodded, swiping another line of sweat off his brow and hanging his head. More awkward silence, as they listened to the quiet hum of the shuttle's ventilator. Cat shuffled a little closer, onto the adjacent seat, and then quite suddenly she blurted something out:

"How was it down there?"

"Huh?" he frowned, turning to his side.

"I, err… Nevos," she stammered, wearily. "I heard it was pretty rough."

"It was," the lieutenant nodded. "Crazy. Not the… worst fight. Still not as bad as Terra Nova. But there was something else about it. I mean Christ, Cat, that planet got _hit_. We were there when it…"

He sighed and huffed out, not able to find the words and too tired to just wave his arms around like he usually did when he was short of vocabulary. The pilot just smiled weakly, in vague understanding…

"Everyone got out alright."

"No, they didn't…"

"You know what I mean. Everyone of ours," she murmured, pressing her forehead into his shoulder and flashing that reassuring smile again. "And you got out alright, too."

"Yeah."

"That's good," Cat shrugged, head still buried tiredly in his shoulder.

"It is?" he muttered, smirking a little as he glanced down at her.

"Well… yeah."

Another awkward pause, and the pilot's eyes flickered up for just a moment, before returning to the floor.

"Hm. Guess that's something, then."


	532. Operation Solitude Briefing

_**SSV Cambrai, Dekuuna Evac Site**_

_**Day 1, 0820**_

"…_all vessels assigned to Operation Solitude should arrive in the Phontes system around oh-six-hundred, and break orbit over Dekuuna by oh-seven-hundred. SSV Ain Jalut should make landfall an hour earlier, around oh-five-hundred, and begin laying down groundwork. Our objective today is evacuation. SSV Normandy has already performed a high-profile evacuation of elcor civilians, but the capacity of one frigate is limited, and the Reapers have been slow to eliminate the smaller elcor herds and villages. Our AO in particular has yet to be hit by Reaper capital ships, and our intel confirms elcor survivors on the ground, numbering in the hundreds._"

_Ping_. Captain Murphy paused the video on his datapad, glancing over to the helm as a solitary warning light flickered on obstinately. Erika - by this point down to her crew-issue tank top in the sweltering heat - just flicked it back _off_, and didn't seem alarmed in the slightest. With a slight shake of his head, the captain went back to his light reading.

"_The elcor habit of living in scattered settlements as opposed to major urban centres may have been to their advantage. The elcor navy is in ruins, but surviving warriors and civilians remain in many of the rural villages, awaiting evac. Our target is a plains region in the northern hemisphere of Dekuuna, encompassing several dozen small villages. Ain Jalut, Cambrai and Trafalgar will make landfall on Dekuuna and establish three separate evac sites for the elcor to rally to. Ain Jalut will land early on the central plateau, and dispatch marine teams equipped to move fast in Dekuuna's unique conditions. Trafalgar will land on the coast to the southeast, Cambrai will land in the densely populated grasslands to the north - largest hold, largest evac. The Ain Jalut's marine teams will travel around the villages, co-ordinates enclosed, and rally the elcor to our evac sites. If all goes to plan, we'll be up and gone within three to four hours._"

The rattle of a console interrupted the sound of Captain Fofana's voice, and Murphy paused the briefing video once again, looking over at his pilot and co-pilot. Akito was just swiping a data readout out of the way, and leant back in his chair with his hands behind his head, looking _supremely _pleased with himself.

"Stealth systems disengaged, heat exchangers are radiating…" he sighed happily. "You're welcome, everyone."

"About time," Murphy muttered, glancing back at the datapad absent-mindedly. "Not worried about sensors?"

"Captain, we just dropped out of orbit. If they're in the AO, they _saw _us, thermals or no."

"Fair enough. Anything from comms?"

"Marine teams checked off their last destination an hour ago. It's a waiting game now. Either the elcor find us, or the Reapers."

"Alright… gimme some silence on deck a moment, I want to finish this," he shrugged, waving the datapad in one hand.

"Third time you've listened to it."

"Never hurts to go over details. You've got the evac routes mapped?"

"Every one," Akito nodded. As the captain glanced up, however, he noticed a quiet glance between pilot and co-pilot - quiet, but not _subtle_.

"What am I not being told?" he interjected, calmly.

"Err…"

He gave Akito the same _look _Erika had given him a moment prior, and the co-pilot crumbled.

"One of the elcor delegations isn't on track," he sighed, "and we can't raise the marine team escorting them. Could have gone dark to avoid a patrol, could be stuck in a firefight…"

"When did _you _become an optimist?"

"I… really didn't, boss. I think we lost the marines."

"And the elcor?"

"Not sure. All I know right now is, they're not where they're meant to be."

The captain nodded, rubbing the bridge of his nose with a sigh. The Cambrai had dispatched recon probes on entering the atmosphere, to watch the elcor's progress…

"Can we track back along their route, find them?"

"Already working on it, probe's moving."

"And… when exactly were you gonna tell _me _that?"

"…when it found them?"

Murphy sighed again, and Akito at least had the decency to look guilty.

"Keep me updated," the captain muttered after a moment, turning back to his datapad.

"Will do."

As the helmsmen went back to their controls, Murphy just tapped the datapad, and the voice recording burst into life once more:

"_Enemy forces in the area are minimal, but nonetheless present. Reaper infantry are known to be patrolling the AO in company-sized groups, and all evac teams should be prepared to repel them. If Reaper capital ships break atmosphere over the AO, however, all ships are to immediately engage stealth systems, and retreat to safety. The firepower is not on our side in that equation. Good luck, and stay safe. Fofana, out._"

"Captain?"

Murphy looked up again, as the datapad flickered to static blue. Akito was twisting round in his chair to face him, an expression of disquiet on his features.

"Found them," he reported simply.

"And?"

"Reapers have taken a bridge along their evac route. Looks like they were ambushed."

"Survivors?"

"Lots of elcor north of the bridge. They've stopped moving, though. No easy detour for a few miles."

"And the marines?"

"No sign."

"Goddamnit… alright. Keep eyes on that bridge. I'll head down to the hangar and put a team together."


End file.
